Snape's Discovery

Another Potions class with Gryffindor and Slytherin. Severus Snape wandered impatiently between the hard-working students. He felt slightly relieved, as everything seemed to be going well for a change. A Potions class going smoothly was not something he was spoiled to encounter, he thought ironically to himself. The class was calm and concentrated, and the potions were fuming. The students were partly sitting with their noses in their books and partly peeking nervously into their cauldrons.

The particular potion they were making that day, Dreaming Draught, had reached the state where it needed to simmer for ten minutes before the final ingredient was added, so Snape returned to his desk upfront where he silently begun correcting the last test he'd handed out. He smirked as he wrote a well-deserved 'P' on Ronald Weasley's paper before he put it on top of his 'Finished' pile and started on the next one.

"Essay on Fast-Working Poisons and Their Antidotes by Harry Potter," read the paper in front of him. The celebrity kid. Almost unconsciously, he glanced up at the boy in question. Snape felt the usual stings of annoyance and loathing as he saw the dark-haired boy with his nose in the textbook. He returned his gaze to the essay. As he read through it, he was surprised to see that it was rather good. He looked at the boy again. Now he was busying himself checking to see when the potion would turn off-white so that he could add the Firefly Wings and wait for it to finish. The Potter boy was like a knocked-out tooth, the potions master contemplated. An ever-annoying presence that you couldn't help return to more than you really should. But, as all of the students were now pouring Firefly Wings into their potions, Snape didn't have time for further musings. He returned to his hurried treading between the cauldrons, his sarcasms even more dripping than usual. When the class was finally over it was a defeated and furious gang of Gryffindors, which trooped out of the dungeons.

Snape was sitting in his private quarters, poring over the papers. He was about to finish Potter's essay, giving him an 'E' for the first time. He slowly put the paper away, his thoughts returning to the lesson earlier that day. Taunting and hissing at the Gryffindor students was usually a good way for him to let off steam and frustration; especially steam and frustration that came from only looking at the Potter boy. But as he sat there, several hours into the night, he still felt annoyed and restless. "Probably because I gave Potter an 'E'," Snape thought bitterly to himself. With his strict self-discipline, mastered after a life of training it, he ignored his feeling of discomfort and focused on correcting the rest of the tests. This was not a pleasant task, and when his quill drew an angry 'A' on the last test, he was even more unsatisfied than before.

This would not do. He would not be able to fall asleep in this state, Snape knew that painfully well. Bringing his wand, he went out to roam the corridors like a suspicious and angry wolf. He almost hoped he would find a student out of bed - Potter, preferably - as there were few things that made him feel better than sneering his heart and displeasure out on a wincing student.

An hour later, the lone wolf returned hungry and disappointed. Severus Snape threw his wand on his desk, removed his robes with swift and angry motions before going to bed, waiting for another sleepless night.

He had never been an easy-sleeper, nor had he ever led an easy and happy life. But in the past few weeks his grumpy sneer had increased along with his lack of sleep. In his busy schedule of teaching and helping out Dumbledore and the Order, he allowed himself little time to ponder his personal life.

Still, Snape knew better than to dismiss this situation without carefully analysing it first. Becoming highly skilled at Occlumency had made him aware of the importance of knowing ones emotions and motives to the fullest. The lesser chance of finding himself surprised of his own thoughts and feelings, the lesser chance of anyone taking advantage of that opportunity to take a sneak peak into his mind.

So he closed his eyes and concentrated, delving deep into the dark corners of his mind, searching every part of himself until he was closer to the source of his malcontent. Fragments of his mind became clear and focused before dissolving again; the Dark Lord, meetings with Dumbledore, discussions with fellow teachers, nervous students. His brows narrowed slightly when one familiar-looking boy entered his mind. Potter again. Pictures and scenes shimmered through his brain; his loathing of the entire Potter family, James laughing with glee, his son's status of celebrity, his arrogant manner, his concentrated face in potions today, his impressively written essay, the tip of his dark hair clinging to his forehead by the steaming cauldron... Snape snapped open his eyes in horror, his mind going blank in an instant. It felt like someone had grabbed his insides and squeezed them hard. With an increasingly sick feeling in his stomach, he closed his eyes and reluctantly brought forth the sight of Harry Potter in his mind again. Along with the vision of green eyes and thick, wavy hair came an almost tickling sensation in his stomach, accompanied by a feeling horrendously similar to joy.

He rose quickly from the bed. This could not be right. He paced restlessly back and forth, sat down and stared at the floor, then got up and started pacing again. After half an hour Snape sat on his bed, dawning realization making him feel something he seldom felt, something that he hated.

He felt scared.

