I got reviews! I totally didn't expect to get any, so thank you all sooooo much for reviewing! Thanks as well to everyone who clarified the spelling for things. I actually do know the books pretty well, but spelling often escapes me. Funny that way. :P

I'm open on advice as to what should happen next…

Disclaimer: Hmm. Let's think. JKR: Rich, famous, blond, two children, author of HP. Me: broke, obscure, mousy brown hair, NO CHILDREN, and most decidedly NOT author of HP.

……..

Harry found himself in the dining hall, a much younger Snape in front of him, sitting alone, watching the Gryffindor table. Harry could just make out his father's head, and wondered if that was who Snape was watching. Snape looked about fourteen. His hair was shorter, and cut much like Harry's. It was also much less greasy.

He watched as Snape ate dinner, alone throughout, and listened to conversation around him. It was, of course, at the Slytherin table, but much of the conversation was familiar to him. Mostly Quidditch and exams.

Finally, after almost everyone had left the hall, Snape got up. Harry could see his father better now, and was surprised to see that he wasn't surrounded by friends. From what he knew of his father, this was unusual. Snape, steeling himself visibly, walked over and sat down at the empty Gryffindor Table, across from James.

"Hi."

James looked up, surprised. "Hey." His eyes flicked over Snape's face, and then recognition hit. "Aren't you Slytherin?"

Snape shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Ya, a bit. What did you want?"

Snape looked uncomfortable, and Harry tried to place the look on his face. It was horribly familiar. "I'd kind of like to talk to you in private."

James looked around, obviously at a loss. "Do you see anyone around here? We're pretty much in private."

Snape nodded. "My name's Severus."

"Oh. James." It was very reluctant sounding. James simply wanted this nosy Slytherin to go away.

"Look, I don't know you or anything, but I know you haven't had any girlfriends. I sort of asked."

Harry realized why the look was familiar. It was that resolute, consequences be damned look he'd had when he'd asked Cho out before the Yule Ball. He put his head in his hands and hoped that Snape would stop. James wasn't interested.

But Snape plowed on, ignoring the look of horror on James' face. "And I haven't either. I'm not really interested in girls. I was wondering…well, I think I sort of like you, and I thought maybe…" He trailed off hopefully.

James sat there for a second, stunned, and then leapt to his feet. "No! Is that a joke?"

Snape looked down, misery radiating from his face.

"What the hell are you playing at? No! That's disgusting! You…you're disgusting!" And, to Harry's dismay, he pulled his wand out and pointed it at Severus. "Stay away from me, you pervert, or I'll hex you."

And with that he turned and strode away, leaving Harry feeling sorrier for Snape than he ever had before.

But now he knew why his father had treated Snape the way he had. Now he knew why it was painful for Snape to so much as look at Harry, the boy who resembled his father so much. Snape must have resented my mum, he thought. No wonder he was so rude to her.

And Severus would never, never think of Harry as anything more than an annoying student who brought back bad memories. He'd been turned down by Harry's father, and he wasn't going to make the mistake of thinking the son was any different.

Harry pulled himself out of the Pensive and put it back on the shelf. He bottled a sample of his potion, placed it on Snape's desk, and cleared up. He didn't want to just leave the potion there, though. Knowing Snape, the potions master would pretend he hadn't been able to find it, and give Harry a failing mark. And three detentions.

So he grabbed the vial and walked out into the hallway, wondering where to find the professor.

It turned out he didn't have to go very far. Rounding a corner, he ran smack into the very man he'd been looking for, and dropped the vial, which he'd so carefully stoppered, onto the stone floor at his feet.

"No!"

"Mr. Potter—"

"I know! I know, Sir, it's my own fault, but I worked really hard on this. Oh damn."

Snape was unmoved. "Detention it is, Potter."

"Yes, Sir. I'll be there tonight."

And, without another glance, Snape pushed (or rather glided) past Harry. Harry, turning to go up the stairs, couldn't help one backwards glance at that walk…

Then, suddenly, Harry slipped on the spilled potion, flailed his arms wildly for one second, and fell, very hard, on the stone floor. Something, probably the back of his head, he thought fuzzily, cracked loudly as it hit. He heard, in a distant sort of way, footsteps running towards him, and he knew it must be Snape, because there wasn't anyone else nearby. He wished he was standing, because it would be interesting to watch Snape run.

"You idiot!"

