Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created Snape, his hatred of all things Potter, and all the other characters, settings, etc. that I will be using. I didn't create them, don't own them, and won't be making any money off of them—but just knowing them is quite rewarding enough!

In fanon, it's very tempting to draw parallels between the Marauders and the Trio (generally with Neville added as Pettigrew). And there are parallels that can be accurately drawn. However, we run the risk of forgetting that the two generations are made up of distinct people, with personalities of their own that are not borrowed from either the future or the past. I think Snape has made this mistake. He sees Harry and his generation only in terms of his (already somewhat skewed) perceptions of James and his friends. This piece will be something of a character sketch, helping me get inside Snape's head in preparation for a couple of other fics concerning him that I'm working on. Please point out anything, even something small, that seems OOC for Snape.


Chapter 1: Hoodlums and Fools

It would have taken so very little for me not to have hated the Potter boy. If his hair had been a different color, perhaps. Or even if it would have lain flat. But no, he had to look exactly like his father. The resemblance is stunning; it's obvious even from a distance as he waits to be Sorted—he even stands like his father did. Muttering to the red-haired boy next to him—another Weasley, obviously—and smiling arrogantly at the hat. Of course all the foolish children—and a few of the staff, I see—start whispering madly as soon as his name is called. Disgusting. Gryffindor, of course. Odd that it took the hat a while to decide; I expected it to send Potter to Gryffindor as quickly as it sent Malfoy to Slytherin. It fits Potter, though—keep everyone in suspense; stay in the limelight as long as possible.

I'm sure he's enjoying himself—everyone staring at him, the Gryffindors cheering like the fools they are, those odious Weasley twins chanting—other people would have had the grace to look embarrassed, but not him. No, he loves adulation. Just like his father. Prince Potter—pampered all his life, I'm sure. Raised by those Muggle relatives—I know I've heard somewhere that Muggles spoil their children. And now he sits at the Gryffindor table, drinking in the admiration, buttering up the Weasley prefect, already forming his gang of hoodlums. The Weasley first year promptly sits next to him—clearly, he will be Black. They gravitated to each other instantly, as troublemakers always will, most likely on the train.

It was nearly the last compartment, with only two boys in it already. Both had dark hair, although one's was a good deal messier than the other.

"Who're you?" the messy-haired one asked suspiciously.

"No need to ask that, Potter," said the other with a sneer. "Greasy hair, big nose, holding a book on hexes—it's obvious he's a Snape."

It had already been a trying day, and that was just about the last insult I could stand. I pulled out my wand.

"Oh, so you're going to hex us, are you!" said the messy-haired one angrily. "You're one of those Dark Arts types, aren't you? Well, you can just clear off! We don't want any of your sort around!"

I was trying to decide what the best curse would be for these arrogant gits when a timid voice interrupted from behind me.

"Er, excuse me—is there any room in this compartment?" It was a thin, pale, brown-haired boy, who looked decidedly nervous.

"Obviously not, as they've just been ordering me off," I snapped, thinking I might have found an ally. The brown-haired boy backed up a step as I swung around towards him. He was a cowardly hypocrite, even then. But as soon as my back was turned, the messy-haired one grabbed me from behind, pinning my wand arm to my side.

"There's no room for you, Snape," scoffed the taller dark-haired one. "But you can come in—what's your name, anyway?"

"Er, Remus, Remus Lupin," said the brown-haired boy, looking at me apprehensively as I struggled against Potter. He stepped carefully past me; I swear I could see him trembling. Then Potter and the other dark-haired one shoved me to the ground and slammed the door.

Pity I didn't know who Black was at the time; I could have told Potter a thing or two about "Dark Arts types." Then maybe things would have gone differently. Not that I would have become friends with either one of them. But if I could have kept them from being friends with each other… My life certainly would have been easier. But it was probably inevitable, just as Potter and Weasley's alliance was inevitable. They were the type that would find each other and promptly begin wreaking as much havoc as possible.

So now I must deal with history repeating itself. The new Potter and the new Black—and I know Lupin and Pettigrew will show themselves soon enough. But I'll make sure they don't have an easy ride of it this time around.

I wonder if one of them will turn traitor this time. Most likely—callous, arrogant, bullying; no reason for them to stay loyal to anyone any longer than it suits them. Potter was a fool to think he would be immune to Black's cruelty. And Pettigrew—I realise everyone says he died a hero, but I still say he died a fool. A typical Gryffindor fool, throwing his life away for no good reason. What else was he to do, I suppose, with nobody left to fawn on.

I mutter something in response to whatever Quirrell's babbling about. Another fool, that one, thinking nobody suspects the real reason he's become a different person. I'll have to stop sitting next to him, though, as being near him causes the old Mark to twinge ever so slightly. I do not know if the Dark Lord will realise that his presence, even in a weakened form, will have that effect. I confess it worries me. It would have been quite enough to worry about this year, the potential return of the Dark Lord, without also having Potter back to taunt me. Between the two of them, I suppose I'll be lucky to finish the year with my sanity intact.

Potter looks straight up at me for a moment, and I make no effort to hide my contempt—he should start realising that not everyone worships him. But he ignores this and promptly starts showing off his scar. Famous because of a scar, famous for something he didn't even do—for I am sure Dumbledore is right, that it was Lily who triumphed over the Dark Lord, triumphed even in death. Gave herself up to save—by Merlin! To save this arrogant, ungrateful brat. Nowhere is the Dark Lord's power shown so clearly but in that exchange. She is gone, and no-one is left but this filthy, prideful—gaah. Words fail me, and that never happens.

He's laughing at Dumbledore's warning about the third-floor corridor now. The brat will probably head straight for it tomorrow. Any chance to show off, and all the better if it's something foolish and dangerous... Exactly like his father.

At least I'm outliving them. The old Potter gang, that is. I've outlasted Potter and Pettigrew; Black's rotting in Azkaban; Lupin's no doubt starving in a shack somewhere. I'll outlive them all—I can take some pleasure from that. Or I could, if it weren't for them being reincarnated before my very eyes tonight.