Oh wow, I did not expect to finish this chapter so quickly. I really owe it to Snape; Rowling described him as a "gift of a character" and I must confess he is fascinating—if challenging—to write. On that note, there is a bit of a POV change here; it is one of the key differences I'm aiming at from the style of the books. I really feel that it would be worthless to tell this story focusing solely on Harry, as that's been done in the main series already. Although my Harry will grow in a different manner from the canon Harry, he is still a well known character. Unlike Rowling, I don't have the benefit of using vagueness on characters like Snape, as you already know where his initial loyalties lie. So, I'd like to explore his character—and the character of others in the series—a little more freely than Rowling ever really did. Besides, it's fanfiction.
To Pigfarts-It's On Mars, I'd first like to ask: What do you want with a rocket ship? What business do you have on Mars? But in all sincerity, thank you very much for your kind words and observations! This chapter might leave you with a bit more guessing about Rose, but it'll be a few more before you know for sure what her role in all of this is.
To Cyiusblack: Well, I hope this was fast enough!
And now that I've bored you lot to death, Enjoy!
When he caught Harry Potter's eye, the world came crashing down around him.
He saw in those emerald green eyes the same light he had seen in that girl in the park, all those years ago. The student in the halls of Hogwarts. The blushing bride on the water-warped invitation.
Everything could have been different-with a word. A single word that tore Lily Evans away from him.
His Lily.
If only he hadn't been Slytherin-if only she hadn't been Gryffindor! What would life had been like, if she—
Oh, no, with James Potter about, Lily Evans would never have loved someone like him back.
But if Potter had never come to Hogwarts-Had never been born! What then?
He could see it, yes, the vision came to him again! The little girl dancing up the stepping-stone path, long red hair fanned out behind her, up to the steps of the cottage, where Lily-his Lily!-had eyes for him, him alone—
And with a jolt the vision cut off, and here he was, staring into the eyes of Harry, Harry Potter.
Severus Snape tore his gaze away, back to the pale contour of the stammering Professor Quirrel. This would be a long year at Hogwarts, he knew. His eyes rested on the purple turban, a bored resignation settling over him. The foul stench of old garlic cloves and something else—metal? rust?—was seeping from the fool as he yammered on beside him. Snape hadn't a clue what Quirrel was going on about. The stench was enough to make the Potions Master's head throb-or was that the vision, still? He downed his glass of pumpkin juice angrily, slamming it into the table with such force Quirrel jumped nearly a foot into the air, upturning his plate and spilling gravy down the front of Snape's black robes.
The Potions Master sneered in disgust, but merely waved his hand and banished the whole mess back to the kitchens. Quirrel jumped again, as though the magic were unexpected, and stammered out apologies that Snape ignored. He hated the man, both for his irritable mannerisms and for holding the class he'd rather teach-Defense Against the Dark Arts. The fool could barely stammer out a coherent sentence, let alone teach the students to defend themselves.
His head throbbed again-like a plea to look back into that dammed boy's beautiful eyes. No, he wouldn't look, for looking would be like staring into the face of his failure. Just as he could see her in the child, Snape also found him... Potter. The man who had taken everything from Snape. Snape would not taunt himself by looking back to the messy black hair, the round-rimmed glasses. He had lived eleven years waiting, waiting for Lilly's son, and he would not let Potter's genes ruin it. Besides, he had more important things to worry about.
Like how Lily's son had ended up in Slytherin, for example.
Five days later found Snape in his office. He had taken an early breakfast, and had returned to his office to read a letter from an old student regarding a suspicious sounding potion. Truthfully, Snape was dawdling. He rather despised teaching first-years, who couldn't tell the difference between stirring clockwise and counterclockwise.
A knock on the door disrupted his review of the supposed effects of the potion. Snape sighed and set the letter down. He waved his hand, and the door to his office opened.
Professor McGonagall stormed in, dragging a first-year girl by the wrist. Snape raised an eyebrow as he recognized the Slytherin tie around her neck, but she had her face hidden in her free arm. "Can I help you, Minerva?" the Potions Master asked, looking back up to his colleague. She had her most furious expression on, and if he didn't know better Snape would almost have called her hair askew.
"Your protégé, Severus," she snapped. Snape waited for her to continue, though she expected him to have understood. McGonagall sighed. "Davis!" she snapped, pulling the girl forward. "Show him your face!" She tried to pull the arm away, but the girl pushed her away.
Snape sighed and stepped around the desk. He was not so gentle as McGonagall; he grabbed the girl and tilted her head up, pulling the arm away forcefully. Much to his disgust, Tracy Davis, a first year, looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Her face was covered with boils.
