Author's Note: Hello guys! Hope you all had a very Harry – I mean, Merry Christmas! :D I'm so, so sorry that I haven't posted a new chap in the last few days; Christmas, and of course, being me, I had to fall on the snow and bruise the inside of my fingers, so it hurts badly to type. xD Anyway.. I am just in shock at how many people are adding this to their story-alerts. Seriously, you guys have no idea how happy this has made me. XD It's made my Christmas. I got a really awesome review from emcee31 who said I should re-write the whole series based on this idea. I had actually been planning this and was going to bring it up sometime after I posted the next chapter, but now's a good as a time as any. I would absolutely love to do all seven books, but I have a question for you guys; does anyone know if there's a limit to the number of chapters that can be posted for one story? I have a feeling this would be well over 100, and I definitely would like to keep it all in one story as opposed to making seven different ones. So thank you so much to emcee31! ^^

Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own. : D

Chapter Three:

"Insight"

Harry was in trouble.

As he followed behind Professor McGonagall, struggling to keep up, he felt a huge surge of disappointment in himself. They had been in their first flying lesson. Neville, having lost control of his broom, suffered a broken wrist and had to be escorted to the Infirmary. Hooch had commanded the class all remained on the ground, to wait until she returned from taking Neville to the Hospital Wing, before they would be allowed to fly.

Harry had disobeyed.

Of course, it hadn't been a completely intentional task that he'd set out to do; Malfoy had picked up Neville's Rememberall, intent on hiding it from the other boy. Harry had gotten annoyed, and demanded for Draco to hand it over, but when the blonde refused, and instead soared into the air on his broomstick, mocking Harry to come and get it, he'd mounted his broom, flown up after the little Slytherin, and demanded he handed the ball over again. When Malfoy instead tossed it as far as his arm could expand, Harry set off after it, inexperienced and slightly uneasy on the broom, but he'd managed to retrieve the ball, and that was when McGonagall came out, her lips pressed into a thin line as she called out for him to follow her.

They reached the end of a corridor, and Harry's stomach plummeted as he heard Quirrell giving a lecture from the open classroom door. Great, do I have to deal with him? He wondered, the thought making him light-headed. McGonagall stopped suddenly, nearly causing Harry to run into her and gave him a brisk, "You wait here," before she headed inside the classroom, stopping in the doorway.

"Professor Quirrell, please excuse me," She intoned hurriedly, "Can I borrow Wood for a moment, please?"

Wood? Harry thought, eyes widening in fear. Is that a type of cane she's gonna beat me with..?

Quirrell frowned, but nodded. "Why y-yes, of c-course."

Wood, it turned out, was not an object, but a student. He looked quizzically for a moment at Harry before he turned his attention to the woman. "Potter, this is Oliver Wood," She informed Harry, and Wood gave him a small smile that Harry returned nervously. "Wood," And Harry's mouth nearly fell open as McGonagall smiled, turning to stare proudly at Harry, "I have found you a Seeker."

A what? Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"It's one of the positions of the game Quidditch," Wood told him politely, noticing Harry's puzzlement. "Usually, First Years never make the House teams. Congratulations, Potter." He reached out to shake Harry's hand which Harry eagerly returned.

McGonagall sighed contentedly. "Perhaps now we will have a chance at beating Slytherin this year." She grimaced. "Every year for the longest time, we have lost to them. We just could not find a Seeker talented enough to win the game, and then we had no Seeker at all, the students were just not confident enough." She surveyed Harry, and smiled again. "But now with you, Potter, we have a much higher chance of winning this time."

"Higher chance of winning what, Minerva, may I ask?" A drawl bored out from behind Harry. Directly from behind him. The person's body weight was almost pressing up against him. Harry looked up, craning his head to see Snape towering over him. As Harry looked up at him, the man lowered his gaze to him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his eyes averted back to the Gryffindor Head of House.

McGonagall turned, lips in a thin line. "Severus," She replied in a clipped voice, "How nice to see you." It didn't sound like it was.

Snape inclined his head. "As it is you."

McGonagall's eyes flashed, and she crossed her arms, giving Snape an unsettling smile. "A higher chance of winning the next game of Quidditch, to answer your question. I have just appointed a new Seeker. Harry Potter, as it is."

Harry watched Snape carefully. The man's eyes narrowed, and he looked down at the child again, and for the first time, Harry shivered at the clear dislike on the man's face.

"Well," Said Snape silkily, his eyes still upon Harry, "I do hope you will be getting Mr. Potter set up and trained before the match arrives. It would not do to have him be unprepared before his arrogance reaches its peak."

And then he stormed away, leaving Harry angry and confused on why he was acting so mean.