He had known since his student years that his personal interest did not lean towards women. He did not have any problems with that, not anymore. However, since the war, he had more or less accepted that he would spend his life alone. He had devoted himself to teaching and helping the Order. That pretty much required all his energy and focus.

And now this. Inappropriate feelings towards a student. And not just any student. He had always thought his relationship with Harry Potter had been complicated. Obviously not complicated enough, though, he thought bitterly.

Severus Snape's strength was his calculating intellect and his ability to be in full control of himself in the most dire of situations. He knew he had to accept the facts to be able to control them. He was just not quite sure how yet. There was Potions with Gryffindor and Slytherin again tomorrow; then he would know more about this... problem. With that in mind, he tried his best to fall asleep.

Students muttering over the difficult potion, the sound of herbs being chopped and unfinished, potions being stirred; Snape felt the familiar sounds calm him. As he walked slowly between the desks, his eyes darted quickly to Harry. The boy turned and glared suspiciously at him. Looking straight into those green eyes, so stern and strong - the boy was a true Gryffindor. Snape silently drew his breath to compose himself. This wouldn't do. He quickly mumbled something about the potion looking as fine as a Gryffindor could make it, and hurried back to his desk. He could almost feel the angry stare penetrating his back.

This lesson did not run as smoothly as the previous one. The potion they were making was more complicated, and so was Snape's mood. Shoving his unwanted feelings to the back of his mind, he regained his usual manner. "Now, I see several of you did not pay attention to my instructions, as usual," he said silkily. "Adding the Lacewing Flies before the potions had turned yellow..." He glared with disgust at the cauldrons now covered with the congealed and burned potion. It was giving off a rather foul smell. "The ones who managed to produce something remotely usable, leave your flask on my desk. Those of you who did not listen..." His eyes got the malicious glimmer that the Gryffindors in particular had learned to hate. "...will stay behind and clean their respective cauldrons by hand. No magic."

There were groans and protests. It was Friday afternoon and this was supposed to be the last lesson before the weekend. The Slytherins who had managed the potion smirked and did not try to hide their gloating. Snape was not surprised to see Draco Malfoy being one of them. Neither was he surprised to see that Crabbe, Goyle, and Ron Weasley had reluctantly started to scrub their cauldrons. And...Potter. A couple more students from both houses were also left working their way through their messy cauldrons.

Not offering them another word, Snape went up to sit at his desk. He had some new papers to finish.

Almost an hour had passed. Most of the students were done and had left; not without, Snape was convinced, cursing him both once and twice inwardly. He really didn't care. He had experienced enough in his life to not be bothered by the petty grudges of ignorant children.

Crabbe and Potter were the only ones left. Clearly, they had been especially unfortunate with their potions this time. Snape watched as Harry pulled up his sleeves and scrubbed furiously at a particularly difficult stain with his cauldron sponge. He really had thick hair, that boy. Which, Snape noticed with a sinking feeling in his stomach, was clinging dark and sweaty to his neck and forehead. Without a clear thought in his head, he was staring at Harry's arm working his way over the burned potion. The boy had grown over the last year; you could actually see the muscles working in his arm... Snape's mouth went dry and before he was able to compose himself properly, Harry looked up - and saw. His eyes widened in shock, the cauldron sponge falling to the floor.

Snape had looked away quickly, but the boy's reaction told him it was too late. His insides churned with angst. Fear. Merlin, this could not be possible. He stole a glance at Harry. His face showed pure horror.

This was intolerable. He rose to his feet and cleared the cauldrons with a wave of his wand. "I believe that will be enough for one lesson." Blessed be it all that his voice sounded normal. "You are dismissed."

Crabbe, having noticed nothing, hurried to leave the dungeon. Harry still stood frozen. Snape sat down again, refusing to look at him anymore. "Potter, I said you are dismissed. Now, please leave."

Harry awoke as if from a dream. He grabbed his books and ran out. This could not be true. Even so, he knew what he had seen. Just as he had been standing there - cursing everything from Snape to the Dursleys for this horrible, useless task - he had looked up to give the source of his frustration an angry glare, only to notice Snape staring directly at him. He had obviously not been aware that Harry saw him and there had been no trace of malice or loathing in his eyes. They had been filled with... he closed his eyes, trying to block out the sight. It disturbed him too much, made him sick. He would rather be scrubbing all the cauldrons in the dungeon than to witness what he had just...

He had reached the Fat Lady's portrait, mumbled, "Aurora Borealis," and entered. The common room was crowded, as it usual was on a Friday afternoon. He spotted Ron and Hermione on a couch near the fireplace. Excusing himself with a headache, Harry went straight to bed. He needed to think.

