A Reflection of Himself

The festivities had ended, marking another beginning to a new school year. The students had all gone to bed, and the castle was quiet, still, dark... just the way Severus Snape liked it. Besides having to endure Lupin's unnerving presence next to him at the welcoming feast, Snape thought that it had gone about as well as he could have imagined. He had promptly left the Great Hall the moment the chance had presented itself, and going down to his humble abode in the dungeons, Snape quickly checked his lessons plans for the next day and made sure that all the necessary ingredients were prepared. After ensuring that everything was in order, he locked the door to the classroom and placed the much-needed wards, in his opinion, anyway, on the door. He was overly-suspicious of students breaking into his precious rare ingredients, especially after the incidents of the disappearing boomslang skin and gillyweed, which Snape to this day still insisted were somehow linked to Harry Potter.

Harry Potter. Oh, that name just brought a sense of loathing to Snape's mind every time he allowed it to cross his cynical mind. The next generation of Potter was far too much like his father in Snape's eyes, and not just in the physical sense, but also in the sense that Harry Potter seemed just as arrogant as his late father. The Quidditch star, prized by most of his teachers, always getting into mischief, and worst of all, allowed to break school rules and still be a student at Hogwarts... the epitome of all things Gryffindor embodied into one boy, that was how Harry Potter appeared to Snape, but a small, niggling feeling had always existed somewhere in the depths of Snape's mind. Try as he may to push it further into the deepest recesses of his memory bank, Snape reluctantly knew that Harry Potter was not entirely like his father. James Potter never had to be labelled "The Boy Who Lived" and been granted fame simply because of his existence of being the only one to escape the clutches of Voldemort. In fact, James Potter had been killed by the Dark Lord like several others, but Harry Potter was different, definitely, annoyingly different, and that grated on Snape's already frayed nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

The fact that the Potter boy was exempt from the rules, that the usual rules that applied to everyone else simply were not applicable to Harry Potter, was what pushed Snape over the edge. Harry had a darkness in him that had become all the more evident last year when he began to have visions of what Voldemort was seeing and feel what the Dark Lord was feeling, and the reverse was true as well. As Snape stalked through the dungeon hallways, he bared his teeth, recalling all too well how Harry had blatantly refused to listen to him during Occlumency lessons. It didn't matter to Snape how much Harry hated him, but he knew he had a job to do and that had been to instruct the boy in being able to rid himself of emotion, thus ensuring that Voldemort would not have such easy access to Harry's mind. Harry had refused, never once giving Snape any amount of respect, which was all the more reason for Snape to show even further disrespect in return. Harry's fifth year had ended with many things left unresolved, but any small shred of respect that may have existed between those two wizards before had been severed.

Snape groaned in aggravation, wishing that Harry Potter would leave him in peace and stop invading his private thoughts. After all, Snape's nightly routine of striding through the dungeons was his time to try to empty his mind before he would finally be able to sleep with any kind of ease. More often than not, however, his hidden emotions weighed heavily on his conscience, and Snape wondered what would happen to him if he wasn't able to walk off his frustration and anger. Would he lock himself away and finally break down after years of such heart-wrenching torment? He didn't want to think about that.

Snape wheeled around a corner, looking like a snake going for the kill. His black eyes darted relentlessly back and forth, gazing the corridors for any other sign of life in those early hours of the morning just after midnight. For any wandering student's sake, it would be in his or her best interest not to be seen by Snape, for any student out past curfew gave the Potions professor yet another reason to give detention.

His pace was quick, his black robes billowing behind him like a vampiric bat, which was all a part of the charade, for in that very moment something suddenly happened that was very unexpected. Snape slowed his long strides until he was nearly standing still, and then he stopped moving all together, leaving his lone form simply standing there, staring aimlessly off into the distance. He lowered his head in shame, his hair hiding his gloomy face from everyone save himself, and in painful recollection, he closed his eyes. Everything came rushing back to him then.

A mudblood. He had called her a bloody mudblood of all things. Of all the curses and hexes he could think to throw in his enemy's direction to cause them pain, it was nothing in comparison to the agony that wrought his young heart by calling the sweetest of angels such a filthy, disgusting, loathsome, bitter name.

He mentally kicked himself and physically beat himself in a raging fit as he eventually surcame to running away from those fools, which they were to him, anyway, that accursed day. To a fifteen-year-old boy, his world was and had been crumbling away since the day he blinked for the first time to the world outside his mother's womb. The young Severus ran straight to the dungeons and hid away in some damp, desolate, forgotten corner, where he was too angry to even cry those unshed tears. He found himself lying upon the cold, flagstoned floor, gazing up at the ceiling, lost in thought in his own mind. He took out his frustration and anger on a few unsuspecting flies who were caught buzzing annoyingly above his head, hexing them to the ground with his wand and a mere utterance of the necessary word to cast the spell.