Telling Ron and Hermione that he was now Gryffindor's Seeker would have been the best news to tell them, had it not been for Snape's little remark. Instead of being excited, Harry was upset and angry, not understanding Snape's sudden change in behavior towards him.

He doesn't like me anymore, Harry realized. He hates me now because I asked about Mum...

He had not spoken to Snape since then; it had been nearly a month since the Professor had kicked Harry out of his classroom, and not once since then did Snape seem to have any intent of talking to Harry, about that night, or anything at all, in fact.

These past few Potions lessons had been uncomfortable. Harry was still doing rather well, but he had lost some of his drive, and Snape didn't seem to want to encourage him at all. He made no comments when Harry would bring up his finished potion at the end of each lesson, and he made no eye contact when Harry attempted to make it, and he most definitely did not return the forced small smiles Harry gave to him when the boy attempted to rectify things with the teacher.

It seemed Snape wanted no more at all to do with him, and this hurt Harry greatly, as he had grown to admire the Potions Master, and felt that Snape had liked him, only to discover he now despised him.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but Harry blinked them away as he pretended to take interest in his friends' elated conversation.

" – It's in his blood, you know. James Potter was also a Seeker..."

The name brought Harry out of his revere. "My Dad?" He asked Hermione, shocked.

The girl frowned at him. "Yes, Harry. Didn't you know..?"

"No," Harry blinked. "I don't know anything at all about my parents.."

There was a moment of silence, in which Harry regretted giving that information before Hermione grabbed his sleeve, and smiled. "Then I've got something to show you. Come on!" She dragged him along into the castle, Ron following after, and they didn't stop until they reached a glass cabinet that Hermione pointed to as she finally released Harry.

Harry gaped at the small badge encased within the large glass, which held his father's name. James Potter. SEEKER. Harry smiled, pride surging through his veins. His dad was a Seeker too! He turned to his friends, grinning. "Oh, thank you, Hermione," He addressed the girl, who was looking immensely proud of herself.

She smiled in response. Together, the trio made their way back up to the Common Room to get started on their weekend homework. Harry, still feeling delighted that his father had been a Seeker, too, said breathlessly, "My dad... a Seeker. Lucky Hermione found that, otherwise I would never have known..."

Ron shook his head. "It's so spooky, Harry. She knows more about you than you do!"

Harry just shrugged. "Who doesn't?"

The staircase moved suddenly, causing the three children to yelp in surprise. "What's going on?" Demanded Ron, who had gone slightly white. Hermione sighed in exasperation.

"Did you honestly forget, the staircases change on their own!"

Ron's ears went red. "I knew that!" He snapped. "I just didn't think it'd be on one we were riding on!"

They stopped. The trio sighed in relief, and Harry wasted no time in climbing up the rest of the stairs. "Let's go up here."

"But Harry, this isn't our common room!" Hermione protested.

Ron pushed past her. "Who cares, let's just get off this thing before it moves again. Unless you just want to stay."

Hermione groaned, but she too, followed suit. "You two have your heads on backwards. We were supposed to be going back to the common room.."

Neither of them said anything. Harry opened the huge door that they had been lead to and it creaked loudly as it opened. Immediately upon entrance, Harry shivered; the room was dark, vast, and empty. It was also cold, and Ron, as he stood beside Harry, embraced himself.

"Does anyone feel like... like we're not supposed to be here?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course we're not supposed to be here! Were you listening to anything Dumbledore said at the Sorting feast? This is the Third floor, it's forbidden to students!"

Suddenly, a flame shot up in a completely dead candle, illuminating the room. Freaked, Harry backed away. "L-lets go.."

"Meow."

They turned; a cat was sitting in the middle of the doorway, blocking their exit. "It's Filch's cat!" Hermione squeaked.

"Run," Harry told them, and they took off running deeper into the room. He spotted a door ahead, and gestured to Ron and Hermione. "Quick, let's hide through that door!"

When they reached it, Harry pulled on the handle, and when it didn't open tried a bit more forcefully, but it would not budge. "It's locked!" He said angrily.

"We're done for!" Ron panicked, looking around wildly.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snapped, pushing Harry away from the door, pulling out her wand. He glared at her. "Alohomora!" She cast, and the door obediently opened. At once, the two boys followed, and she closed it behind them.

"'Alohomora'?" Ron questioned, frowning at her.

She looked as if she had met someone who didn't know what even a book was. "Honestly, Ronald... Standard Book Of Spells, Chapter Seven. Did you neglect to even skim through your books?"

"You sound like one of the teachers," Ron snapped irritably.

But Harry was not paying any attention to their quarreling; his eyes were wide as he surveyed a huge three-headed dog asleep directly above them. "G-guys.." His voice went up a pitch.

" – Well, either way, Filch is gone."

"Probably thinks this door was locked." Said Ron still sounding annoyed.

