Hey hey! Thank you for stumbling upon my story and giving it a try. This is a Snape mentor fic which starts in the Goblet of Fire and follows (more or less) canon until the end of Deathly Hallows. I hope you'll enjoy the ride, and btw, favorites and reviews make me especially happy! 3
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"It's Potter's fault, Karkaroff," Snape drawled. His dark eyes reflected malice. "Dumbledore isn't to blame for Potter's continuous disregard of all rules and regulations ever presented to him. The boy's been at it since the day he first came here…"
"Thank you, Severus, that'd be enough," Dumbledore promptly stopped what seemed like the beginning of Snape's lecture on his favourite topic: What makes Harry Potter the source of all misfortune in the world? Voldemort has a rival not in strength only.
Harry hardly listened. He could hear muffled sounds, and he could see faces staring at him but everything was hazy. His breathing came in short gasps, anxiety pumping in his veins. This was not happening.
"Harry," Dumbledore's voice came from far away, but his face was right in front of Harry's, staring intently at him. His eyes lacked the usual twinkle and no smile occupied his mouth.
Harry blinked once in response, finding it unable to form words or make sounds. Some invisible force was crushing his throat, squeezing it tightly, and Harry was convinced that if he tried to say something, he'd choke to death.
"Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"
Everyone in the room was waiting for this question. The sudden silence was deafening and oddly ominous. Harry managed to swallow and then shook his head with vigour.
"N-no," he stuttered. The word tasted like lead on his tongue.
"Did you ask anyone, an older student perhaps, to do it for you?" Dumbledore pressed, but his voice was even. Calm, composed. In comparison, Harry's second "no," sounded shaky and pathetic.
"Of course he's lying," a woman's voice mumbled and judging by the strong French accent, it must have been Madame Maxime.
Some other doubtful remarks echoed in the room, but to Harry, it all sounded like buzzing. Did Hagrid get some Brazilian bees and let them go on a rampage inside the castle? Harry's been hearing the annoying sound for a while. And why was the room tilted sideways?
"If you allow me, Headmaster," a dark shadow loomed behind Dumbledore's back and a deep, silky voice silenced the murmur.
"I happen to have a vial of Veritaserum on me. We can quickly test the truthfulness of Potter's words and end this for good," Snape's expression was unreadable but Harry would have sworn he saw the man enjoying himself. His lips were twisted in an unsightly thin line.
Harry wasn't sure what Veritaserum was, but judging by the change of atmosphere, he wouldn't be surprised if it made his limbs fall off.
"The sooner the boy confesses, the sooner we can conduct the consequences," Karkaroff chipped in quickly, driven by the possibility of having two Durmstrang's champions compete in the tournament.
Other occupants of the room didn't object either and for a few long seconds, nobody spoke.
"You cannot be serious," McGonagall finally stepped forward when Dumbledore said nothing, "administrating Veritaserum to an underage student? Without the consent of his guardians or a proper trial? Albus, I will exhaust my power as Deputy Headmaster shall you agree with this suggestion."
Her stern eyes bore into Snape.
Harry felt the tiniest relief that at least someone was on his side. He didn't dare to say that if they had (by some miracle) contacted the Dursleys, they'd get whatever consent they wanted. The more dire the effects of the potion, the more eager would uncle Vernon be to comply.
"Harry has my full confidence, Severus," Dumbledore answered, one of his palms facing upwards.
"What do you suggest we do then? He cannot compete!" Karkaroff raged.
"Madame, is this small boy really a champion?" Fleur asked and Harry felt a sparkle of anger. Small boy? He immediately straightened up, forcing himself to maintain a neutral expression.
If he was to compete in the tournament, he should not appear so weak.
While the argument between the adults went on, (Snape spouting about Potter's juvenile rowdiness and McGonagall glaring daggers at him), Harry sized up the remaining contestants.
They all looked so… tall. The three-year difference was scarcely difficult to omit and Harry felt it strongly at that moment. The gap between him and other seven-year students was stretching into the distance.
Yet, it lifted Harry's spirit. He couldn't be moping around, all scared and awestruck when the others were deciding his fate.
He finally found his long-lost speech.
"It wasn't me," Harry stated confidently, despite how overdue his response was. It was a pity he got little attention from the arguing adults.
"Of course it wasn't."
Moody stormed – limped down the stairs, taking Harry's side as he did.
"The Goblet is a powerful and sacred artefact, fooling the restrictions placed on it far exceeds the capabilities of a fourth-year student," Moody growled.
"Potter always prided himself in being extraordinary."