Then from out of no where it would seem, he heard a voice.

"I thought I might find you down here."

It was her.

Severus tried to ignore her, closing his eyes and hoping she would leave him in peace at least, but she was relentless. She sat down on the floor next to him, and he then felt a warm hand resting gently on his bony shoulder. This undeserving comfort was all too much for him to bear, so he turned away, moving his whole form so he wouldn't have to see her.

"Severus," she persisted softly. "Please..."

Suddenly, he could stand her compassion no longer. He jerked up quickly, sitting up stiffly and glaring at her straight in the eyes. Those amazing, beautiful green eyes of hers stared back, but in them was no hatred, no pity... just concern.

"What does it matter to you?" he retorted. "You've got your whole Gryffindor squad following you around, and you could have any guy you want in this bloody school, so amuse me, Lily, why the hell would you come looking for me? Is this some kind of game, 'Torment Slimy Snivellus' or perhaps 'Get the Greasy Git Good'?"

Lily then glared at him, replying, "Why would you need any pity from me or anyone else when it appears that you've got enough of it for yourself that you could have a party every day of your life and your own presence would be enough to fuel it? Please spare me your sarcasm for once, Severus, and just talk to me."

"Oh? And what's there to say? You've got two eyes; you saw what happened out there this afternoon. Maybe if you'd just go out with Pretty Potter, you'd do us both a favor."

"What?!" Lily exclaimed exasperately. "What are you talking about? As I said earlier, I'd choose the giant squid over Potter any day of the week."

At this Severus couldn't help but to smile. The very thought of Lily Evans taking the giant squid on a date to Hogsmeade was rather amusing.

"That," he replied, rolling his eyes, "is a mental picture I don't want in my head." Then he frowned again and looked away. "Lily, about what I said out there--"

"I know you didn't mean it," she said hastily. "It's okay, really."

"No, Lily," Severus replied firmly. "It's not okay. I'm sorry... I was just so angry and humiliated, and the last thing I wanted was you getting yourself involved in a fight between me and them."

"I know, Severus, but--"

The memory faded as Snape finally turned his gaze away from that secluded corner in the dungeon where Lily and he had spoken on many occasions years ago. He shook his head with remorse and walked to his chambers, closing the door after him.

The Great Hall early in the morning during breakfast hours was an over-crowded disarray of students, chattering loudly about their day ahead and devouring as much food as they could in a very limited amount of time. Among them were Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were seated near the end of the Gryffindor table nearest the doorway. Ron was consuming food at a rate that was only humanly possible for an adolescent boy and regarding Harry and Hermione incredulously.

"So, you're both telling me that your very first class is with Snape?" he asked, his mouth full of food gaping open.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione scoffed. "Do close your mouth when you're chewing, and yes, our first class is Advanced Potions."

Harry smiled at Ron, shaking his head at his friend's amusing behavior, and the thing that made Ron's behavior even more amusing was the fact that Ron wasn't trying to be funny. Ron finished his mouthful of food, wiped his face with a serviette, and glanced at his friends.

"Well," he said, "I've a class to go to soon, so I'll leave you both to enjoy your oh-so-lovely experience with Snape. I'll expect a full report at lunch."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Harry called after Ron, "Sure thing, mate! See ya later!"

Ron wandered out the door, leaving Harry sitting alone with Hermione. He was taking a drink of pumpkin juice when he noticed Hermione's eyes resting on him.

"What is it?" he asked. "Do I have food on my face or something?"

"No," she replied, sighing. "It's just that... well, Ron is so negative about Snape all the time. Don't you think it's possible that he's overly judgmental?"

"Who? Ron or Snape?" Harry joked.

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, annoyed. "I'm being serious. How many times do I have to remind the two of you that Snape is on our side and that Dumbledore trusts him? Shouldn't that be enough?"

Harry hmphed and glared at Hermione, muttering sourly, "You didn't have to stand in a room alone with him, listening to him berate your father and your father's best friends, one of whom is... was... my godfather. You didn't have to hear him tell you that you had an inflated ego and only wanted attention because of your fame. You didn't have to see him look down his long nose at you with those penetrating, black eyes, staring straight through you, making you feel worthless and transparent, all the while listening to him gloat and sneer at you. So, Hermione, unless you can say that you understand what it feels like to be in that man's horrid presence alone, please don't try to convince me that he isn't really all that bad."

