Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

A/N - Hello one and all! Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I was unsure whether I wanted to do this scene from Harry's point of view or from Snape's, and it took a few drafts before I was able to make a decision. In the end, I decided to go with Snape, because JK Rowling has already covered Harry's feelings on Snape's memory, and I thought it would be interesting to see Snape's view on it – even if my Snape has definitely diverged from canon now. Anyway, I hope you like it – enjoy!


~Strength in Weakness~

The Bullied


When Snape finally awoke, he was only mildly concerned to find that he was lying on a comfortable bed in an unfamiliar room.

It wasn't the first time he'd woken up in a strange place and it certainly wouldn't be the last - especially considering the Dark Lord's penchant for particularly nasty punishments - but it was still a little disconcerting to say the least.

Snape swallowed hard, his throat dry and scratchy. He vaguely wondered what poison that Dark Lord had bestowed upon him now, and which of his fellow Death Eaters had drawn the short straw in making sure he at least lived through the night, but with the rapidly growing pain in his head, he was struggling to comprehend any part his situation beyond that. He certainly had no idea where he was and how he had got there, which was concerning enough even without the pain in his head. What the hell had happened to him...?

He tried to blink open his eyes open more fully, but they felt heavy and weak, and when he finally managed to crack the lids open wide enough to take in more of his surroundings, he found even the mildest rays of light were having no trouble in overwhelming him. The truth was that the pain in his head – a pain that was creeping up on him more and more with each passing second - was overwhelming everything else, even conscious thought…

One thing was for certain, whichever poor soul was supposed to be looking after him, they were doing a piss-poor job of it.

He groaned and tried to clear his mind of the fog and pain currently saturating it, but it made no difference. His head felt as if it was burning from the inside, and his eyes were so sensitive to the light that the pain didn't abate even when he closed his eyes again.

He groaned again and clenched his eyes as tightly shut as he could. It was agony, pure and simple…

"Here," came a young voice from his side. Snape felt a potion vial being pressed into his shaking hand, but he couldn't grasp it. His babysitter seemed to realise that after a couple of seconds and moved it to his lips. "Drink this. It'll help."

But Snape had not lived as long as he had by drinking unfamiliar potions from strangers. Or fellow Death-eaters. Or anyone.

He closed his lips in a thin line and moved his head away.

"Come on, you stubborn git," the voice repeated. It was a boy, Snape realised; specifically a teenage boy, someone who was stuck in that awkward phase between child and man. "It helped me. Drink it."

Snape felt his curiosity leave him as a flash of anger momentarily took over the pain in his head. It had to be a stranger, because no one in their right mind – no one who knew who he was and what he was like, at least – would dare talk to him that way…

"Professor," the voice repeated, pleading with him now. "Come on. Please. It'll help."

Still stubbornly ignoring the press of the vial against his lips, Snape concentrated on that voice once more; particularly on the way it hitched a little on that final word. He frowned. There wasn't a Death Eater alive or dead who would talk to him like that either…

Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit him.

"Potter…?" he croaked, his eyes cracking open again. This time he fought to keep them open, and when he blinked hard, Potter's pale finally face swam into view. But despite a clearer picture, doubt and confusion quickly took over.

Which Potter was it? Flashes to his time at Hogwarts as a teenager crossed his mind, interspersed with what he assumed were more recent memories – although he couldn't for the life of him work out the context for any of them. Truth be told, it all confused Snape more than he would like to admit, especially since he was certainly no longer a student at Hogwarts.

He had a strange feeling that he'd been hit on the head, or had his thoughts scrambled by some unknown force maybe. It was the only explanation for the constant stream of memories that he had quite deliberately pushed to the back of his mind until now. James Potter was featuring quite a bit for obvious reasons, but for some reason, so was Harry Potter. Snape bit back a groan and tried to focus…

"It's Harry Potter," the teenager replied bluntly, making Snape wonder if he'd spoken aloud. Undeterred, Potter once again tried to press the potion to his Professor's mouth. Snape resisted again, albeit weakly, which didn't seem to bother Potter in the slightest. "Not James Potter. Just in case you've forgotten again."

"Again?" Snape frowned. His voice was hoarse and he felt incredibly out of sorts, as if his brain had been mangled by one of Hagrid's magical beasts. He had no idea what was going on, where he was, or what in Merlin's name Potter was talking about.

"Yes, again," Potter confirmed, his tone a little cold. "You've been calling me James on and off for the last two hours. Not that it's the first time. You actually punched me, back when we were hiding out at the Dursleys. You thought I was my dad then too. Of course I don't blame you for the punch, not now that I know what he was really like…"

"What…?" Snape trailed off, unsure what he was really asking. He swallowed again. Not of this made any sense…

Snape shook the thought away, and flushed a little at the obvious concern he saw in the boy's green eyes. Driven by a sudden need to appear less vulnerable and weak, Snape gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and pulled himself up until his back was against the headboard of the bed, breathing heavily as he waited for the room to stop spinning.