Snape just wouldn't shut up, would he?
"What about suicidal, then?" Moody snapped back. "People die in the Triwizard Tournament, Snape. Maybe someone in here hopes Potter meets a similar ending."
With this, even the Potions Master seemed to lose words.
Serves him right, Harry thought smugly but his happiness was short-lived as the weight of Moody's words sunk in. He was right. Should Harry compete, he could die. His newly found confidence quickly deflated.
"Mr Potter has no choice," Crouch suddenly spoke up into the tense silence. His face was sickly pale. "The Goblet chose him and the magical binding contract has been formed. He must compete."
After that statement, the rest of the meeting passed swiftly. Karkaroff complained some more and Moody skillfully argued back. McGonagall reminded silent but the way she held herself – arms crossed on her chest – was a clear sign of how little she condoned the situation.
Snape retreated into the darkest corner of the room where he watched Harry from afar like a hawk watches its prey. At least, he dropped the subject of Veritaserum, Harry thought gratefully while squirming uncomfortably under his gaze.
Crouch explained the first task rather uninformatively, and then Dumbledore dismissed them.
Harry idly thought that the nightmarish day had come to end – and then he entered the common room.
OoOooOoOo
Estranged from his best friend while the whole school bullied him was another level of nightmare. Harry would rather live through that agonizing day of having his name chosen over and over again than deal with the events which came afterwards.
Dragons. Fucking dragons.
Was it even legal? Certainly not. It couldn't be, yet the ministry was serving them as a first task.
Actually, it's good to start strong, Harry morbidly thought in his moment of weakness shall I die at the first task, I don't have to do the rest of them.
Harry knew his low spirits weren't sourcing from the approaching threat of overgrown flying lizards, but the suffocating reality that nobody believed him. He sounded like a broken record when repeating the same two sentences for days. "No, Katie, I really didn't put my name into the Goblet. No, I don't know who did it."
It was fascinating how everyone was mad at him and blaming him for something he didn't do when Harry had the most right to be angry. Somebody was trying to kill him, and Harry didn't even have a say in the matter. Crouch just announced he had no choice and had to compete.
Yes, that summed up Harry's life perfectly. Forget the title Boy-Who-Lived, it should be changed to Boy-Who-Had-No-Choice-Because-Everyone-Was-Deciding-For-Him.
Harry had never felt so alone before.
Even Hermione's presence wasn't doing him good – the worrisome glances she gifted him every few seconds made him feel guilty. He wanted to assure her that everything would be alright, but quite frankly, Harry very much needed such assurance himself and nobody was offering it either.
He refused to write to Sirius. Exposing his godfather to more danger and risking that the black dog comes rushing to Hogwarts – possibly hexing half the staff in the process, was not on Harry's long to-do list.
And as if it wasn't already enough, Snape decided to make Harry's life especially burninghell.
Harry assumed that the slimy git just couldn't stomach the spotlight Harry was getting. The newly acquired celebrity status combined with Harry's previous fame must have frustrated Snape to no end, and he was effectively venting it on him.
The potions classes were always insufferable but after Harry became a Hogwarts champion, only then he got to know the real torture. Spending two excruciatingly long hours with Slytherins and Snape? Harry was suddenly grateful for the dragon task – it held the premise that it all may come to an end soon.
"I'd rather not go today, Hermione," he muttered to his friend as they approached the dreadful classroom.
"Harry, we've been over this. Don't give Snape a chance to fail you just for missing out on his class," she scolded him with a tone that resembled McGonagall a tad too much.
"It's not like he needs a reason, he'll most likely fail me anyway," Harry whined and dragged his feet forward unwillingly.
"Just tell him I had to do some important business regarding the Tournament," he tired again. The look Hermione shot him made him rethink that option.
"Or that I'm gravely injured and at the brink of death, he'd like that one," Harry refused to give up. Third times charm, hm?
"Stop it, it's not funny," Hermione never fancied his dark humour but how else was Harry supposed to cope?
"I'm not joking. Besides, I'd not be lying either, just foretelling what's about to happen in a few days," Harry's face turned sour when he spotted Malfoy. He should have turned around while he could as it was now too late.
Malfoy and his Slytherin crew showed them their brand-new badges with the "Potter stinks" slogan. Harry ignored them thanks to Hermione's hushing, but when Malfoy called her mudblood, it was the last straw.
The fury building up inside his chest overflew.
He drew his wand and both boys simultaneously hexed each other. The spells crashed together midair, Harry's rebounded onto Goyle and Malfoy's landed on Hermione.
