Disclaimer: This story is made with the usage of Harry Potter and co. I am not making any money off of any said characters of this company, and no copyright law infringement is intended. Might I add that the things in this story that are mine , like the OOC names and ideas, are mine and I would appreciate it if you all keep it that way. . . (Hint, Hint.)
The Mystery of Severus Snape. .
Chapter One.
Three weeks ago marked the beginning of term for Harry's 6th year. His friends noted that he was distancing himself from them like he always did after something big happened, and were trying everything to help his mood. He ached for Sirius when he was alone, and felt guilty for everyone else when he wasn't. Little did they know, that it wasn't all previous events that were bringing him down.
Lets just say having Occlumency every Tuesday and Thursday, the same days as potions didn't help his mood much.
That's what brings us to this specific time of the day, when young Harry could once again be found sitting in the dusty old dungeons waiting for his grumpy old Potion's teacher. He was walking dully around the room, being very careful not to touch anything. His eyes darted to his watch that had been repaired by Hermione most recently, and he prayed Snape would hurry. He had already been waiting for over half of an hour and the potions room was becoming less and less of a favorite room by the second.
He wandered to the front of the room and in front of Snape's desk, sitting down in the chair that was obviously prepared for him. Its hard wooden and warped surface didn't do much for his quidditch-sore back.
Harry leaned uncomfortably back in the chair, and closed his eyes. His fingers drummed impatiently on the chair's arm.
What is taking the old coot so long? Harry sat there for a few minutes longer, kidding himself about having somewhere to go. He opened his eyes and wiggled uncomfortably in his seat, moving so he was sitting on the edge of the chair. If this was Snape's new plan to torture him (death by chair,) it was working.
He propped his elbows on the teacher's desk and rested his chin in his palms, once more closing his eyes. Minutes ticked by until Harry opened his eyes again, to find no professor. This time however the pensive sitting on the professor's desk seemed closer and a lot more tempting.
No. I refuse to be caught snooping again. . He told himself stubbornly. But then one Harry Potter was never much of a person to listen to his own conscious in times like these.
Harry stared blandly at the pensive, the dungeon before him shifted into a child's room and the familiar sense of dread consuming him as memories that weren't his played before his eyes. .
He looked around his new surroundings and noted the rocking horse sitting in the corner, along with the shelves of bobbing magical toys. The child's room was painted a pale pink and obviously belonged to a girl. He turned as a young child that looked to be no older then four came running into the room. Her black hair billowed behind her and she looked surprisingly familiar.
He could swear her eyes meant his before she turned and slammed her bedroom door. Hot tears flew down her face as she threw herself on the bed and sobbed loudly. She fell and buried her face in the plush pink blankets. The girls face loomed before Harry, where had he seen her before? He could remember every detail of her face and knew it was probably because the person the memory belonged to wanted it to be that way.
Her eyes were a stunning blue, and he noted the clef in her chin. She had high cheekbones and a dimple in her left cheek could be seen when he had seen her cry. Why does she look so familiar?
Suddenly the doors busted open and a person in a long black cloak came running into the room. The first thought that hit Harry's mind was this; A death eater.
They scooped the little girl into their arms only to have her kick and thrash against them. Her legs were going all over the place and she was screaming at the top of her lungs. "DADDY! DADDY!"
Harry ached to be able to reach out and help the child, but he knew he couldn't. He was just an invisible bystander.
Another heart-wrenching scream filled the air before the scene shifted. Now he was standing in a gloomy hallway. His eyes scanned the several blinking lanterns until his eyes landed on a man and woman.
They were talking quietly between themselves, and Harry noticed the protective look on the woman's face. Her dull brown eyes looked to be barely alive, and her lips were formed into a frown.
He couldn't see the man's face; all he could see was the back of his head that was covered with a mess of black hair. Why does everyone seem so familiar? Whose memory am I in precisely? . . . .
Thoughts raced through his mind as the two began walking down the hall and Harry followed, until the floor was literally taken out from underneath him and he was transported into another room.
The same girl he had seen before sat in the middle of it, staring blankly at a pale blue wall. She looked to be about five years older and she was no longer crying but instead her face bore no emotion.
The door swung open revealing the brown-haired women he had seen just seconds before. She spoke very softly. "Hunny, there's someone here to see you. Is it alright if they come in?"
The child barely nodded in reply.
A man with black hair and a hook-like nose walked in, Harry immediately recognized him. Professor Snape.
What's going on here?
"Sydney? It's me. Daddy."
Harry's eyes widened with shock as everything fell into place. That's why she had looked so familiar. . But wait -- Snape had a daughter? WHEN? HOW? WHY? WHO?!
Harry watched as the girl turned, the only signal that she acknowledged Snape. Her voice came out mature and lifeless, nothing like any seven or eight year olds voice should.
"I have no Daddy. I never have, and I never will. I don't want one either." She turned, coldly putting her back to Snape.
"Sydney. . Don't you remember me?"
Only silence replied. Harry watched as Snape's eyes lowered to the ground and was surprised when he noticed Snape looked like he was going to cry. Snape. . Cry?! This is way too much.
Suddenly, Harry felt nauseated and a familiar dizziness consumed him as the Pensive ended its memory. That's all it wanted him to see as the dungeon of Hogwarts appeared before him once more and he was back sitting in the Potions classroom he had grown to hate, waiting for the professor he had grown to loath.