Misinterpreting his actions, Potter lifted the potion again, and Snape lost the tenuous control he'd had over his temper.

"Potter," he snapped, trying not to feel guilty when the boy flinched. "If you try to give me that potion again I will banish it to somewhere the sun doesn't shine…"

Potter stared at him for a long moment as a flutter of different emotions crossed his young face. Snape found he had to expel quite a bit of precious energy to hold the boy's gaze.

"Fine," Potter snapped back petulantly. He placed the potion down on the bedside table with rather more force than was necessary, and sat back in his chair, arms folded. "Sit in pain. See if I care."

Snape frowned. It was blatantly obvious the boy did care, but he was also clearly angry and upset. Snape had no idea why, or what to do about it. He could barely focus on the room he was in without his headache spiking, let alone how he had got here.

It took approximately thirty seconds - during which, Potter remained stubbornly silent - for Snape to cave.

Snape gritted his teeth. "Fine, give me the damn potion."

Potter looked for a moment as if he would refuse the request out of spite alone, but eventually he picked up the potion and pressed it to Snape's lips.

Snape glared at Potter before snatching the potion out of the boy's hand and tentatively sniffing it. Only once he was certain it wasn't poison did Snape finally tip it down his throat. He grimaced at the taste but immediately felt it clear his mind and soften the pain in his forehead. He refused to thank the boy, but Potter's brief smirk told him that his relief had been obvious anyway. Damn…

"Better?" Potter asked, a knowing smirk still plastered across his face. Snape had a sudden urge to wipe it away, but had a more pressing question.

"I punched you?" he asked hoarsely. He certainly didn't remember punching Potter, although there was a lot about that stay the Dursleys' house that he didn't remember. He had a sinking feeling in his chest that in fact there was probably a lot about that ill-fated trip that perhaps he didn't want to remember…

"Yeah," Potter replied, sobering up. "You were a bit out of it because of the fever. You saw me, thought I was my dad, and took a swing at me. I was a little too close, and I couldn't get out of the way quickly enough."

It sounded suspiciously as if the ridiculous boy was actually blaming himself for not avoiding Severus' punch.

"Obviously, that was not your fault," Snape said tightly. "Potter, I….apologise. Fever or not, I should not have struck you."

Potter shrugged. "You weren't striking me, not really. You were striking my dad. Anyway, I apologise too, sir. For my dad and his friends, I mean. What they did to you was wrong."

"What are you talking about…?" Snape trailed off.

A flash of memory crossed his mind again, this time – thanks to the potion – with a little bit of clarity. They had been at the courts for the Dursley trial. Potter had been nervous, which had made him vulnerable, and the Dark Lord had taken full advantage of that…

"Voldemort's gone," Potter said quietly before Snape could demand any answers himself, pointing at his forehead. "I mean, probably not forever, but I know I hurt him, and I don't expect he's in a rush to try again anytime soon."

"Good," Snape began, trying to get his head around what had happened. "You did…well, Potter."

"Not well enough," Harry replied with a firm shake of his head. "If you hadn't…if you hadn't helped me, I wouldn't have been able to stop him. He could've killed me from hundreds of miles away and I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it."

Potter rubbed his hand over his neck again, the movement anxious and, Snape suspected, not entirely conscious, although he had no doubt that Potter was right; the Dark Lord, at least for the moment, was gone.

"My help was…clearly insufficient," Snape told Potter. "He saw my weaknesses quickly and exploited them. You saw…you saw much more than I would have ever wanted anyone to see. It distracted me. By the end, I was useless."

"Having you there still helped me," Potter argued quietly, his gaze down as he sat almost stock still in the chair beside Snape's bed.

"Good," Snape replied woodenly, even though none of this situation could actually be described as good. Potter had enough to be worrying about with his relatives; having the Dark Lord forcibly enter his mind just as he was preparing to give evidence…

"What happened with the trial?" Snape asked suddenly. "And where are we? How long was I unconscious?"

He cursed his battered mind for not being able to focus.

"We're at Grimmauld Place," Potter replied. "And the first day of the trial went okay, as far as I know. Dumbledore had set up some sort of monitoring spell on the waiting room we were in, so when Voldemort turned up – in my head at least, if not in person - he knew about it."

Snape wasn't the least bit surprised by the extra security, even though he was slightly annoyed that the Headmaster had never actually seen fit to make an appearance in the room himself.