Of course it was at that moment Snape presented himself.
"Anyone care to explain what is going on here?" he asked in a quiet manner, his eyes darting from Goyle's swollen nose to Malfoy's flushed expression. He didn't bother to look at Harry or Hermione.
The Slytherins cornered him, shouting over one another to explain their version of the indecent.
"Potter attacked Draco and Goyle!" one yelled. It was a shrieking girl's voice.
"We were just quietly walking to the class when Potter appeared and drew his wand!" someone else added.
Quietly, Harry thought with bitterness, as if that's possible for a group of Slytherins.
"He thinks he can do whatever he wants now that he proclaimed himself a Hogwarts champion!" Malfoy complained, his face twisted in pretentious pity.
"When did I do such a thing?! I never wanted to be a champion!" Harry's had enough of the wrongly placed accusations but his defence fell on infertile ground. In a hallway full of people who didn't believe him, nobody took his side.
As a response, Harry only got a handful of dubious looks (mixed with animosity from Slytherins), before the scene proceeded.
It was good Harry skipped breakfast because the sight in front of him was making him feel nauseous. He should have not listened to Hermione and instead skip the class. Snape could try and fail him all he wished for all Harry cared. He turned to his curly-haired friend with the "I told you so" on his tongue only to realize that Hermione was no longer standing near him. She wasn't in the hallway at all.
Harry hoped she went to the hospital ward where Snape just sent Goyle as well. The statement he said next had the same effect as a bucket of cold water.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention, Potter."
Harry couldn't believe his ears. The buzzing sound of bees attacking the castle was back. Fifty points?! He must have been dreaming.
A powerful desire to hex the professor into million slimy pieces washed over Harry and he barely pushed it down. Instead, he relished the memory of Expelliarmus-ing Snape last year, imagining what sort of other misfortunes the professor could encounter. It calmed Harry's burning soul down a bit.
He knew better than to argue with his potion professor. Harry would not allow him the pleasure to take off more points if he dared to talk back – and by the challenging look Snape was giving him, he was waiting for just that.
In the next moment, the populated hallway emptied as Snape announced the beginning of the class. Harry hesitated for a second, once again weighing the pros and cons of attending potions.
It cannot get any worse, can it? He pondered and collapsed into the chair with a heavy sigh. Besides, I owe it to Hermione, she's going to need notes from today, he reasoned with himself some more when the urge to get up and ran out of the room solidified.
Snape closed the door in the next instance with a loud slam and the grim lesson began.
OoOooOoo
Harry was wrong, so wrong.
It could get worse, and it did get worse.
At first, Snape announced the course of that day's class - antidotes. By the end of the lesson, one chosen participant was to try it themselves.
Harry needed not to be a Seer to realize he was the chosen one. Snape made it very obvious when he bore his black eyes into Harry's skull. He intended to poison Harry.
Harry dreamed of launching forward and pouring the contents of his cauldron over Snape's greasy head (not that it would look any different) - when the appearance of Colin Creevey brought him back to reality.
He asked for Harry, saying that there was a mandatory photoshoot for the Triwizard Champions to attend.
Harry would give up everything he had for Colin to shut up, but Colin proceeded to explain the importance of the interview for Daily Prophet when Snape harshly declined his request to let Harry go.
Harry kept his head down, not daring to look at anyone in the room, and yet, he still felt everyone's eyes on him. One would think he would get used to all the unsolicited stares by now, but Harry still squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.
Even Snape's plan with poisoning Harry seemed attractive all of a sudden – omitting antidotes.
"Excellent, excellent" Snape sneered with enmity only he could muster after Colin finished talking, "Potter, leave your things here. I want you to come back later and test your antidote."
He was not gonna let Harry live this one down.
"Professor, sir, Harry's supposed to take his bag with him…" Colin squealed helplessly while facing Snape's wrath head-on, "All champions are to…"
"Excellent!" Snape roared. "Potter, take your things and get out of my sight. Your detention is to be served at 8 pm sharp. Bring your antidote recipe," the last statement sounded like a death sentence but Harry couldn't care less.
He gladly scrambled out of the room in haste – Colin right behind him. They both exhaled in relief once the cold hallway welcomed them and then Colin led Harry to the room where he was expected.
OoOooOooO
Rita Skeeter got herself on a list of people Harry would happily avoid for the rest of his life in a record time. Only Voldemort and Snape rivalled her.