Thoughts of what he had just seen flooded his mind and he was secretly glad the Professor hadn't walked in to see him prying again. He didn't know if he should talk about it with Hermione and Ron, he wasn't sure they would understand. Hell, he wasn't sure if he understood. But then who would?
Chapter One.
Three weeks ago marked the beginning of term for Harry's 6th year. His friends noted that he was distancing himself from them like he always did after something big happened, and were trying everything to help his mood. He ached for Sirius when he was alone, and felt guilty for everyone else when he wasn't. Little did they know, that it wasn't all previous events that were bringing him down.
Lets just say having Occlumency every Tuesday and Thursday, the same days as potions didn't help his mood much.
That's what brings us to this specific time of the day, when young Harry could once again be found sitting in the dusty old dungeons waiting for his grumpy old Potion's teacher. He was walking dully around the room, being very careful not to touch anything. His eyes darted to his watch that had been repaired by Hermione most recently, and he prayed Snape would hurry. He had already been waiting for over half of an hour and the potions room was becoming less and less of a favorite room by the second.
He wandered to the front of the room and in front of Snape's desk, sitting down in the chair that was obviously prepared for him. Its hard wooden and warped surface didn't do much for his quidditch-sore back.
Harry leaned uncomfortably back in the chair, and closed his eyes. His fingers drummed impatiently on the chair's arm.
What is taking the old coot so long? Harry sat there for a few minutes longer, kidding himself about having somewhere to go. He opened his eyes and wiggled uncomfortably in his seat, moving so he was sitting on the edge of the chair. If this was Snape's new plan to torture him (death by chair,) it was working.
He propped his elbows on the teacher's desk and rested his chin in his palms, once more closing his eyes. Minutes ticked by until Harry opened his eyes again, to find no professor. This time however the pensive sitting on the professor's desk seemed closer and a lot more tempting.
No. I refuse to be caught snooping again. . He told himself stubbornly. But then one Harry Potter was never much of a person to listen to his own conscious in times like these.
Harry stared blandly at the pensive, the dungeon before him shifted into a child's room and the familiar sense of dread consuming him as memories that weren't his played before his eyes. .
He looked around his new surroundings and noted the rocking horse sitting in the corner, along with the shelves of bobbing magical toys. The child's room was painted a pale pink and obviously belonged to a girl. He turned as a young child that looked to be no older then four came running into the room. Her black hair billowed behind her and she looked surprisingly familiar.
He could swear her eyes meant his before she turned and slammed her bedroom door. Hot tears flew down her face as she threw herself on the bed and sobbed loudly. She fell and buried her face in the plush pink blankets. The girls face loomed before Harry, where had he seen her before? He could remember every detail of her face and knew it was probably because the person the memory belonged to wanted it to be that way.
Her eyes were a stunning blue, and he noted the clef in her chin. She had high cheekbones and a dimple in her left cheek could be seen when he had seen her cry. Why does she look so familiar?
Suddenly the doors busted open and a person in a long black cloak came running into the room. The first thought that hit Harry's mind was this; A death eater.
They scooped the little girl into their arms only to have her kick and thrash against them. Her legs were going all over the place and she was screaming at the top of her lungs. "DADDY! DADDY!"
Harry ached to be able to reach out and help the child, but he knew he couldn't. He was just an invisible bystander.
Another heart-wrenching scream filled the air before the scene shifted. Now he was standing in a gloomy hallway. His eyes scanned the several blinking lanterns until his eyes landed on a man and woman.
They were talking quietly between themselves, and Harry noticed the protective look on the woman's face. Her dull brown eyes looked to be barely alive, and her lips were formed into a frown.
He couldn't see the man's face; all he could see was the back of his head that was covered with a mess of black hair. Why does everyone seem so familiar? Whose memory am I in precisely? . . . .
Thoughts raced through his mind as the two began walking down the hall and Harry followed, until the floor was literally taken out from underneath him and he was transported into another room.
The same girl he had seen before sat in the middle of it, staring blankly at a pale blue wall. She looked to be about five years older and she was no longer crying but instead her face bore no emotion.
The door swung open revealing the brown-haired women he had seen just seconds before. She spoke very softly. "Hunny, there's someone here to see you. Is it alright if they come in?"
The child barely nodded in reply.
A man with black hair and a hook-like nose walked in, Harry immediately recognized him. Professor Snape.
What's going on here?
"Sydney? It's me. Daddy."
Harry's eyes widened with shock as everything fell into place. That's why she had looked so familiar. . But wait -- Snape had a daughter? WHEN? HOW? WHY? WHO?!
Harry watched as the girl turned, the only signal that she acknowledged Snape. Her voice came out mature and lifeless, nothing like any seven or eight year olds voice should.
"I have no Daddy. I never have, and I never will. I don't want one either." She turned, coldly putting her back to Snape.
"Sydney. . Don't you remember me?"
Only silence replied. Harry watched as Snape's eyes lowered to the ground and was surprised when he noticed Snape looked like he was going to cry. Snape. . Cry?! This is way too much.
Suddenly, Harry felt nauseated and a familiar dizziness consumed him as the Pensive ended its memory. That's all it wanted him to see as the dungeon of Hogwarts appeared before him once more and he was back sitting in the Potions classroom he had grown to hate, waiting for the professor he had grown to loath.
Thoughts of what he had just seen flooded his mind and he was secretly glad the Professor hadn't walked in to see him prying again. He didn't know if he should talk about it with Hermione and Ron, he wasn't sure they would understand. Hell, he wasn't sure if he understood. But then who would?