Disclaimer: Heck, no!

Author's Note: Hey everyone, thank you for the wonderful reviews! I'm so glad you enjoyed that chapter. I agree, Neville was seriously underrated in the books. I'm so glad he finally got a chance to shine in Deathly Hallows, but I'd definitely have loved to see a lot more of him.

As to the reviewer who doesn't receive emails from FanFiction when someone posts a new chapter of a story you follow - that's really strange. What I would do is go to your profile and make sure you have the "opt in" feature turned on for if you want to receive emails when certain things occur, such as: if someone favorites or follows your own story, when you receive a PM, etc. There are all kinds of notifications you can turn on and off. I really hope this helps.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. This is one of the most intense ones yet, and marks a major turning point between Harry and Severus.

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After his confrontation with Draco, Severus kept to himself for the rest of the day. He did not enter the Great Hall for either lunch or dinner, not wishing to hear the petty gossip that would surround the latest Daily Prophet drivel concerning Potter. Seeing the boy this morning, looking the same as he always had, made his blood boil. The fact that he had thought for even a millisecond that the boy could help Draco was exceedingly foolish. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing those green eyes again this evening in detention.

He could hear Dumbledore's calm voice in his head. "You could make the experience much more pleasant for both yourself and Harry. Don't ask him to clean your cauldrons again - it is pointless anyway, as they are already sparkling clean. Talk to the child, look past his features and actually get to know him."

Snape snarled at the voice, reminded all too clearly of their conversation yesterday. That meddling old fool always felt the need to pry into his private affairs. It was bad enough that he was always dissecting him with those damned twinkling blue eyes of his, the eyes that knew everything about him. The eyes that had seen him break down and sob, proclaiming that his life wasn't worth living without Lily. The fact that Snape had displayed such weakness in front of Dumbledore ... it was an endless source of shame for him.

He spent the day grading papers, coming up with the most colorful, acidic comments to place on the parchments of the stupid children who roamed the halls. It always rankled deeply that so many of them couldn't care less about brewing a decent potion. It was why he only accepted students who had received an O on their OWLS into his NEWT-level class. He could not afford to have massive explosions ruining his classroom every single day. He hated having to oversee every first through fifth-year class, constantly on alert that someone would end up killing themselves and all of the other students because they missed a crucial step in brewing their concoction. He took a distinct pleasure in telling the students, in no uncertain terms, just where they'd messed up.

The time before Potter's detention passed all too quickly. He kept snarling at the voice in his head that told him how he could improve the encounter for both him and the boy. He was not going to make anything nicer for the Potter brat. Dumbledore could stop bloody interfering, even if it was only in Snape's head.

Before he knew it, his privacy was once again being invaded by Potter as the boy knocked on his door. "Enter," he said coldly.

Potter entered the room, and Snape immediately saw that his expression was mutinous. He instantly felt anger steal over him. This was the Potter he was used to. Strangely enough, the anger was mixed with relief. He could completely return to what was familiar.

"You know what to do, Potter," Snape snapped at the ignorant boy. "Go to the classroom and start cleaning."

In response, Potter had the nerve to scowl at him. Snape's expression grew even darker, and he followed Potter into the classroom.

In a sullen silence, the boy started cleaning the cauldrons again. You know there's no point to this exercise, Severus, he heard Dumbledore's dreaded voice again. Today is Sunday - there were no Potions classes today. The cauldrons are just as clean as they were last night.

Again, Snape completely ignored the voice. He watched as the brat did the exact same thing as last night - cleaned every single cauldron slowly and methodically. But unlike last night when his face had shown no expression at all, he now looked more and more sullen as the evening passed.

Finally, Potter could take the silence no longer, and he opened his mouth. "How's Professor Moody?" he asked, his voice sounding very loud in the classroom.

Snape sneered. "He will be ready for classes tomorrow," he answered shortly. "I am sure that he will grace the Great Hall with his unfortunate presence."

"Oh." Potter looked relieved, and rather surprised that Snape had answered his question. At this, Snape grew even more furious. How dare Potter think him that unreasonable that he wouldn't answer him!

Potter seemed to grow even bolder now. "Why is it that people keep getting into this school that shouldn't be here?" he demanded. "Why was Quirrell not investigated? Dumbledore must have seen him wearing that turban!"

"The name is Professor Dumbledore, Potter," Snape growled, knowing deep down that he had always wondered the same thing. Dumbledore had been suspicious of Quirrell from the beginning of the school year, and had casually asked Severus to keep an eye on him. "And that is none of your business."

"It is my business," Potter argued, his green eyes blazing behind those abominable glasses of his. "He put the entire school in danger. And why aren't there wards to detect Animagi?"