He had never suspected Snape to be... homosexual. To be honest, he had never given Snape and romance any thought. Why would he? Now he had to. Being undoubtedly straight himself, this was foreign territory. Harry closed his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts. His first reaction had been wanting to puke all over the cauldron (which would probably have earned him another round of cleaning). It was sick. It was revolting, for a thousand different reasons.

Harry turned over on his side, drawing his knees up and closing his eyes, trying to diminish the queasy feeling in his stomach. As the evening grew darker, Harry's turmoil and shock slowly subsided and he was able to think more clearly. Almost to his surprise, he noticed that he had no wish to laugh or ridicule Snape for his... feelings. Neither did he want to tell anyone, not even Ron. He knew how it felt to have strong feelings and how horrible it would have been to be teased or smirked at because of them. He had seen the horror Ron had gone through because of his unwanted attraction towards Fleur. And he imagined this would be even worse for Snape, considering the circumstances.

When he dared to dig further into his reactions, the shock of the discovery wasn't just because he was the subject of such emotions. It was learning that Snape was actually capable of feeling them. Harry was convinced that he would never forget the look in Snape's eyes that afternoon in the dungeons - simply because he had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined ever seeing Snape like that. In his childish anger, he had seen Snape as only a mean, malicious, evil... professor. Hardly a human being, to be honest; at least not a human being capable of feeling such... warm feelings. Seeing Snape with something close to warmth in his eyes was almost disturbing. Not to mention that it ruined the well-defined image he had made of his most hated professor.

Harry turned again, staring up at the ceiling of his four-poster bed. Despite everything Snape had said and done, he couldn't help feeling some sort of sympathy towards him, at least for this one thing. Unreturned love was hard for anybody that was capable of feeling such feelings in the first place, he concluded.

With his mind filled with new thoughts and revelations, he finally fell asleep.

Snape's hands trembled. The potions master had been sitting in the dungeon for what seemed like an eternity, unable to make himself do anything. Potter had seen it. He had noticed. Oh, Merlin. Covering his face with his hands, he tried to relax enough so that his brain could function again. A few deep breaths and his will and mind would begin working again, one cogwheel at a time.

The question was: How had the boy interpreted... no, he believed that was rather obvious. Snape felt ashamed, yet another feeling he had thought he would never feel again. What must Potter think? Despising him because of his rudeness and unfairness was one thing, which was rather well deserved, Snape thought. That he could handle.

Snape wasn't sure if he dared to think about all the possible consequences. What if Potter... Harry told any of his fellow students? What if the word spread? The staff, newspaper, the Order... Oh, Merlin, he thought again, closing his eyes in fear. Maybe he needed to talk to Harry. Soon.

The thought scared him. And for Severus Snape, being scared of talking to a student was almost more than he could bear. Because, a teeny voice inside him said, he didn't want to face the pain of seeing Harry's green eyes filled with disgust or a superior smirk. Not because of this.

His fear slowly turned into anger. He was angry with himself, angry because of his cowardly reactions and lack of control. If he could manage seeing muggles tortured to death by his once fellow Death Eaters, he could manage to talk to a boy... a young man about this.

There was too much at stake to get himself caught up in self-pity and petty fear, he thought, almost furious over his own weakness. He walked swiftly out of the dungeon. It would be time for supper soon; he might be able to catch Potter on his way to the Great Hall.

Not yet sure how he should address this when he finally got a hold of Harry, Snape stood outside the Great Hall scanning the sea of students. He saw the boy coming down the stairs, flanked by Weasley and Granger, as always. He tried his best to ignore the tingling in his stomach at the sight of him. Merlin, feeling like this was nothing short of a constant annoyance, he thought irritably. The happiness he felt when watching the son of James Potter was overwhelmed by the sadness and anger that followed. Yes, thinking about James might help. A bit, at least, he concluded sadly when the sight of Harry up close only managed to drive all the thoughts of James away.

"Potter, might I have a word with you?" he heard himself say, his tone revealing nothing of the turmoil inside him. He noticed Harry looked rather surprised, but there was a glimpse of understanding in his eyes.

"What...now?" he answered. "Sir." he added as an after thought.

Snape smirked. "Yes, Potter. Now, if you wouldn't mind."

Weasley and Granger's gaze followed them as he led Harry towards the dungeon. Weasley, he noticed, held nothing short of contempt in his eyes. Well, that was to be expected, Snape thought, not feeling the slightest bit offended. He wished he could feel the same indifference towards the boy walking in front of him now.

As they approached the Potions classroom, Snape soundlessly drew his breath, forcing himself to calm down and to regain full control of his mind and body. This would be awkward enough without him making a fool of himself.