Harry knew missing a potions class came with a price, but by the end of the interview with Skeeter, he realized with horror that Snape's presence wasn't so unlikeable anymore. At least, he never spoke of tears glistening in Harry's eyes (which, by the way, weren't there) every minute or so.
But when he walked down the corridor toward the dungeons in the evening, Harry revaluated his opinion. Even ten interviews were nothing compared to the detention he was about to serve.
His stomach rumbled in uneasiness and hunger when he hesitantly knocked on the wooden door. Harry hadn't been alone with Snape for a while now and he didn't miss it one minute. That evening was bound to be a disaster.
One stern "enter" later, Harry was sitting at the table farthest away from Snape. He intended to put as much distance between them as possible – even at the cost of not seeing the scribbles on the board.
"Begin."
Brief as always when it came to instructions, Snape didn't bother to lift his head from the papers he was correcting when he ordered Harry to start.
Harry needed not to be told twice. He swiftly gathered all ingredients and tried to follow Hermione's recipe to the E. The quicker he started, the quicker he would get out of the chilly chamber.
Yet, fifty minutes and one potion in vibrant orange color instead of a matted brown later, Harry was at his wits. Should he tell Snape he was done? Or simply start once again and hope for a miracle to happen?
He was leaning towards the third option (to pack his things and leave) - when the Potions Master interrupted Harry's dilemma.
"Since you've finished, let's test your work. I'm sure it will be remarkable and flawless as always," Snape ridiculed him, striding smoothly towards Harry as he did. An evil smirk decorated his pale face. Harry and Ron were long convinced that Snape could read minds and this served as another proof.
Harry felt a lump forming in his throat and his stomach started dancing violently. He should have eaten something that would dilute the poison. The failed antidote he just brewed was hardly saving him from the painful death that awaited him.
Snape glanced at the contents in his cauldron but to Harry's surprise, no snarky comment followed. Instead, he wordlessly handed Harry a small vial with white shimmering liquid.
There was no way for Harry to identify the potion and he wasn't about to ask Snape. With shaky fingers, he unscrewed the lid and hesitantly sniffed the content. Odourless. Not good. Only the best poisons carried no odour.
He could feel Snape's cold gaze staring at him impatiently. Harry knew he was seconds away from some patronizing remark, and possibly another detention for "taking ages to drink unknown and presumably dangerous poison," but what else was he to do?
Harry coddled himself with the thought that Hermione knew about the detention and she was to notify McGonagall and Dumbledore if Harry didn't come back in a certain hour. He also put his fate in the headmaster, hoping Dumbledore would not let him die right under his nose thanks to Snape's suspicious teaching practices.
Last uncertain glance at Snape's hardened features and a heavy sigh later, Harry brought the vial to his lips, about to dump the white liquid into his mouth in one go. He was beginning to feel tired and wanted the detention to be over.
Then, a sudden tight grasp on his arm stopped him.
"What. Are. You. Doing Potter?"
Snape's eyes were widened and dilated. Harry thought he saw a flash of panic cross his face but it was gone sooner than he could blink. His face was twisted in anger.
"What?" he asked confusedly, neglecting all formalities. What was Snape's problem now?
"Care to explain why you were about to consume a Dram of Sed? Have you lost your remaining two brain cells for good?!"
Snape thundered, his black eyes blazing dangerously. If looks could murder, Harry would be already dead.
The professor was clenching Harry's forearm so tightly that his fingertips started to tingle from the lack of blood circulating there. Despite how uncomfortable the touch was, Harry didn't dare to move or yank his hand away. He could feel the coldness of Snape's skin even with two layers of clothes between them. It slowly spread to Harry, making chills run down his spine.
"I don't understand, you told me to test my antidote," Harry defended himself stubbornly. An inexplicable urge to drown the white poison washed over him – just to see Snape's reaction. He couldn't understand why was the git getting so heated up after the act he put on in class about poisoning Harry.
"Yes, test it. Not drink it as if it was pumpkin juice! Have you paid attention in my class at least once? Or are you still under the impression that your status will excuse whatever misbehaviour you decide to display?" Snape growled icily.
He must have known what sort of thoughts were swimming in Harry's head because he snatched the small vial out of his hand in the next second. At least Harry's hand was freed from the grip of Snape's slender fingers.
"Seeking out dangers might be on your list of leisure activities, but kindly refer from doing so in my presence."
Snape gifted Harry a sour look – as if saying 'watch, you idiot,' before he poured the white liquid into Harry's bubbling orange creation in one swift gesture. Taking a step back, like he was expecting the whole cauldron to explode in the next moment, Snape watched the sizzling mess impassively, and then, Harry's antidote turned murky grey.