Brilliant. A wonderful way to begin the year, dealing with boils. Snape pushed the girl into his desk chair and walked out into the hallway, pulling out his want. "Accio," he muttered, and a door fifty feet down slammed open, allowing for a vial of pale pink liquid to speed to his hand.
"Severus, this can't go on!" McGonagall insisted as he returned to the office. Snape ignored her and uncorked the vial, thrusting it towards the frightened first-year, who blanched.
"Drink this," he ordered. "Now." Once he was sure the girl had taken it all, he turned back to the furious Gryffindor Head. "Where did you find her?"
"I was passing the Hospital Wing. Poppy didn't have any of the potion on hand," McGonagall explained. "Severus, you know who did this."
Snape raised an eyebrow, sweeping back around his desk. "Unless you are suggesting that I hexed the girl, Minerva," he drawled, "No, I am afraid I don't."
"Don't play dumb with me!"
A pair of students passed by the door, and Snape realized he hadn't shut the potions' storage room. He waved his hand and heard it slam shut, followed shortly by the squeals as the students jumped away. Snape looked down at Davis, whose boils were beginning to recede, and back to McGonagall. "Make your point, Minerva."
The Professor slammed her hands on the desk, upsetting the Potions Master's tea. "LaConner, Severus!" she shouted. "Has Dumbledore not made it expressly clear that you are to keep him in control?"
Snape sighed. "Davis," he asked the frightened girl. "Who hexed you?" She shook her head, looking more and more like she wanted to disappear into the seat.
"I don't know, sir," she choked out. Snape turned back to McGonagall.
"There you have it, Minerva. None the less—" he continued before she could insist otherwise, "None the less I will have a word with Mr. LaConner, if that would ease your agitation."
McGonagall straightened up, glaring at Snape. "If you don't, Professor," she snapped, "I'm sure Dumbledore would just love an explanation of why you suddenly can't handle your own students." She spun around, intending to leave, but caught sight of the frightened first year. "For God's sake, Davis, stop your blubbering!" The door slammed behind the professor, leaving Snape staring at it blankly.
After a long minute, he sighed. Adrian LaConner was the last person he wanted to deal with before teaching first years. Besides, it wasn't like Dumbledore would fire him if he didn't control his students. It was only to humor the old man that he'd even accepted the role of Slytherin House Head. Still, an angry McGonagall was almost as frightening as the thought of the angry letters that would come in if the parents heard about his Head Boy cursing the younger students. He stood and made for the Great Hall, leaving Tracy Davis in his office without a word.
Snape entered the dining hall in the height of breakfast. It was loud and crowded—exactly why he hated it. There was nothing worse than facing the swarms of idiot children this early in the morning. By dinner the Professor usually had enough energy to cast a quieting spell, but when he skipped out on dining in the main hall Dumbledore always had some other reason to call him into his office and just happened to notice his absence at the dinner table—and what sort of example was that setting for his students? Annoyed, the Potions Master scanned his house table for the biggest pain his house had ever produced.
Adrian LaConner wasn't a typical Slytherin. There were the usual requirements to being in the house of Salazar, sure—cunning, clever, and cruel, LaConner appeared the epitome of a Slytherin. Yet he didn't fall in the usual categories that fell into the house. He wasn't obsessed with blood status, for one—considering he had no clue who his father was, that was no surprise. He wasn't among the haughty, rich Slytherin elite, not by way of his mother's family being poor—they were, in fact, quite well off—or the lonely, unaccepted orphans of the war.
No, maybe it was more appropriate to say that Adrian LaConner wasn't a typical student at Hogwarts. After all, his cruelty wasn't based on any specific ideal.
Adrian LaConner was just cruel.
At last Snape caught sight of the boy, leaping over the table to settle in the seat next to another frightened first year girl. He saw the Carrow twins rushing out of the hall, and when he looked back the Head Boy had his arm around the girl. Snape sighed and stalked over, not at all pleased.
"LaConner," he growled as he approached the table. The boy perked up, an almost pleased expression rising into his face. "I swear I spotted someone climbing over the table a minute ago. That wouldn't have been you, would it?" The first years seated across from Adrian—and beside Rose—turned around.
Of course it was Potter. It just had to be Potter.
The Head Boy grinned. "Of course not, Professor! Why on earth would I do something like that?" Snape was about ready to strangle him, but Adrian quickly changed subject. "On a different note, the Carrows are taking Rose's things again."
