Always
A Harry Potter AU story
This story is mostly based on the books by J.K. Rowling with a little inspiration from the films. I am going book by book. I assume anyone reading this has read ALL the books. This is not a rehash, slash, nor a Snarry story. But one of a change of heart. It hasn't been inspired by any fan-fics, only some touching art by VWikaARTT on Deviant Art. This tale is dedicated to my dear friend Sonic Electro, without whom this story would not exist.
I hope you enjoy it.
Hatred stirs up conflict, but love covers over all wrongs.
-Proverbs 10:12
† † † †
The Philosopher's Stone-
Chapter 1:
The Boy with the Scar
Teaching would never have been Severus Snape's choice of a profession. For one thing, he really didn't like children. Children with all their excessive questions and chatter. Children with their laughter, stories and those odious inside jokes.
Over the past eleven years that Snape had taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he had taught himself to largely ignore most of the more annoying traits of the adolescent.
There was no talking in his classes, no cheerful smiles, no giggles, and above all, no cheek. Snape would not tolerate insolence in any shape or form. Most of the students were wise enough to learn this during the very first minutes of Potions class.
Snape never raised his voice, but he also didn't need to. His deep voice could be heard even in a low whisper and his presence was enough to conjure silent respect from even the most wild student, and if not respect, then fear. His tall imposing stature, combined with a sallow complexion and black robes also helped.
Even with all this in his favour, Snape avoided unnecessary contact with the youth of the school as much as he could. Hogwarts castle fortunately was the perfect place to do this, being full of passageways and corridors and secret tunnels.
However, he could not avoid the mealtimes. The worst was the feast at the beginning of term, when a new generation of young wizards entered the grounds for the first time. The very thought caused Snape to recoil. A herd of noisy, unruly eleven year olds, all bubbling over with excitement and worry and nervous energy.
During the sorting ceremony, Snape kept to his office in the dungeons. The less he knew of the newest dunderheads he would have to teach, the pleasanter the year would unfold.
This year was no different from any other.
The returning students filed into the Great Hall, each House sitting at their respective tables. Then the first years would be ushered in and stand at the front, waiting their turn to be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts Houses by the Sorting Hat.
Snape had this event timed almost down to the very minute. Of course it varied based on the number of children, but he still always managed to miss most of the needless fuss.
In all the hustle and bustle, Snape entered the Great Hall and slipped without notice to the table where the teachers sat, taking his place at the end.
With the Hat crying out "SLYTHERIN!" the last student had been sorted. The Hat and stool went off to the side and the headmaster stood.
A hush followed.
"Welcome! Welcome to Hogwarts!" Albus Dumbledore's cheery face smiled from behind his white beard at the sea of young faces. "Before the banquet begins, I have a few words to say."
Snape knew the first years thought some great tidbits of wisdom were about to be imparted. He knew better.
Dumbledore spread his hands. "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
His words were met with a chorus of laughter and claps, followed by gasps as the feast magically filled all the golden dishes on the tables.
Snape didn't laugh. He never did. He had too much respect for Dumbledore to sneer at his address to the school, but he still thought it ridiculous. And yet, it had been Dumbledore who had given him this position after all.
The noise of the room again increased as the students eat and chatted to each other and the House ghosts. Next to Snape sat Quirinus Quirrell, who was trying to engage him in conversation.
Snape ignored Quirrell's stuttering and glanced out over the sea of heads in the Hall, some wearing black pointed hats, others not. The first years were easy to spot. They were so pathetically small. Snape's eyes went over the Slytherin table and Hufflepuff and rested on Gryffindor. The Weasley family were easy to pick out, with their bright redheads of hair and boisterous manner. The eldest was House prefect and seemed to be trying to keep order without much success.
Then Snape saw him.
A black head in the middle of the row of orange.
The boy looked up and their eyes instantly met.
A feeling like a cold dagger went through Snape.
That face. It was his face. Potter's face. That black hair, sticking up at funny angles. And those eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. Her eyes.
The boys' fringe was parted just enough for Snape to see the scar on his forehead.
So the rumours were true.
Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts.
Snape swallowed.
The boy stared at him, then his face convulsed as if in pain and a hand shot up to the lightening bolt scar.
Snape looked away, unaware that Quirrell was still talking at him. Snape lost any appetite he had. It was replaced by a deep and strong feeling of hatred. Hatred towards Harry Potter.
Harry Potter. The boy who's name was known by the whole wizarding world. Harry Potter. The boy who had survived He-who-shall-not-be-named. Harry Potter. The boy who had been James Potter's son.
All of Snape's bitter feelings and resentment swelled up inside of him at just seeing that small face in the crowd.
Snape made a resolution.