"Ask the Headmaster and continue with your work, Potter," Snape said, wishing the boy would just be quiet. He was bringing up memories best left forgotten. He couldn't help but get in a barb at the boy. "If there were such wards, you would never have met your precious godfather, would you?"

"My innocent godfather," Potter snapped. "A man who suffered for years for a crime he didn't commit."

"Oh, he committed crimes," Snape drawled, his blood boiling. "You have no idea of what your godfather is capable of."

That gave Potter pause, and there was a different look in his emerald eyes now. "I'm sorry about what he did to you," the boy said quietly. "He should never have used Professor Lupin like that."

The gaping wound in Snape's soul that Black had left behind was still raw, even after all these years. To have Potter of all people bring it up made it bleed again, no matter the emotion behind the boy's words. "You dare speak to me about that, Potter?" he said menacingly, looming over the boy.

"I'm defending you!" Potter cried, his emerald eyes flashing with fire. "I thought it was horrible when Sirius said you deserved it!"

"Your beloved Sirius deserves to rot with the Dementors." Snape's voice was quiet and vicious now. He didn't think he'd ever felt so angry with the little whelp in his entire life.

"No, you wanted him kissed," Potter shouted, and it seemed as though he had lost what was left of his temper. "I'll never forget the things you said to him. You don't care that he's innocent. You don't care that it was Peter Pettigrew who actually betrayed my parents. And you know what? I bet you love having the Marauder's Map now. I bet it's not just about the security of the school, is it?" Potter's green eyes were blazing with hurt and grief, and Snape wanted to turn away, but he couldn't. He was riveted to the spot as the boy spat verbal venom at him. "You wanted to take away one of the only things I have of my dad!"

"Do not speak of what you don't understand, Potter." Snape spoke in a low hiss, his black eyes smoldering. Somewhere deep down, in a portion of his soul he thought no longer existed, he knew that Potter's spiteful words were hiding the paralyzing hurt and grief that he felt - he was reminded harshly of his own behavior. But he couldn't help but repeat the vicious cycle - the anger frothed inside of him, needing an outlet, a release. This little snotrag standing in front of him would bear the brunt of it. "You, Potter, are nothing more than a self-centered, entitled, ungrateful, spoiled brat, just like your father before you."

"My father's DEAD!" Potter screamed, and Snape could see that he was shaking with the force of his anger. "Dead, dead, DEAD! I never knew him! How can I be just like my father when I never knew the man?"

Snape smirked, the expression malicious. "Because I am sure that you have been pandered to your entire life, just like he was. Everything was handed to you on a silver platter."

The look in Potter's eyes changed then, and Snape couldn't deny what he saw. His expression went from furious, to stricken, to the same vulnerable, naked hurt that he had seen only two nights ago, when he had given Potter the potion that brought him out of the catatonic state he'd been in.

And then, the hurt disappeared from his face, to be replaced by a blazing hatred that, somehow, made what was left of Snape's heart twinge. "You know nothing about my life," he hissed, and Snape had a vivid flashback of his younger self as he snarled at a fuming Lily Evans, who had been railing against his fascination with the Dark Arts.

And then, Potter went for Snape's jugular without even knowing he had. "You're always going on about my father," he said in a voice that was barely recognizable as Harry Potter's. "But you never say anything about my mother. I'm sure you hated her, too. I bet you were glad to find out she was dead."

Snape could barely describe the tumult of feelings that slammed into him then. His world blurred and spun around him, and he saw white. There was a roaring in his ears, and at that moment, he wanted to do nothing more than pick up the insolent little brute standing before him and throw him to the ground. Acid pumped through his veins, and his mind felt like it was snapping. The strongest Occlumency barriers in existence couldn't hide the pure rage flowing through his veins.

And Potter stepped back, the expression on his face absolutely terrified. He knew he had said something that had changed everything, and there was no taking it back. No time-turner could undo this moment, no word or phrase could soften the blow.

And Snape knew there was only one thing he could do to keep himself from giving in to temptation and doing something unforgivable to the boy. In his lowest, deadliest voice, he hissed only two words.

"Get. Out."

And Potter fled. He raced out of the Potions classroom, leaving Snape very much alone.

The broken man staggered to one of the student desks and collapsed into the chair. He was shaking so hard with heartbreak and rage that he couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He felt his nonexistent heart racing in his chest, what remained of his soul shattering into pieces as he heard Potter's taunting voice repeating those words over and over again. "I'm sure you hated her, too. I bet you were glad to find out she was dead."

Snape was suddenly catapulted into memory. He'd been in his vile, disgusting home at Spinner's End when he felt a horrendous pain in his left forearm, worse than anything he'd felt before when he'd been Summoned. He had gasped, a sudden feeling of horror washing over him. He'd lifted up his sleeve to stare at the abomination carved into his flesh, the symbol of his greatest regret.

