Okay, in request by popular demand, this is the not-so-highly awaited sequel to `Eight Seconds,' and `When Nothing Else Matters.' All author's notes from the other fics apply here, but here's a review: things in single quotations are what Snape is thinking, and it's from Snape's POV.
To Hermione Weasley: go ahead & use my stories on your page, and thanks for asking.
I scowled at the class, and they quailed under my furious stare. It wasn't really fair to take my anger out on the class, but who said I cared about fair?
"Potter!" I roared, and Harry met my gaze calmly. There was something in his eyes that bordered on pity, and I didn't like it. I hated pity.
"Were you talking? In my class?"
"No, sir," he answered softly. I knew he knew what I had been-one of Voldemort's-but I hadn't expected that pity, that understanding, from Potter, of all people. Ron, however, was glaring at me hatefully, and I was pretty sure he knew as well.
It might just have been hatred for deducting some many points from Gryffindor, though, because I'd been doing a lot of that lately, not feeling up to giving detentions. Not that there was much point in taking off points, since the inter-house championship had been cancelled, but I had found that students still considered it a matter of honor to not lose points.
"So, Potter, are you trying to get smart with me?" I demanded, stalking over to him.
"It's no use trying to do that, he wouldn't understand anyway," Ron muttered to Harry. I smirked. That was grounds for quite a few more points off Gryffindor.
"That will be fifty points from Gryffindor for your remark, Weasley," I barked. He looked as though he was about to protest, but Harry shot him a warning look and he fell silent.
"No, go ahead and speak your mind, Weasley," I prompted. "What were you about to say?"
"Nothing," he mumbled, looking at the floor.
"Decided to not lose Gryffindor any more points?"
"Yessir," Ron said warily.
"Well, anytime you feel like making another comment like that, you can expect the same thing." The Slytherins sniggered appreciatively at that.
"Professor, I think Weasley had something more he'd like to say," Draco drawled. Harry glanced over at him, hatred blazing his green eyes. Not that I blamed him.
Draco's father was one of Voldemort's most trusted servants, as I knew all too well. Lucius was quite influential in the Dark Lord's decisions, which was why I went out of my way to be nice to Draco. Not that I didn't like Draco, I figured he was the only member of his family that would ever amount to anything, but he did have his way a little too often, in my opinion.
"Now, now, I think Weasley's said enough," I said mildly. Draco just shrugged, and went back to pretending to be the model student he most certainly wasn't.
"You should be adding the lacewings now, and then the potion will set for ten minutes before it's tested," I instructed. I'd had them brew a rather simple Sleeping Potion, as I wasn't really feeling up to having to deal with Longbottom's stupidity today. And, wonder of wonders, it looked as though he'd done it right.
I tested the potions quickly, and then the students left for other classes. I had a free period until my next class, and I took advantage of the opportunity and went to my office to have a bit of peace and quiet before having to deal with the Weasley twins.
But the silence of the dungeons left too much time for my mind to go over the past, and I half-heartedly wished the Weasleys would come down and light a few fireworks in the Potions classroom. No such luck.
I remembered the first time I had ever seen Voldemort. From the time I was sixteen, the only thing the Slytherins talked about was how much they wanted to join Voldemort, and I had foolishly agreed with them. It had been less than a year from then that I had joined Voldemort, and it was a decision that would haunt me forever.
I pulled up the left-hand sleeve of my robes and lightly ran my thumb over the skull-shaped scar there. I had learned all too quickly that Voldemort was a hard master to serve, and that was my excuse for telling Dumbledore what I was.
It wasn't the real reason. No, the real reason was that I was too squeamish when it came to certain things, and Voldemort was not an understanding kind of person. Dumbledore had been that kind of person, though. I remembered the look on his face when he had learned what I was.
Not trusting my voice, I had merely showed him the Dark Mark and waited for his judgement. And it was then that he had suggested that I would be the perfect spy. I was a pure-blood, had been one of Voldemort's for almost a year, and I had the will to do it. And I, knowing that I could very well be killed doing this, had agreed.
And that was why I was here now, I mused. A few years ago, there was nothing I wouldn't give to have never been one of Voldemort's, but these days I saw the importance of what I was doing. I still feared being caught, but I was growing more and more confident, and although I still feared Voldemort's powers, I feared being like him even more. Yes, the thing I feared more than anything was the thought of what could've happened had my loyalties remained with Voldemort. That was why I did this. That was why.
I still wished that I had not had to go back to the dangerous but necessary job of being a spy, but wishing never changed anything. I imagine that Potter often wished that he was not who he was. I would; being the prime target for a mad-man is not a good idea, especially when that mad-man had the powers Voldemort does.
I often wished that I had known that the Potter's friends had betrayed them. That way, every time Harry misbehaved, I could yell at James. I smirked as I thought it, but it was true, in a way: I did wish that the Potter's were still alive.
'But wishing changes nothing,' I thought bitterly. 'If it did, I wouldn't even be thinking things like this. I'd be....' Well, I wouldn't be who I was. All my friends were either dead or fighting for the opposing side, and I had sworn that I would never let my emotions get in the way of what I had to do. My past was an awful mix of lies, deception, and treachory, but that was the way things were.