Harry Potter would regret coming to Hogwarts. Snape would make sure of that. The boy who was special and famous would find out not everyone considered him a hero. Snape had never taken such an instant dislike to a student he hadn't even met, but he did now. Potter would learn his place in this world. And if Snape could get him expelled, that would be a monumental pleasure.
Snape finally glared at Quirrell, who shut up rather quickly and fumbled with his ridiculous turban. Snape folded his arms over his robes and began to silently plot just how to make little Harry Potter's life miserable.
† † † †
The last thing Harry Potter had ever expected to be was a wizard. He didn't think he was special or extraordinary in any way. He was just Harry. His biggest hope in life had been to survive childhood and live to see his piggish cousin Dudley Dursley end up in prison. Or at least, hope he would.
Now for Harry to discover he was not only just a wizard, but famous was almost more than he could imagine. Harry wasn't sure how to react.
All those witches and wizards in Diagon Alley coming up to him and shaking his hand. All those other students on the train whispering about him.
"That's Harry Potter!"
" The Harry Potter?"
"Crikey, did you see his scar?!"
Harry wasn't used to attention like this. He wasn't sure he liked it. Many kids seemed excited to meet him, almost in awe. Then there were those like Draco Malfoy. Harry didn't care what he thought. Malfoy was arrogant, spoiled and a brat. Harry didn't want his good opinion.
Plus, he was too busy taking in everything about this new world.
The magic. The whole enchantment of it all. He wanted to pepper his new friends with questions, but he forgot how to speak.
The Great Hall was huge and awesome, bathed in light from the hundreds of floating candles. The enchanted ceiling overhead was sprinkled with stars.
Then came the Sorting.
Harry had never felt more nervous in his whole eleven years of life then the moment the Hat was placed on his head. The dreadful seconds in which Harry thought the Hat would place him in Slytherin.
The wonderful relief when the Hat shouted out "GRYFFINDOR!" instead. The cheers rose from the Gryffindor table.
And to top it off: the food. Harry had never seen so much food or been allowed to eat as much of it as he wanted. He hoped he didn't look greedy as he piled the steaming goodies on his plate. One look at his friend Ron Weasley's plate told him he had nothing to worry about. Ron was eating enough for two boys twice his size.
Harry enjoyed the meal, worrying about nothing at all as he listened to the laughs and the happy conversations around him, blissfully lost in a magical world he never could have imagined existed.
He was hoping this wasn't simply a dream and he would suddenly wake up to find himself back in the cupboard under the stairs on Privet Drive.
Harry pinched himself. It was not a dream. He was still here.
When the dessert appeared, he was feeling happier than he ever remembered feeling before. Even his favourite treacle tart tasted better than ever before. He laughed and smiled, not noticing how many times his glasses kept slipping down his nose.
Then Harry felt like he was being watched. He looked around. Everyone was engaged with their friends. His gaze went to the table where all the teachers sat. Dumbledore gave a little smile his way and Hagrid waved. Harry smiled back.
At the very end of the table, a thin man in a turban (whom Harry remembered as Professor Quirrell) was speaking to a man in black robes. The man had very pale skin and black greasy-looking hair. The first thing Harry noticed about the face was the hooked nose.
And then the sharp dark eyes which were suddenly fixed on Harry.
Harry felt something in the pit of his stomach. Possibly fear.
The man stared at him as though fixated, then something like recognition went over him followed by a look Harry could only call hatred.
Sudden, shearing pain shot though Harry's scar.
"Ouch!" Harry cried, dropping his fork.
"You okay, Harry?" Ron asked.
Harry shrugged it off, looking back up towards the teacher's table. By that time, the man had looked away.
In a whispered tone, Harry asked who he was.
Snape. Professor Snape, Potions Master and head of Slytherin House was the answer. Harry did not feel surprised. From all the stories he had heard of the Slytherins, Professor Snape fit the picture. Even his name gave Harry a chill. The word vampire also came to mind. Anemic skin and those dark, piercing eyes.
But it didn't explain the look of pure dislike he had given Harry. Why should he hate him? Harry had never met him, never even heard of him before today. Yet, there it was. Harry had a distinct feeling which told him he had already made an enemy and it wasn't even the first day of classes. It was not a pleasant feeling.
Harry was sure he felt Snape's eyes on him again. He was too unsettled to look up. He didn't finish his treacle tart.
The feast came to a close and all the students began to go off to their dormitories, each House following their prefect.
Harry walked next to Ron, following the elder Percy Weasley, who took his role as prefect very seriously.
As they left the Great Hall, Harry quickly glanced over his shoulder, back towards the teachers.
Snape met his gaze.
Harry felt his face drain of colour. The professor's gaze was definitely one of hatred.
And Harry had no idea why.
† † † †