"It was an accident, Sir." Harry could hear his voice, but he didn't have any control over what he was saying. "So was the Pensive. None of my business, but I just fell in."

Snape ignored him. "Just drink this, Potter, it should clear your head."

Harry, obediently, drank out of the vial held in front of him, and immediately wished he hadn't. The stuff tasted like something you'd find at the bottom of the fridge, growing mould. But his head felt clearer. It hurt too.

"Have you broken anything?"

"No, Sir. My head hurts though." And he sat up, something that he instantly regretted, since the walls started spinning around him. "And the walls appear to be spinning. Would you let Dumbledore know, and ask him to make it stop? It's making me a bit sick you see."
Snape swore under his breath, something that intrigued Harry, since he'd never heard any of his professors (baring Hagrid) swear. When he spoke again, it was in kinder voice, albeit one with little patience. "Harry, you are concussed. I am going to help you stand, and we are going to walk back to the potions classroom."

"Ok." Harry tried to get to his feet, clutching the wall, so as to avoid needing Snape's support, but couldn't manage it. He closed his eyes, half standing, feeling ill. "Um standing might be a problem."

An exasperated sigh came from somewhere above him.

"I didn't fall on purpose, you know!"

"I am aware of that. Very little that you do, it would appear, is on purpose. But don't try to stand again." Harry heard a swishing of robes, and a muttered incantation, and felt himself rise several feet in the air. When he opened his eyes, he was floating on his back. He shut his eyes very quickly, feeling ill. He'd seen this done to Snape, in third year.

Without further ado, he was swooping down the hall, watching Snape stride in front of him. Even in his semi-unconscious state, he couldn't help admiring that walk. As if in answer to his naughty thoughts, a torch bracket came out of nowhere, straight in front of him. Harry regarded it with foreboding for a second, and then winched as it collided with his already aching head. The potions classroom had better be close.

Luckily, it was. Harry had no sooner thought this then the door was opened and he glided through, coming to rest on the floor.

"Stay there for a minute, Potter. I have a potion for your head."

Harry didn't answer. He seriously doubted he was capable of coherent speech right now. Maybe the best thing was just to keep his mouth shut so he didn't embarrass himself.

A minute later, Snape filled his vision, bending over him. Harry clamped his mouth shut even tighter, not wanting any of his thoughts to slip out accidentally. Having Snape this close to him was bringing on certain visions.

"Harry, you've got to drink this." Again, the voice was kind (for Snape, which was not at all the same thing as kind for other people) but not overly patient. Harry opened his mouth automatically, and swallowed the icy liquid. It seemed cold enough to burn, and he half sat up, gagging. Snape vanished from his view rather quickly, drawing back as if frightened Harry was going to vomit.

"That's cold!" he exclaimed when he could talk.

"On the contrary, it simply seems that way. Some of the herbs involved in keeping it fresh tend to have that side effect." The slight sarcasm that seemed to come as an extra with Snape was back. "Now, Potter, how is your head?"

"You're calling me Potter again."

Snape blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I thought you called me Harry a few minutes ago." Harry blinked fast. The walls were slowing down, and he was trying to fix each one in place.

"Yes, I believed it would put you at your ease." Exasperated. "You look quite addlepated, Potter. Blinking will not help clear your head. Just sit for a moment."

Harry sat.

A few moments passed. Snape seemed to have lost interest as their conversation died, and was now sitting at his desk, looking through papers. Harry got to his feet uncertainly, the second he was sure he wouldn't just fall down again, and looked at the teacher.

"Sir?"

Snape looked up, somehow conveying impatience and disgust in one look. Harry wished he could do that. "Um, what about my potion?"

"I thought we had made that clear. You will receive a zero for that assignment, and you will join me for detention for the next four Fridays. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now get our of my sight. I have better things to do." This last was almost a hiss, and Harry nodded, turned on his heel, and strode away.

Snape sat at his desk, his eyes focused on a cabinet on the far wall. One that he'd been certain he'd shut and locked, and now hung open. He got to his feet and strode over to the cupboard quickly, flinging the door open, and fixing his eyes on the Pensive. It was lying a good foot away from where he'd placed it the night before.

Potter.

The last memory he'd put into the basin was…he couldn't remember. Frowning, he swirled the contents, searching…

……..

ya, Snape's going to be mad. Any advice on what he should do? You like? I live for your approval…