The consistency of the potion thickened visibly, reminding Harry of a spoilt pudding he once found in Dudley's room (and had to clean up). The sudden smell of burnt eggs filled up the classroom. If all this wasn't enough proof of Harry's complete failure, Snape's straightened posture and a wide sneer spread across his face were a clear sign.
"Truly shocking," he muttered, more to himself than to Harry who stood still, unwilling to converse with the man. Harry's eyes darted everywhere while he tried not to scrunch his nose in disgust from the foul smell the cauldron was producing.
Harry was sure Snape hadn't vanished the mess just to upset him more.
"Potter, if you ever happen to find yourself in need of an antidote of any kind, do yourself a favour and do not attempt to produce it. Even death, however agonizing it would be, is more merciful than your meagre brewing skills."
"Right. Next time someone attempts to kill me, I'll let them know that poison is the way to go," Harry remarked with a voice dripping in irony before he could stop himself. Why was Snape such a complicated person to deal with?
He just wanted to be dismissed and find comfort in the space of the cosy common room.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape looked at him cruelly but upon seeing Harry's outraged expression, one of satisfaction bloomed on his face.
"WHAT?! Why?" Harry wanted to scream until his throat turned hoarse at the injustice happening before his eyes, but he long discovered it would not have the desired effect. Snape was not a person to be persuaded by outbursts of emotions – or how he would put it "teenage tantrums." But it didn't mean Harry could stop the rapidly rising anger inside him.
How he hated the man. How he despised him with every ounce of his body and soul.
"I do not care for your self-pitying comments, so kindly save them for those unfortunate enough who are willing to listen. However, I strongly advise you to start exhibiting more effort in your potions classes, that is if you wish to advance to another year without much complication."
The unspoken "I will fail you at the first given chance," was left hanging in the air. The atmosphere heavy enough as it was became as thick as Harry's failed antidote.
Did Snape just threaten him? How refreshing.
"Then I am rather fortunate to be excused from finals as a Triwizard champion," Harry spat out, one of his eyebrows crooked up in defiance. If this was how Snape intended to play, Harry was ready to comply.
Scratching Snape where he hurt the most wasn't one of Harry's wisest moments but the way his professor's face crumbled in disgust was worth it. If only it wasn't followed by more lecturing.
"Careful," Snape's voice dropped to a frigid whisper, "the Headmaster cannot and will not shield you forever, and unbelievable as it may now seem, there's only as far as your arrogance can aid you. And for your information, I need not have a final paper graded T with your name on it to expel you from my future classes."
"I don't doubt it, sir, you'd have little trouble failing Hermione if you wished to," Harry stroke before thinking twice about bringing his friend to the conversation. Yet, it was still better than responding to Snape's comment about Dumbledore's favouritism, knowing how strongly the Potions Master felt about the Headmaster's behaviour towards Harry.
Snape tore his gaze away from Harry as if he couldn't bear to look at the boy any longer. He glided to his table at the front of the classroom, making no sound as he did.
"Ms Granger, despite her overachieving nature that thrives on constant academic validation, is a knowledgeable student. That can be under no circumstance said about you, Mr. Potter," he finally said, his voice controlled.
Hermione would be beside herself hearing such high praise.
"May I be dismissed?"
Harry asked stubbornly when Snape averted his attention once again to the papers on his desk. It seemed like the professor was done with their heated exchange and Harry took the opportunity to end the horrible day for good.
Snape didn't respond at first, the sound of a quill scratching against the parchment filling up the classroom. Harry sighed in resignation, deciding to dismiss himself anyway – if the Potions Master was so unwilling.
"You are to write a two-scroll essay on why exactly your antidote failed," Snape stopped him when Harry started to pack his bag. He suppressed a groan. Of course there was homework.
"I expect it no later than Wednesday afternoon," he added when Harry didn't react.
On the day we don't have potions, Harry thought sourly. Seeking Snape out on a no-Snape day was the worst.
"Anything else?" he decided to challenge his professor one last time out of pure spite. He'd already taken off points, had him serve detention, and even assigned additional work. There were no more punishments for Harry to suffer.
"Shall I catch you again hexing one of my students, the consequences will be far direr than today," Snape barked out his warning which felt rather empty to Harry's ears. He couldn't imagine what else the man could do to him.
One of his students, it didn't slip Harry's attention how he didn't belong to the group. What a relief that was.
"Yes sir," Harry managed to push through his teeth and when Snape nodded sharply towards the door, Harry gladly rushed out.