Author's Note: This chapter got rewritten at least five times in various parts. Only Ginny's scene survived relatively the same as the original draft. It is also my attempt to set up a slightly different Snape using only the parts that have been revealed as occurring before this point in the time line. That means that flash back scenes that occur before the summer after the second year of Harry's time at Hogwarts are considered for the purpose of characterizing Snape for this story but not any other events occurring in books three and up. Keep this in mind when reading the Snape scene that follows.

This chapter was updated with a revision on July 30, 2018,


Chapter One

The school year was over, and after a bit of clean up of his quarters, Professor Severus Snape intended on heading home to Spinner's End for the Summer. Tonight, though, he intended on spending a quiet evening working through the frustrations that the year had brought. There were times when he wished he was the type to get roaring mad and destructive when he was drunk. Unfortunately he was a quiet and introspective drunk. Or perhaps fortunate, as he'd seen what an angry drunk looked like with his father.

This would be the second year in a row where Severus intended to spent the night after the departure of the students getting drunk. In fact, it was only the third such time after school's end he'd gotten drunk at Hogwarts, and fourth time he'd done so as a Hogwarts Professor.

The first time had been his second year teaching at Hogwarts, and first year as Head of Slytherin. He had never had such dunderheads as the fifth year that year. It had taken three years for the elves to repair the results of Edwin Handel's claimed to be unintended fireworks. It had not only ruined Potions Lab Five, but it had resulted in the collapse of the Ancient Runes classroom into the said lab less than an hour later. Two house elves had died. How he made it to the end of the year without strangling Handel and his inconsiderate, bungling, Gryffindor classmates, he was sure he'd never know.

Edwin Handel was why Severus would never let anyone less than those with an Outstanding OWL in his NEWT class. Given that boy's talent, Severus figured that he would have blown up Hogwarts within a week of starting in NEWT Potions. The trail of potions disasters that the boy had left behind him was truly epic, and Severus was not surprised that two years after leaving Hogwarts, Handel had blown himself up, brewing a first year potion.

The next time Severus had gotten drunk at Hogwarts, had been two days before Harry Potter arrived at Hogwarts, after Dumbledore had informed him of the plan to defeat the shade of the Dark Lord. He had actually been looking forward to Harry Potter's arrival at Hogwarts. He'd only seen him three times, twice when he was still a baby, and once at a distance when Hagrid had brought him shopping.

He'd intended on introducing himself, much like Quirrell had, but he'd been distracted by his god son, Draco, and he'd disappeared by the time he'd looked up again. True, Harry did look a lot like his father, but there was no denying his mother's eyes. There were many times when Severus had to cover his staring at those eyes with a ridiculous point reduction, which he'd quietly reverse later. It was the eyes that always got to him, with Lily and her son.

With Harry it triggered memories, memories that Severus could ill afford, not with the tasks that Dumbledore had given him. He could not be seen as favoring Harry Potter. He had to keep up the relationships with the Death Eaters who he had rightly betrayed. Everything had to show that he hated Potter. If it was not for his vow not to get drunk more than a couple times a year, and always were he would not encounter anyone else while drunk, Severus would have been known as the Drunken Professor by the end of Potter's first year.

The boy had a knack for being in the wrong place when trouble happened. Or perhaps it was the right place.

Severus wished he'd paid more attention to Potter during the first year. He had been late to start the counter curse on the broom, and if he ever found out who set fire to his robes ... well he was a bit undecided about that, because the commotion did end the curse on Potter's broom. At times he wanted them cleaning out caldrons without gloves. Other times, times which he wouldn't publically admit to his house, he considered taking the unusual step of thanking the student. He'd tried to narrow it down once, and pretty much eliminated everyone.

He knew he wasn't trusted by the students in Gryffindor, and there was a long litany of reasons why. He'd never regretted it until he saw Harry Potter laying in the hospital wing after his confrontation with Voldemort his first year. Some how in the late night light of the wing, with the moon casting it's light through the window, he saw not James Potter, the image which he'd been re-enforcing in his mind since his sorting, but Lily.

He'd ended up sharing a good scotch with McGonagall, even after ten years as a colleague, he still couldn't call her by her first name, after the students had left. Then there had been the tot of rum with Flitwick, which lead to another glass of her green house blend with Pomona. He'd ended up in his quarters drinking a case of fire whiskey that he'd confiscated from one of his Seventh Years on the last Hogsmeade weekend.