Prepared for whatever might come, Snape closed the dungeon door, motioned for Harry to take a seat and then did the same himself.

Harry sat down, looking expectantly at Snape. Where to start! "You might have an idea about why I wanted to talk to you," he began quietly. There was no malice or contempt in his voice now, something which made Harry alert. "I might," he answered, and then went silent again.

Darn. He is not going to make this easy for me, Snape thought, feeling a short wave of panic. Well, he thought bitterly, why should he?

"Harry," Snape said, surprising them both by speaking his first name, but he thought it ridiculous to address him with his surname considering the topic at hand. "Could you tell me your thoughts on... the incident earlier today. I would like to hear your version of it." From the tone of his voice, he might as well have been asking Harry about his opinion on the latest edition of the potions handbook.

Harry felt numb. This was not happening. He could not be sitting in the dungeon, Snape with a grave look on his face, being asked... He sighed heavily, wondering what it cost Snape to have this conversation.

Hoping to whatever power that may exist that he had not misunderstood anything, he begun talking. "Sir, I believe it possible that you... " No, that would not work. He tried again. "I was... very surprised, because you ...had a look on your face that I had never thought I would see on a teacher. If I haven't misunderstood it all," he ended rather sheepishly. Would that do?

Snape cringed inside, but did not show it. If possible, he felt even more ashamed. He was a teacher, a grown man. He should not be feeling these emotions. Yet he did. "Yes, I am afraid you have come to the right conclusion." He willed his hands not to tremble. Calm. Quiet. In control. Breath. This is going well. Relax. He forced himself to look Harry straight in the eye. "Unfortunately, I have come to the conclusion that my feelings towards you are no longer professional. Please rest assured that no one regrets this more than myself."

Harry swallowed visibly. "I see." What to say, how to answer? But before he could think of anything, Snape continued. "Now, I need to know, Harry. Have you told anyone about this?" His look was even graver than before. Harry had given this a lot of thought and he too knew what was at stake. "No, sir, I have not. Nor do I intend to. I can't act as if I'm not surprised. I'm more than surprised. But..." His eyes met Snape's again. "... I know how it is to... have such feelings. I am not holding it against you."

For a moment, Snape could feel a blaze of irritation shoot up inside him. He was being compared to the whimsical flirtations of a fifteen-year old! He opened his mouth to tell Harry what he thought of such insinuations, but closed it without saying a word. The boy was right, that was the horrid fact. He was acting like a fifteen-year old, getting all giddy and annoyingly unbalanced by the mere sight of the young Gryffindor. Snape lowered his eyes, not able to meet Harry's at the moment. Never had he imagined that the boy would actually be able to calm him, to be the grown up in this conversation. Against his will, Snape was impressed - which didn't exactly help cool his newly found interest in Harry.

For probably the first time in the history of their acquaintance, Snape gave Harry a smile. A short, almost embarrassed smile. "Thank you." It was all he found he could say. Harry smiled shyly and looked down. There was an awkward silence.

Snape cleared his throat. "I will do my best to ignore this inappropriate situation and let it pass as quickly as possible. Having anything other than a professional attitude toward my students is not acceptable."

This time Harry actually laughed. "Professor, can you please tell me the last time you had a professional attitude towards me?" It was a bold question, but he felt the situation could bear it. Snape did not answer, but the smile was still on his lips as he again studied the wooden floor. Harry was indeed growing, he thought. He was getting older, more mature, braver - a true Gryffindor, he thought again. He sneaked a peek; Harry really had bright green eyes when he laughed...

Snape got up quickly. This trail of thoughts was just what he was trying to avoid. He noticed that Harry gave him a surprised look due to this quick change in mood, but he'd be damned before he told the boy what he'd just been thinking.

He cleared his throat once again, as it had suddenly gone dry. "Well, I am glad we had this conversation. You will not be troubled by this problem and there will be no need to talk about it again. Maybe it would be wise for you to return to the Great Hall now and have some supper before heading back to your common room." His voice was again that of the potion master - chilled, professional, in control.

Glancing at Harry, he could see that the boy was confused and maybe slightly put off by the shift in his voice, but he only nodded and left silently. But Snape couldn't do anything else. He couldn't trust himself not to say or do something really stupid if Harry had stayed any longer. As the door closed, Snape fell down on his chair, hiding his face in his hands, shaking. The horrifying feeling from earlier that day had come sneaking back to him as the realisation dawned on him - his feelings towards Harry Potter ran deeper than only a short fling or crush. It was something that had started to grow from deep within him, and it scared him because he had no idea how to handle it.