Snape narrowed his eyes and looked down at Rose, who was glaring at Adrian. This irritated Snape even further—if Adrian hadn't brought it up, she probably would have never mentioned it. He wasn't sure which annoyed him more, that he wouldn't have heard of it or that he had. He took a deep breath, trying to reign in his temper. "Oh?"
Adrian grinned and snatched something from the table beside Rose. "And of all things," he continued on gleefully, "They took this, this time!"
Rose grabbed the object back, but not quickly enough. Snape had seen what it was: a silver headband, precisely the one LaConner and himself had given her for Christmas the year before. "Adrian!" Rose snapped, probably too embarrassed to face the Professor. "No look here, she just thought it was Marjan's! You know Marjan lets the twins borrow anything!"
Snape's eyebrow shot up: he would have thought Adrian's gift of making excuses would have rubbed off on her by now, but apparently not. "I'm sure Miss Hawthorne can take care of herself, LaConner. As for misconduct," he continued quickly, not letting Adrian cut in, I'm sure you wouldn't have anything to do with Tracey Davis showing up in the Hospital Wing either. As it were, there seems to be some seeds of doubt forming among the other professors, and I'll have you come with me." Snape had learned not to give anyone a chance to protest when he spoke; it would only drag out the conversation. "You too, Miss Hawthorne."
Though he meant to turn and walk out of the infernal hall as quickly as he had come, something made Snape glance down at the Potter boy, his bright green eyes gazing up at him—
—the laughing girl, dancing around to show Lily her new Hogwarts robes, Lily's smile—
The house head grimaced and tore his gaze from Lily's eyes. What a cruel world, to put those eyes on that dismal face. Snape's head throbbed as he stormed from the hall, the sound of laughter echoing all around him. He rushed towards the dungeons, anxious for a calming draught to ease his nerves.
The unfortunate first year was still in his office, the boils on her face nearly gone. "Out!" Snape snarled, storming around to pull open the drawer to his desk. He dug through the pile of papers until he found a small vial containing a blue-tinted liquid. Snape glared at it—there was barely a few drops left, less than he put in his tea when he had to deal with homesick first years. The tea from earlier had by now soaked into the papers on his desk, so he tapped the liquid directly into his mouth—disgusting, considering its sickening sweetness—and squeezed the vial, crushing it into dust.
Rose and Adrian entered moments later. The boy flung himself into the chair his victim had abandoned just minutes earlier, while Rose inspected the mess on the desk. "You've made a terrible mess of these papers, Severus," she said calmly, drawing out her wand. "Tergeo."
Snape watched coolly as the tea seeped out of the page and rolled back into the cup, which the girl sat upright on his desk again. "Now why," he asked as the girl pulled back the other chair and sat daintily in it, "Would you not mind your manners as Miss Hawthorne does, LaConner?"
The boy feigned surprise. "But Professor!" he insisted, making his eyes as wide as he could. "I don't understand what you're talking about. Rose here has taught me all the proper manners, hasn't she? How to stand with good posture, how to sip tea—"
Rose rolled her eyes, apparently not caring for the ladylike role Adrian had assigned her. "As if you ever sip your tea, Adrian." Snape glared at her, and the pair shut up.
"Attacking first years in the halls, LaConner," Snape said, slowly enough to keep his voice at a reasonable volume. "Is not good manners."
Adrian snorted unpleasantly. "It's not my fault Davis didn't pay attention when Rose told the first years not to travel alone!"
"So you did do it!" Rose exclaimed. "Adrian!"
The head boy slumped back in his seat, a cross expression on his face. "Well who did you expect?" he muttered. "Pucey? Flint?"
Snape rubbed his temples. His head hadn't stopped throbbing since he looked into that damned boy's eyes—Lily's eyes. This was getting ridiculous. "Mr. LaConner," he began. "While you seem to think you stand above the rules, I'm sure Miss Hawthorne would be more than willing to explain just how wrong you are. As it were, it is not Miss Hawthorne who has to deal with your antics, but myself. Your expulsion from Hogwarts is the last thing you want for your future, Mr. LaConner, and I will not vouch for you any more this year. You are an adult, Mr. LaConner, and if your antics lead to anything that would result in charges being pressed, I will be among those testifying—against you. I'm sure Miss Hawthorne will be next in line behind me. Do I make myself clear?"
Adrian muttered something under his breath, then leapt from his chair as the teacup went flying towards him from the table. Snape glowered at the boy, but kept his voice level as he asked again.
"Do I make myself clear?"
The boy sat down again. "Yes, Professor."