As a potion master, he hadn't had to worry about the hangover the next morning.

Severus had just tossed his second bottle into the fire, when the Headmaster knocked on the door.

"Really, Severus, this drinking the night after term can not be good for you," Dumbledore said as he strode through the door.

"You forced me to play this role," Severus said. "You will at least allow me to drown my sorrows, to regret the role I can not play in Lily's son's life, the night I can drop that role for the year."

Dumbledore nodded, with that annoying twinkle in his eyes. Severus knew what that meant. There was a new plot afoot, and somehow, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had a role that he needed Serervus to play. With twenty-two ounces of fire whiskey in him, Severus could not bring himself to care. At least until Dumbledore placed Harry Potter's medical record in front of him.

"Madam Pomfrey says that both Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley need treatment from a mind healer."

Severus took up the record and began to read it. His third fire whiskey disappeared by the time he was done.

"I have a way to fix this, Severus, but I need your help."


Ginny Weasley was afraid to fall asleep. Every time she did, she had a nightmare about the chamber. She would see Harry Potter die. Her body would be frozen, with her eyes open, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to even cry tears for what was happening before her.

Since Harry had rescued her, her dreams had been filled with images of Harry failing to rescue her. She'd dreamed him being swallowed by the basilisk. She'd dreamed that he'd died in the collapse of the cavern. She'd dreamed that Lockhart's spell had killed him. She'd dreamed that he'd been crushed by the basilisk. She'd dreamed that he was drowned in the chamber. Every time she'd hear Tom Riddle's evil laugh, announcing that the Boy-Who-Lived was dead, and so was she.

So, she was spending this, the first night home from her first year at Hogwarts counting flowers on her wall. The flowers swaying in the breeze usually helped her fall asleep, but not tonight. Tonight she didn't want to, and her fear kept her staring at the flowers, and it looked like she was going to make it to dawn.

On the floor was a deck of muggle cards. She'd tried playing solitaire until she discovered that she was playing with a deck of fifty-one, being short an Ace of Diamonds. There was the stuffed kangaroo watching her from the light fixture. Hugging Captain hadn't helped, and she'd thrown him up there.

She didn't want her parents to know, but she was sure they'd find out her condition. They'd find out and she'd have to admit just how stupid she had been. If it wasn't for Harry Potter, she'd be dead.

She punched her pillow. You would think that if you were rescued by a hero, you would at least get to dream about riding into the sunset with him on a white steed. Maybe some people did, but not Ginny Weasley. No, Ginny got to watch Harry Potter die over and over again, knowing that it was her bloody fault.


"Get up!" his Aunt Petunia's voice protruded on Harry Potter's sleep. He reached over and snared his glasses. It was still barely light in the room. Since the Dursley's didn't want anyone to see his freakishness, the blind over the window actually did a good job in keeping the light out, so it wasn't easy to judge the time, until he settled his glasses on his nose. It matched every other blind on the second floor.

Harry groaned as he managed to pick out the time on his alarm clock. He'd fixed it last year, but it seemed that he hadn't remembered to see the alarm last night. It was half past five in the morning. Every other boy in his dorm had told him of the bliss of sleeping in during the summer. For Harry, getting up in time for breakfast at Hogwarts was sleeping in.

"Get up!" Aunt Petunia said once again.

"Coming, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, rolling out of bed. It was stifling in the room with the blinds drawn over the closed window. There was no circulation in the room at all. He slid one of Dudley's really old and thin T-shirts over his head, and pulled up the ratty jeans. An old pair of sneakers, and he was out the door.

"About time," Petunia remarked, as Harry opened the door. "Vernon just started his shower, and breakfast must be ready so he can get to work on time. After he leaves, you'll be expected to weed the flower beds, trim the hedge, and mow the front and back garden."

"Yes Aunt Petunia," Harry said. Those tasks would take all day, if he preformed them like they should be, and he dared not to. He had a feeling that he was going to be completely spent at the end of the day.

"And when Vernon gets home from work, you're to wash the BMW," Petunia continued. He could hear the words of the weather forecaster behind her. It was going to be a very hot day, apparently.

Scratch that, by the time his day ended, Harry figured that he wouldn't just be spent, he'd be burnt out, only a cinder of what he was now.