Chapter 2 – Snape's Addiction

Snape sat at his desk the following Monday before classes were to commence, the first of which was no less than seventh year Potions. He quickly scanned the short list of students who had qualified for and opted to take the subject. Among them was the saviour of the wizarding world.

Snape wondered if this was yet another confirmation that he had the worst luck around. He sighed heavily and pushed the paper away, wishing he could just disappear. He wasn't ready to face Potter, a boy who now knew everything he had been so eager to hide from him.

Merlin only knows what he must think of me now, he thought, before quickly wondering why he even cared what Harry thought.

Slowly the students trickled in and sat down, not one of them acknowledging Snape, who was still sitting stoically behind his desk. Snape didn't look up until he felt the psychic pain of a gaze he knew all too well. Harry had arrived with Hermione, and they sat together at a table two rows back.

'I really implore that you not use that book again this year…' Hermione whispered to Harry, who was rummaging through his bag.

Snape's attention was caught by Hermione's words. Snape, pretending to not have heard a thing, continued to listen.

'Are you kidding?' Harry said. 'This book is the reason I can even take this class. And what's the difference anyway? Snape teaching us in person or through a book?'

Hermione seemed to have no valid argument for this, so instead, said, 'What if he catches you with it? He's not stupid, Harry. What it he takes it from you?'

'He knows I have it, and if he wants it back, I can't really stop him.'

Snape sat behind his desk, pretending to be reading as he listened to the pair talk. He noticed that Harry's voice had lost its boyish arrogance that was painfully reminiscent of his father. But he toyed with the idea of taking the text away from Potter and dismissing him from the class based on the fact that he had 'cheated' his way through sixth year Potions.

Someone near the back of the room sneezed, which brought Snape to his senses. Had he completely lost his mind? Sitting around, eavesdropping on a conversation involving Potter? So what if Harry seemed refined and mellow for a change? So what if the boy spoke of him without hatred or malice? He was done with Potter. He had paid his dues by watching over him and keeping his out of harm's way. But now, there wasn't a threat to a single hair on the boy's head. And it was high time to move on.

Snape stood up. This action alone silenced the hushed conversations that were taking place, and all eyes were riveted to him. Without preamble, he began the class. 'As you all undoubtedly know, you have all proven yourselves able Potion makers to have been granted my approval to take this class. As you all know, it is just as much an art as it is a science, and while I expect thorough scientific methods to be used, seventh year Potions is also an opportunity to apply six years of skill and refine the art of potion making. Not only will this year be a year of acquiring more advanced knowledge, but to also prove yourselves as true Potions makers by adding your own personal touches to your work'

With a wave of his wand, the day's assignment appeared on the board. 'I expect you all have retained last year's text, as it will be your primary resource.'

Harry opened the Prince's copy of Advanced Potion Making and set to reading the assigned pages. Snape watched as he did, and for a moment, considered taking the book from him right then and there. However, Harry gazed up from the pages and pierced him with his emerald gaze. Snape stood frozen, his memory transporting him to a night a few months earlier when he had grabbed the boy and asked for what he thought was his last request. Snape felt his ears and cheeks flush.

There was something in those eyes that had never been there before, and while he had seen it before in Lily's, he still found it impossible to describe, and devastatingly impossible to resist.

Harry, who had fully expected to be denied use of the book, dropped his gaze back to it. Snape returned to his desk and sat down and wondered why could not bring himself to take it from the boy or expel him from his class.

--

That evening, Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione beneath the beech tree by the lake, reveling in the freedom they had now that there were no more threats of Death Eaters and Voldemort. A gentle breeze blew across the grounds, ruffling the leaves and their papers.

'You're awfully quiet tonight, mate.' Ron remarked.

Harry absently drummed his fingers on the cover of Advanced Potion Making. 'Just thinking,' he replied.

'You've seemed out of sorts all day.'

Harry sighed. 'It's Snape. I'm just having a hard time dealing with… being around him again. After what I saw at the end of last term.' Harry had only showed the Ministry Snape's memories are far as his involvement with Dumbledore's death was concerned, and hadn't shared any others with a single soul. He had, however, told Ron and Hermione about them.

Hermione looked up from her text. 'Do you still have them? The memories?'

Harry nodded. 'He probably wants them back, though.'

'Well, take them to him.'

Harry picked up his books and headed off toward the castle.

'Where are you going?' Ron called after him.

'To take Snape's memories back.'

'I didn't mean right this instant,' Ron said.

'Don't worry, I see you guys later.'

Harry dropped his belongings off in the dormitory and retrieved the vial of silvery ethereal essence that contained Snape's thoughts. Pocketing it, he left Gryffindor tower and headed for the dungeon.

--

Snape had just sat down in his armchair when he heard a knock on the door. Sighing irritably and muttering something about hoodlums running around at all hours of the night, he strode to his chamber door and opened it. He caught the nasty comment on the tip of his tongue when he saw Harry standing on the other side.

'What could you possibly want at this time of night, Potter?' he said irritably, but not nearly as cruelly as he would have had it been anyone else.

'I came to return something to you.' Harry reached inside his robes and pulled out the vial. Harry noticed Snape's eyes grow a hint wider and saw a twitch in his jaw. Harry held it out, and Snape took it quickly. 'Is that all, Potter?'

Harry dropped his gaze to the stone floor. 'No,' he said nervously. 'I also want to say I'm sorry for the way I –'

'I don't need your pity,' Snape interjected in a snarling tone. 'Now get out. I don't want to see you here again outside of class.'

Slamming the door in Harry's face, Snape retreated into his chamber. Sitting down on his bed, he swirled the contents of the vial. He removed his wand and was about to place each one back into his mind when he decided against it. Instead, he went to a cupboard and removed Dumbledore's Pensieve. Emptying half of the contents into the basin and searching his own mind for certain memories, he added them to the mix before diving headlong into his past.

As he landed a short distance from his nine-year-old self in the park, he wondered why he kept doing this, over and over again. Seventeen years of reliving the same moments over and over only served to keep close something that could never be, and it was both the greatest pleasure and the worst torture.

But then he looked beyond himself and saw a beautiful little girl playing nearby, and he smiled as his vision became blurry by his own emotion. All other thoughts seemed to vanish as he walked over to the swing set. Her little eyes gleamed in the sunlight; her laughter was the one sound that could turn his heart's perpetual winter to spring.

This is why I do this, he thought.