Rose rolled he eyes, waving her want at the broken cup. "Reparo. Tergeo." She turned back to the desk, where once again she levitated the cup to. "You two are such boys," she muttered, replacing her wand.
"You're just such a girl."
"Is that supposed to be an insult, Adrian?"
Snape waved his hand, silencing them again. "As it were, Miss Hawthorne," he growled, "We have a matter to discuss as well."
"We do, sir?"
His irritation rose again and with a flick of his wand the headband was out of her book bag and on the desk. Rose flushed.
"Really, Severus," she insisted, "As you said, I can take care of myself."
"Clearly you cannot take care of your own things, if it were so easy for Miss Carrow to just pluck this away from you."
The girl's shoulders stiffened. "What would you have me do, Severus?" she demanded. "Keep it under lock and key?"
Snape sighed. He wasn't altogether sure what he expected the girl to have done. The headband spun around midair, where he had left it. It was a simple thing, really. Silver, like most of Rose's jewelry, and a small silver rose on one side. When she'd received it, she'd been almost as embarrassed as Snape, who had reluctantly added his name to the card at Adrian's insistence.
The school bells rang, disturbing his thought, and Snape stood. "I'm sure Mr. LaConner would be more than happy to show you a few protection wards." Adrian sat up straighter, and an interested expression crossed Rose's face.
"Are you suggesting I hex the girls, Severus?" she asked. "Not very Professor-like if you ask me."
Snape shook his head. "I said nothing of the sort, Miss Hawthorne," he said calmly. Apparently the draught was beginning to take effect. "Don't you have Herbology?" He handed her the headband.
The girl sighed and stood, calmly opening the door and walking away. Adrian stayed put, watching the Professor. "Do you have something to say, LaConner?" Snape asked. He had spoken too soon—his head throbbed again.
The head boy shrugged and stood. He was taller than Snape, and skinny yet formidable in appearance. "Not really," he said nonchalantly. "But I hope you didn't use the last of your boil curing potion on Davis, though I doubt the Carrows would come to you for help."
He slunk out of the room, leaving Snape shaking lividly from behind his desk.
"He's just like his father," Snape snapped, pacing about. "Never mind that he's in Slytherin. Arrogant, rude..."
"Are you sure, Severus, that these are not just the traits you with to see in the boy?" asked Dumbledore. Behind his spectacles, the old man's eyes twinkled. While for the rest of the staff the start of the year was one long day of hard work after the other, Dumbledore had a way of being even more full of energy. It was almost as though the headmaster found running the only Wizarding School in Britain less a job and more a game. "Sit down, Severus," he urged. "You're making me dizzy."
Snape scowled and flung himself into the chair Dumbledore had conjured for him, ignoring that he was beginning to act like Adrian had in his office earlier that day. He glared at the man, who seemed quite content to suck on a lemon drop while his Potions Master fumed.
"I take it, then," the old man said finally, studying Snape's expression, "That young Mr. Potter is not in fact a potions protégé?"
Snape's scowl deepened and he strummed his fingers on the arm of his chair in agitation. "Just tell me this," he demanded. "How did the famous Harry Potter, born champion those fighting the dark arts, end up in Slytherin house?"
Dumbledore smiled. "But you've already said it, Severus," he said cheerfully. "Those accepted into the house of Salazar Slytherin always share a few traits with the man, such as a certain disregard for the rules, yes?" But the man's face quickly turned serious. "However, this turn of events, shall we say… is certainly unexpected. What with his parent the proud Gryffindors they were, in all honestly I think most of us just assumed that's where the son would belong. No," he looked thoughtful. "I think it would, perhaps, be more correct to assume that young Mr. Potter received more than just a scar from Lord Voldemort—do you know what type of wand his is, Severus?"
"No."
Dumbledore stood and crossed the office, descending the stairs to the perch of a glorious orange and gold bird, preening itself daintily. It chirped as the old man rubbed its neck, reaching its head forward to gaze back into the headmaster's gaze. "Mr. Ollivander saw fit to send me a letter when Harry and Hagrid left the store. He found it most curious, most curious indeed that this particular wand would choose the boy. Eleven inches, holly, with a phoenix tail feather at its core." The headmaster returned to his seat. "Fawkes," he continued, nodding to the bird, "only ever gave two feathers, Severus, and the other remains in the wand of Lord Voldemort."
A chill went down Snape's spine and he straightened up slightly. "You mean to say," he hissed at last, "that sooner than later Lily Evan's son is going to be walking these halls cursing muggleborns? That Harry Potter is going to be preaching blood status?"