If only wishes changed the past....
To Hermione Weasley: go ahead & use my stories on your page, and thanks for asking.
I scowled at the class, and they quailed under my furious stare. It wasn't really fair to take my anger out on the class, but who said I cared about fair?
"Potter!" I roared, and Harry met my gaze calmly. There was something in his eyes that bordered on pity, and I didn't like it. I hated pity.
"Were you talking? In my class?"
"No, sir," he answered softly. I knew he knew what I had been-one of Voldemort's-but I hadn't expected that pity, that understanding, from Potter, of all people. Ron, however, was glaring at me hatefully, and I was pretty sure he knew as well.
It might just have been hatred for deducting some many points from Gryffindor, though, because I'd been doing a lot of that lately, not feeling up to giving detentions. Not that there was much point in taking off points, since the inter-house championship had been cancelled, but I had found that students still considered it a matter of honor to not lose points.
"So, Potter, are you trying to get smart with me?" I demanded, stalking over to him.
"It's no use trying to do that, he wouldn't understand anyway," Ron muttered to Harry. I smirked. That was grounds for quite a few more points off Gryffindor.
"That will be fifty points from Gryffindor for your remark, Weasley," I barked. He looked as though he was about to protest, but Harry shot him a warning look and he fell silent.
"No, go ahead and speak your mind, Weasley," I prompted. "What were you about to say?"
"Nothing," he mumbled, looking at the floor.
"Decided to not lose Gryffindor any more points?"
"Yessir," Ron said warily.
"Well, anytime you feel like making another comment like that, you can expect the same thing." The Slytherins sniggered appreciatively at that.
"Professor, I think Weasley had something more he'd like to say," Draco drawled. Harry glanced over at him, hatred blazing his green eyes. Not that I blamed him.
Draco's father was one of Voldemort's most trusted servants, as I knew all too well. Lucius was quite influential in the Dark Lord's decisions, which was why I went out of my way to be nice to Draco. Not that I didn't like Draco, I figured he was the only member of his family that would ever amount to anything, but he did have his way a little too often, in my opinion.
"Now, now, I think Weasley's said enough," I said mildly. Draco just shrugged, and went back to pretending to be the model student he most certainly wasn't.
"You should be adding the lacewings now, and then the potion will set for ten minutes before it's tested," I instructed. I'd had them brew a rather simple Sleeping Potion, as I wasn't really feeling up to having to deal with Longbottom's stupidity today. And, wonder of wonders, it looked as though he'd done it right.
I tested the potions quickly, and then the students left for other classes. I had a free period until my next class, and I took advantage of the opportunity and went to my office to have a bit of peace and quiet before having to deal with the Weasley twins.
But the silence of the dungeons left too much time for my mind to go over the past, and I half-heartedly wished the Weasleys would come down and light a few fireworks in the Potions classroom. No such luck.
I remembered the first time I had ever seen Voldemort. From the time I was sixteen, the only thing the Slytherins talked about was how much they wanted to join Voldemort, and I had foolishly agreed with them. It had been less than a year from then that I had joined Voldemort, and it was a decision that would haunt me forever.
I pulled up the left-hand sleeve of my robes and lightly ran my thumb over the skull-shaped scar there. I had learned all too quickly that Voldemort was a hard master to serve, and that was my excuse for telling Dumbledore what I was.
It wasn't the real reason. No, the real reason was that I was too squeamish when it came to certain things, and Voldemort was not an understanding kind of person. Dumbledore had been that kind of person, though. I remembered the look on his face when he had learned what I was.
Not trusting my voice, I had merely showed him the Dark Mark and waited for his judgement. And it was then that he had suggested that I would be the perfect spy. I was a pure-blood, had been one of Voldemort's for almost a year, and I had the will to do it. And I, knowing that I could very well be killed doing this, had agreed.
And that was why I was here now, I mused. A few years ago, there was nothing I wouldn't give to have never been one of Voldemort's, but these days I saw the importance of what I was doing. I still feared being caught, but I was growing more and more confident, and although I still feared Voldemort's powers, I feared being like him even more. Yes, the thing I feared more than anything was the thought of what could've happened had my loyalties remained with Voldemort. That was why I did this. That was why.
I still wished that I had not had to go back to the dangerous but necessary job of being a spy, but wishing never changed anything. I imagine that Potter often wished that he was not who he was. I would; being the prime target for a mad-man is not a good idea, especially when that mad-man had the powers Voldemort does.
I often wished that I had known that the Potter's friends had betrayed them. That way, every time Harry misbehaved, I could yell at James. I smirked as I thought it, but it was true, in a way: I did wish that the Potter's were still alive.
'But wishing changes nothing,' I thought bitterly. 'If it did, I wouldn't even be thinking things like this. I'd be....' Well, I wouldn't be who I was. All my friends were either dead or fighting for the opposing side, and I had sworn that I would never let my emotions get in the way of what I had to do. My past was an awful mix of lies, deception, and treachory, but that was the way things were.
If only wishes changed the past....