"It was locked." Hermione corrected. Ron glared at her.

"And for good reason..." Harry said, having found his voice again.

The dog raised its three heads, then, and as one yawned, another opened its yellow eyes, finding them and letting out a growl. The other two followed suit, soon towering menacingly over them.

They screamed, and ran back out the door they had came, but the dog was trying to fit its large heads through, and with much effort and yelling, the trio managed to lock the door back up, all keeping their own heads attached.

"What the hell do they think they're doing?" Ron shouted as soon as they were safely away and going up the staircase that separated the boys and girls' dorms. "Keeping something like that, locked up in a school!"

"You don't use your eyes, do you?" Hermione panted. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

Ron looked at her incredulously. "I wasn't looking at its feet! Was a bit preoccupied with its heads! Three, Hermione! Or did you notice?"

"It was standing on a trap door," Hermione said waspishly, "So it wasn't there by accident. It's guarding something."

Now Harry turned to her, frowning deeply. "Guarding something...?"

"Yes," She huffed, as she stopped just outside the door that lead to the girls' dorms. "It only makes sense. Now, I'm off to bed, if you two don't mind," She glared at them. "Before either of you come up with yet another clever idea to get us killed. Or worse, expelled.."

And she was gone with a swish of her robes and the slamming of the door.

Severus couldn't concentrate. His grading wasn't getting ticking clock was annoying him, and after casting a silent "Silencio!" on it, he still could not bring himself to focus. He growled.

His mind was on Potter, and simply Potter. He grit his teeth. Only that boy could bring him to this restless state, and he damned the boy for it. The brat had to go and become Seeker, exactly as his bastard father had done. The path was chosen; Harry Potter was on the road to becoming more and more like James Potter, now, once he got a taste of that fame, once he got even a small grasp of that power, the power that made him think he could do whatever he wanted and not get into trouble for it, the power to have everyone pamper to his every whim.

He had not wanted this.

He had never wanted to meet the boy in the first place, but when he had, he had found that Harry was simply not at all like James Potter. He was polite, kind, and loyal, just as Lily had been. He was innocent, as she had been, just as courageous.

But now...

Now the boy was Gryffindor's Seeker, the same as James. Soon the boy would get arrogant, loving the attention that came with the game, the glory of winning, and it would change him. Change him into something Severus had been adamant to believe Harry had always been but had been greatly mistaken about – he would change into James Potter.

He cursed as realized he had given a P to a perfectly well done essay. Potter. All that was on his brain was fucking Potter! He tossed his quill across the room with a loud grunt of fury, his head in his hands. Harry's innocent smile, the kindness that was in his eyes, the love that was within that little boy's heart had made Severus feel as if he almost had Lily back. Almost.

He still looked exactly like James Potter, and that often made it hard; so he'd focused on the boy's eyes, Lily's eyes, and forgot the child's appearance. But there was no overlooking it. The boy was the spitting image of his father.

I trust you with the promise that we made back then, that you will still protect Harry even if he becomes more like him, from all that might harm him.

Dumbledore's words came back to him. There was no doubt that he would still protect the boy, no matter if he had James' traits or not. But he could deny an intense anger, a hatred, at having to do it. It was all for Lily. He remembered that. Over the past month, he had had a different mind set, that it was not just for Lily, but for Harry as well. Along the way, he had become attached to the boy, even though he knew the consequences; even though he knew that he would come to regret it.

And so he had. He wished he could block out that sweet smile the boy had given him, erase those first few days that he had seen something in the little boy that had made him so eager to see more of him, his talents, his hopes, his dreams, his every wish; his happiness, his fears, all that the child yearned for, all that he was.

Because this was just too painful.

Even now, he could not deny that Lily still lived within the boy. But it was easier, far easier, to pretend. Pretend that there was no trace of the woman he loved, no recognition at all that the boy was in fact, Lily's son. He had to forget, forget any sort of bond he and the child might have formed. It would cause nothing but pain, reopen too many open wounds, and make them worse.

Lily. James. Their son. The son of the woman he loved and the man he hated. The green eyes of the girl he craved in the face of the boy who made his life a living hell. His own, personal hell. Forever cast with their child. Forever stuck with the pain.

All he could do now was to make his hell a little less miserable, and that was forget the boy even existed. Protect him, yes, because that was his vow to not only Dumbledore, but to Lily as well, but to forget him. Swallow up all the hatred he had of James and shovel it all upon the boy, his own foolproof revenge. Hate the boy with all he had, and he could bear this hell.

No doubt the child would come to hate him as well. It was just easier this way. If they hated each other, then they could not hurt one another, and Severus knew that in the end, he would hurt the boy, no matter what he became. And that thought alone would make him push Harry away.

It was the only thing he could do for Lily's son.