And he'd known. He didn't know how, but he'd known. Lily. He could feel it in his bones, in his marrow, in his very skin. His soul cried out her name in sorrow and gut-wrenching despair: Lily Lily Lily Lily Lily.

Whenever he'd been Summoned in the past, he had always been able to go directly to wherever the Dark Lord was. However, this time was different - no matter how hard he concentrated, he could not get to his so-called Master. Something had happened to him - and he knew Lily was the cause.

He suspected that Lily and her family had been hiding in Godric's Hollow. How many times had he heard James Potter boasting about how beautiful his family home was? He knew James's parents had died as a result of the Dragonpox pandemic several years previously, and Snape could guess that he and Lily had made the home their own.

His heart was still calling Lily's name as he Apparated to Godric's Hollow - of course, he knew where it was. He'd refrained from ever going there to visit Lily - he knew she would just throw him out and refuse to talk to him if he ever showed up at her door. And Potter would just spit his usual diatribe at him and continue his Hogwarts tradition of casting vile hexes on him.

But he knew exactly where the village was, and he arrived there in a matter of seconds. He ran through the streets, looking for any sign of a disturbance.

And then, he saw it. One of the houses looked like a Muggle bomb had gone off within its walls. There was no Dark Mark hanging over it, but if something indeed had happened to the Dark Lord, that would explain why there wasn't.

Feeling sick to his stomach, his mind and heart screaming Lily's name like a mantra, he raced through the broken door. The first sound he heard was the wail of an infant. He was screaming and screaming and screaming, the noise shrill and ear-piercing.

He ran towards the stairs, not paying any attention to the wrecked furniture in the living room and the kitchen. He reached the stairs, and there, right at the foot of them, lay James Potter's limp body. His hazel eyes were wide open and unseeing, his wand clenched in his lifeless hand. His facial expression was a mixture of terrified and heartbroken, and his hair was just as tousled and messy as always. His glasses lay on the floor beside him, the lenses cracked.

No. No. No. No. No. Nonononononononono. Snape stepped over James's body, feeling no emotion towards the man's death at all. There was no vindictive pleasure, something he had expected to feel if James Potter died. All he could feel was an all-consuming, numbing dread. The baby was still screaming, and that could only mean one thing. Lily wouldn't leave her baby to just lie there and cry. He imagined her as the kind of mother who would comfort her son and sing him lullabies. She would never just leave him there, oh Merlin oh Merlin oh Merlin.

Whenever Snape remembered this moment, he never recalled the journey up the stairs, or finding Harry Potter's nursery. All he remembered was seeing Lily there, sprawled on the floor, her red hair covering her face, making her look angelic. All he remembered was collapsing beside her, his unearthly howls as loud as the baby's screams. All he remembered was pushing the hair away from her face, only to look into the vivid emerald eyes he loved so much.

But those eyes contained no emotion now. No shining love for her family, no intelligence, no wit that had been there countless times as she'd bantered back and forth with the boy who used to be her best friend. He would have even been glad to see anger in her eyes, the look of pure and utter betrayal that had shone out from them when he'd called her a Mudblood.

In this terrible moment, her amazing eyes stared vacantly into some distant beyond that he couldn't see. They were completely lifeless, unaware that the man who loved her with all of his soul was leaning over her, his cries mixing with her son's. "I'm sorry!" he sobbed brokenly, picking her up and cradling her body in his arms. "I'm so ... so ... so sorry! Oh Lily, merlin Lily, please ... please forgive me. I'm so, so sorry!"

It might as well have just been the two of them in the room - he couldn't even hear baby Harry's screams anymore. He wasn't aware that blood was trickling down the baby's face from a jagged-looking cut on his forehead. He wasn't aware of the pile of robes in the room that the Dark Lord had been dressed in only minutes before. All he saw was Lily's wide-open, staring eyes, the terrified, pleading expression on her face. He knew she had died screaming. All he could do was hold Lily, rocking back and forth as he howled apologies into the ears that could no longer hear him.

And now, as Snape came out of the horrific memory for what felt like the thousandth time since it had happened, a fourteen-year-old Harry Potter's voice latched itself onto the feelings that memory produced.

"I'm sure you hated her, too. I bet you were glad to find out she was dead."

Severus Snape had sworn he would never shed tears again. He'd sworn not to let emotion get the best of him. He'd sworn that nothing the stupid boy said could ever break his barriers down.

But as his head fell upon the desk and he cried for the woman who still held his heart, even almost thirteen years after her murder, he realized he had broken yet another promise. Tears streamed down his face as sobs tore through his body, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop them.

And the worst thing of all, Snape thought, was that when the time would come for him to take his last breath, he would die still loving her.

And she? When she had taken hers, she must have died hating him.

And that was something Severus Snape could not bear.