Hermione was at a loss for words. Never before had Harry been so frank and open with her about Snape and how he truly felt inside about the Potions Master. True, she knew that Harry didn't like him, but she certainly couldn't comprehend the depth of that loathing.

"Okay, point taken," she finally said reluctantly, "but that won't excuse us from being late for our first Advanced Potions class. We'd best be moving along."

Harry nodded, grabbed his bag, and followed Hermione out of the Great Hall and down into the dungeons. They sat in their usual spot at the very back of the classroom, wanting to be as far away from Snape as was possible. It didn't matter where they sat, though, for Snape always stalked around his classroom during every period, closely monitoring the students as they worked on their assignment. Snape's very presence and his breathing down many an unsuspecting student's back were the cause of many accidents, for the students were wary of him and felt unnerved whenever he came too close. At least Neville Longbottom would no longer be an issue.

They watched as students from all four hours filtered into the room and took seats. The size of the class was smaller than any other year had been, and among the students there, Harry noticed that the majority of them were from either Slytherin or Ravenclaw. This was not at all surprising, considering the fact that Snape's own house would have received special treatment and the Ravenclaws were the most intelligent of the students. Harry watched the door for Snape, knowing that the man would not be a moment late.

Suddenly, Snape was there, walking quickly into the room, not looking at any of his students in the eyes. He leaned against his desk at the front of the classroom and then eyed them all, scanning the room for what Harry thought were misfits to be kicked out immediately. Then, Snape spoke.

"So," he began tersely, "you have all somehow managed to prove worthy of upper level Advanced Potions by scoring marks high enough on your O.W.L.s to be allowed to take this class; however," he paused, glaring straight at Harry, who glared back just as intensely, "some of you have been granted special pardon to be here. Well, no matter what the reason, consider yourselves being here a privilege, meaning that it is something you had to work for and something that can be easily taken away from you if I just happen to decide that your performance in this class is below what is acceptable. What is acceptable? Only top marks. What will be expected of you? Only the best working knowledge and performance in the subject of Potions. Now, your first lesson..."

Harry wanted to crawl under his desk and die. Snape had already managed to humiliate him and provoke him within the first five minutes of class. Writing the lesson on the board and listing the necessary ingredients, Snape told them that the potions they would be concocting would be able to give resistance to several strong hexes. He explained that the potion's effectiveness would wear off after only a half an hour, but nonetheless, it could be an important thing to have with oneself if the circumstance presented itself.

"I will be collecting your samples at the end of class, and you are each to do your own work. This means, Miss Granger, that there will be no helping from your know-it-all self," Snape sneered.

Hermione didn't say anything, but she only began to work. Harry watched her as she cut up several scarab beetles, and he was just about to do likewise when a low, hissing voice said smoothly behind him, "Ah, Mr. Potter, I see that your concentration is already displaced. Five points from Gryffindor for your lack of prompt attention to the given assignment. Now, do what you are here to do, Potter, and there won't be a problem."

Harry didn't say anything, for he was too angry with Snape for picking him out specially for a harsh reprimanding for doing nothing wrong. Harry spent the rest of the class working in silence on his potion, never once looking at Hermione next to him, but he did cast an occasional glare in Snape's direction simply for good measure on his part. After an hour and a half of pure and utter agony, at least in Harry's humble opinion, the class ended, and the students all poured a small bit of their potions into vials and cleaned up. They passed Snape's desk, each one placing a small bottle of potion on its surface as they walked by. Harry was the last one to walk by, and as he placed his potion down, he sat it rather firmly on the desk. He nearly jerked away in horror when a pale, long-fingered hand planted itself firmly on his, holding Harry's hand to the desk's uneven wooden surface, his young fingers still gripping the vial. From the doorway, Hermione gasped, looking at the scene in surprise.

"You may be on your way, Miss Granger," Snape instructed her tersely. He then turned his dark gaze on Harry.

Hermione quickly nodded and left the site.

"In the future, Mr. Potter, you will place your vial gently upon my desk. Is that clear?" Snape questioned silkily.

"Understood, sir," Harry mumbled.

Snape released Harry's hand harshly, pushing Harry's arm off the desk. "You may go now."

Harry nodded, his brows furrowed, but before he left the classroom, he glared at Snape and remarked, "Perhaps you, Professor, shouldn't handle your students so roughly, then."

Before Snape could reply, Harry turned on his heel and walked out the door. After Harry had left, Snape muttered to himself, "Five more points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," and recorded the subtraction of the house points in his ledger. He stiffly closed the large book and began grading the assignment. So ended their first Advanced Potions lesson together.