"He got there just as James, the court-aide, was trying to break the door down," Potter continued. The boy levelled a stare at him. "Apparently someone cast a strong locking charm on the door, along with a silencing charm on the room itself. When they couldn't open the door, and when we didn't answer to any of their calls or knocks, the muggles panicked."

"I presume the Headmaster resolved the situation?" Snape asked.

"Obviously," Potter replied, rolling his eyes. "He unlocked the door, got Remus and Sirius to take us away via an emergency portkey, and then started obliviating the shit out of everyone."

"Language, Potter!" Snape chastised.

"Sorry," Potter mumbled, cheeks reddening slightly. Clearly he'd forgotten who he was speaking to. "Anyway, it's all been sorted now, I think."

"And the trial?"

Potter shrugged. "They didn't end up needing me today anyway, so we were lucky. The opening arguments took too long." Potter swallowed hard. "I'll have to go back tomorrow though."

"What time is it now?" Snape asked, unwilling to push the boy on his feelings just yet. His head was still a little clouded.

"Just after eight o'clock at night," Potter replied. "You've been mostly unconscious for about six hours. You did wake up a couple of times, but this is the first time you've been coherent enough to hold a conversation."

Snape remembered Potter's earlier assertion that he had believed him to be James Potter, and he wondered what else he had inadvertently revealed whilst in the clutches of delirium.

"And you, Potter?" he asked.

"I woke up a couple of hours ago," Potter shrugged. "Voldemort really did a number on me, but you got the worst of it, I think."

"Does the Headmaster know what happened yet?" Snape asked. It was imperative that Dumbledore was briefed on the incident so that they could start planning their next moves…

"I…er…I told him the basics," Potter replied, eyes down as he squirmed in his chair.

Snape felt a well of anger rise up in his chest.

"You idiot boy!" Snape snapped. "If we have any chance of preventing this from happening in the future, the Headmaster needs to know everything."

"You were there, Snape," Potter shot back. "Do you honestly think anyone, even Dumbledore, could think of a way to stop that from happening again?"

Snape didn't reply; he didn't want to give Potter the satisfaction of thinking he was right.

"Anyway," Potter muttered. "I wanted to talk to you first."

Snape stilled, but his anger still bubbled below the surface.

"About?" Snape asked quietly, even though he knew the answer.

"About…what I saw," Potter replied. The boy fidgeted in his chair again, hands wringing on his lap. All the signs pointed to the teenager being anxious and nervous, but Snape had spent too long in Potter Senior's company to take even that on face value. The memories of his torment at the hands of James Potter were too fresh. Too painful.

"Those memories are mine and mine alone," Snape said harshly. How dare the boy…?

Potter held firm, shaking his head. "Not anymore, sir. I…it was my dad..."

Potter trailed off, and for once Snape couldn't read the look on the boy's face. There was a hint of desperation, possibly a grimace of pain. Or was it a smirk…?

"Did you enjoy it, Potter?" Snape asked angrily, partly in an attempt to hide his shame. "Did you enjoy seeing your father bully your most hated teacher…"

Wide eyes snapped up, but Snape ignored the boy.

"You're not…" Potter stammered. "What...?"

But Snape was just getting started. "Did you enjoy watching him attack me for no other reason than because I was there-?"

"No…stop it..."

"He certainly bested me that day," Snape continued cruelly. "Does it make you proud, to be his son?"

A part of him knew what he was doing was wrong – knew from the bottom of his heart – but the other part of him, the part that had been bullied and belittled by the boy's father, wanted someone to pay. And if James Potter wasn't available, and Harry Potter was smirking…

"I bet you want to be just like him – "

"Shut up!" Potter shouted suddenly. "Just shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!"

Snape snapped his mouth shut as Potter jumped to his feet, breathing heavily. Shame rushed through his body at a greater rate than ever before, but Snape had no idea how to deal with it. That was why he preferred anger. Anger was simple, and it was infinitely better than pity…

"Of course I don't want to be like him," Potter said, his words a quiet sort of fury. He wasn't meeting Snape's eyes, but Snape couldn't take his own eyes off the boy. "You know I don't want to be like him. And you know why. You bloody know why…"

"Potter…"

"Let me say this, and then I'll leave you alone," Potter said wearily, sounded far older than his fifteen years. Suddenly Snape very much felt like the teenager being chastised by the adult, and he was well-aware that he deserved nothing less.

Snape slowly nodded his head.

"I used to want to be like my dad," Potter continued, running a hand jerkily through his hair. "I…when Sirius and Remus first started telling me stories about him, he sounded like a…like a superhero to me. And it didn't feel stupid, it felt…normal; I mean, isn't that how kids usually are supposed to feel about their parents? As if they have the ability to solve any and every problem. As if they can save the world."