"I said nothing of the sort," corrected Dumbledore. "No, Severus, I merely mean to imply that when Lord Voldemort failed to kill young Harry he may have transferred to the child some of his powers—and power, as you know, is the one thing Salazar Slytherin valued most."
"You still believe the Dark Lord will return, then?" Snape asked. Dumbledore sighed; it was a topic they'd discussed many times before. "If he does, headmaster, if he does return and finds Harry Potter a Slytherin… what then?"
"What then indeed? But you of all people should know: just because the boy is in Slytherin doesn't mean there isn't goodness in his heart. Slytherins are wise, Severus. They are resourceful and clever, and when the occasion calls for it, they can be cunning and cruel. But they are also masters of self-preservation. How else would you have lasted this long, Severus? No, if anything young Mr. Potter has made your life easier."
"And how is that, headmaster?"
"He will face all the hatred of the families most affected by Lord Voldemort. He will learn what he is fighting against, and he will learn to protect himself. He will learn to think before he acts." Dumbledore sighed. Although he was telling Snape of the benefits of Slytherin, he had a troubled look on his face.
"You expect a child to be able to stand accountable for the whole of the war?" questioned Snape. "Even if he has his father's arrogance, do you really expect a boy to be able to face the results of such a complicated and dividing war?"
"No, no… let him be a child while he still can be," said Dumbledore. "And Professor, it is your job to make sure he can be."
Snape started. His job? "Headmaster I thought we had agreed long ago I would remain in the shadows—"
"Circumstances have changed, Severus." Dumbledore's voice was suddenly harsh. He was not the rambling old man from the welcoming feast, but rather the commanding presence of Hogwarts' master. "Mr. Potter has been placed in Slytherin House—not by any will of mine or yours, but by something neither of us could control. Now that he is there as head of Slytherin it is your duty to make sure the boy is raised properly." He glared down Snape's protests. "I'm sure you're well aware that Mr. Potter has been in the care of his aunt Petunia Dursley's family, and it has not left him the spoiled brat you expected."
Snape shook his head. "I will not be Potter's caretaker, headmaster," he said coolly. His voice, though never raised, had a definitive edge to it. "And if that is a problem then you'd best find yourselves a new head of Slytherin." With that, he stood and swept out of the office, not allowing for another word on the matter.
Severus Snape liked to think himself a controlled man. He rarely raised his voice, even when seething with anger, nor did he seek to discuss the trivial matters of day-to-day life in a dramatic fashion. Rather, he kept calm and quiet, showing only enough anger to make his point perfectly clear to the poor fool who had annoyed him. It was not like him to fling teacups or shatter vials. He was not known for storming out of the great hall or shouting at first years.
It had been a very bad morning. The Potions Master stood over a cauldron in the seventh-year laboratory, stirring with an unprofessional vigor that splashed the silver liquid up the sides, singing a hole in his cloak where it landed.
Potter. Since that boy had arrived at Hogwarts, Snape had yet to regain his cool. Since that first night in the Great Hall, the nagging thought at the back of his mind had been growing, like a thorn in his side or a rock in his shoe it lingered in the background. Since Snape first laid eyes on the boy, walking so meekly up to the Sorting Hat, he had seen the Potter in him; the bold James Potter that didn't know how cruel he was. It was in his hair, his face, his glasses—
But the eyes. Lily's eyes.
…walking down the streets of Muggle London, late in the evening. Lily liked to find little escapes, places where no one would recognize them. Where would they dine tonight? Would they sip fine wine and laugh as they told stories about their days? Would they find comfort in the intimacy of their shared gifts, delighting each other with little pieces of magic when there was no one looking? They had time, so much time, just the two of them…
Snape gasped and leaned over the cauldron. "Oh, Lily," he whispered. What sort of world was he imagining, where nothing mattered but the two of them? She would have laughed at the foolishness of the thought, or told him off for avoiding the real matter at hand.
A tear slid down the man's cheek and rolled off, falling into the cauldron. For a moment, it hissed and slid into a dark swirl in the metallic sheen. It looked almost beautiful. The interlocking swirls turned, growing thinner and thinner—and then the darkness spread. A second later, the potion was black, a dark and watery substance that was useless to his cause.
Snape sighed and banished the mess, stepping back. He would have to try again tomorrow, for brewing a Calming Draught required the precise timing, the addition of ingredients at midnight and stirring for twenty minutes, and he had neither the ingredients nor the energy to start once more. With a wave of his hand the lights flickered out, and Severus Snape stepped out into the black hallway.