Snape didn't speak. His own father had obviously never instilled that particular feeling in him, but intellectually he knew that children often put their parents on pedestals, hoisting expectations onto them that they could never hope to achieve.

"I just wanted to be normal," Potter said, his voice cracking. "I just wanted a mum and a dad that I could be proud of, like everyone else seems to have. But now…after I've seen what he was really like…"

Guilt bubbled in Snape's chest. The teenager seemed so desolate, so utterly…disappointed. "Potter…"

"He was a bully!" Potter interrupted angrily. "He bullied you. He was cruel, and I know how it feels, to be picked on by someone, and I hate it, and I hate him – "

"No you don't," Snape interrupted, his words a little desperate. "You don't hate him, Potter. He's your father. You love him."

He had never envisaged a situation in which he would ever consider defending James Potter, but the man's son was working under a terrible misconception, and Snape knew it was his duty to correct it.

"I didn't bloody know him!" Potter shot back. The boy took a deep breath, and all fight seemed to go out of him. "I didn't know him at all."

Potter leant forward and held his head in his heads, his breathing hitching as he clearly fought back tears. It wasn't right. Potter had suffered enough; Snape had no intention of adding any more suffering, especially in the name of an old feud with a dead man.

"Neither did I," Snape began quietly. "Not really. I knew that boy in the memory, the one who…tormented me. But I didn't know the boy who befriended a werewolf, nor the man who married your mother and became a father to you. I hated his guts and he hated mine, but he gave his life trying to save yours, Potter. I will never forgive him for how he treated me when we were younger, and there are aspects of our history that I will not discuss, not even now, but…it would be prudent to get the whole picture before you go making any rash decisions. You are not me, and my decision should not feed yours. You are not me, Potter."

"Of course I am," Potter replied defiantly. "I know exactly how you felt in that memory because I've been there myself. I was that boy for ten years, only it was Dudley and his gang that tormented me, not the Marauders."

"You were a defenceless child, Potter," Snape argued. "And your home-life had already left you weakened to an extent. In contrast, I was a wizard in training. I had a wand, plenty of anger, and an unhealthy interest in the Dark Arts. I assure you, I gave as good as I got. I could be just as cruel as your father on occasion. You saw evidence of that yourself in that same memory."

His treatment of Lily. The end of their friendship, and one of the most painful moments in Snape's life.

"Why did you call her a Mudblood?" Potter asked quietly, correctly guessing what he was referring to. "My mother, I mean. She was trying to help you."

"I did not want help," Snape replied tightly. He did not want to get into his feelings on Lily with anyone, let alone her son. "I felt as if she was pitying me, and I had always abhorred that above all else."

It was barely even a partial truth, but it was the most Potter was ever going to get.

"That's not an excuse," Potter replied with a shake of his head. "I'd never call anyone…that. No matter what."

"Well, as I have said before, I am not you," Snape replied. "And you are not me. I will not deny that there are similarities in our experiences, but as I have told you before, it is our choices that matter above all else. I chose badly that day, and I will have to live with the consequences of that decision. I have no doubt that faced with the same situation, you would choose to act differently."

"Right," Potter said tiredly. The teenager seemed exhausted, and Snape wondered how much rest he'd managed to get whilst he was waiting for his Professor to wake up.

"You should think about going to bed, Potter," Snape suggested. "I realise that it's still early, but it's been a long day, and I'll wager it will be another long day tomorrow."

Potter blanched a little at the reminder of his impending testimony, but he dutifully stood up and began to make his way out of the room, presumably to follow his Professor's suggestion.

Before he reached the door, Potter turned one final time. "Thanks, Sir. I know it wasn't easy…talking about my dad. I appreciate it. I think…I think I might talk to Sirius about him before I make any decisions. To get the whole picture."

Snape nodded, then before Potter left, he added. "I would suggest Lupin. Unlike your father and Godfather, he was rarely actively involved in the confrontations, and although he did nothing to stop them either, I expect he has a more…well-rounded viewpoint to offer."

"I'll take that under advisement," Potter said as he turned back to the door, and Snape had a feeling that he would.

"See that you do, Mr Potter," Snape said. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sir," Potter replied.

And then he was gone, and Snape was left to face his demons alone. Suddenly though, the task felt less daunting in the wake of the conversation with Potter. Potter had watched a Gryffindor - his father no less - humiliate a Slytherin who had bullied him for years, and he had been horrified by it.

Maybe there was hope for him yet.


A/N - So, I hope it was worth the wait! We'll be back at the trial in the next chapter, but until then, thank you for all your ongoing support, and most of all, thanks for reading!