"You hate me just like you hated my father!"

Snape turned on him, the mask he wore so magnificently in front of the Dark Lord slipping for just a second. Merlin the child could do what the Dark Lord could not. His guard shouldn't have been down, not near Potter, not near anyone. Of course he always shielded his thoughts, but he had to school his expressions as well. What good would it be if his mind was as protected as Hogwarts (which didn't seem to be protected very well these days) if his face was as open as a quidditch pitch.

"I do not hate you Mr. Potter," he said coldly, his knuckles whitening as the grip on his wand tightened.

He didn't hate the boy. He couldn't hate him despite how much easier it would be. Harry Potter, Lily and James's son.

If he hadn't been such a fool, such a heartless fool. A fully fledged Death Eater by nineteen, pretending to devour their drivel because it meant he belonged, it meant he was important. He was only responsible for two deaths, he knew that. It was a cruel kind of justice that made those two deaths them.

"Sit down Mr. Potter," Snape turned away. "You will remain behind when everyone else leaves and you will remake the potion."

"No!"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor!" he span on his heel. "Sit down Mr. Potter."

A whisper was spreading through the class like a forest fire, first slowly and quietly then from seemingly nowhere Gryffindors and Slytherins alike were craning their necks and abandoning their cauldrons to see what the Potions Master would do.

"There was nothing wrong with my original potion, you-"

Hermione tugged at his arm, her face red as she hissed at him to sit down. Her eyes were round with fear and awe. "Please-"

"Mate just leave-"

"You're just like Umbridge you know," Harry shoved the desk hard knocking over his empty cauldron (for Snape had removed the potion) and sloshing Hermione's all over the text books. "My Dad and his mates were teenagers and so were you! How the hell can you still hate them? You're always picking on me, always hurting me. You're not a Death Eater but you sure as hell act like one!"

A gasp ran through the classroom. Malfoy chuckled softly and a few Slytherins grinned in anticipation of the bollocking Potter was about to get.

Snape took a steadying breath. A Muggle upbringing shone through in the boy's nature. Any child magically raised who was so angry, so furious that their fists clenched and they squared up to an authority a figure, a teacher (a teacher like him) would have drawn their wand already. Or perhaps that was just the kind of child he was.

Tears were brimming in the boy's eyes and Snape didn't like it. The defiance was easier to deface. Waterworks weren't dealable because you were meant to be understanding and you were meant to listen and if he was meant to be pretending to be a bloody spy for the Dark Lord he had to pretend to be Dumbledore's lapdog and if he was pretending to be Dumbledore's lapdog he had to at least do his job.

It was hard, as the mask grew more complicated. Keeping enough hatred of Potter so it was believable for You-Know-Who but keeping teachery enough so that it was also believable. Not getting too carried away in his role and nt getting too carried away in his "I'm Dumbledore's bloody submissive" role. So many bloody lies...

"Out!" he exclaimed.

Potter lifted his head as if he was only just hearing the professor speak.

"All of you!" cried Snape with a flick of his wand and a spell muttered under his breath for the nonverbal was simply too much energy he turned and strode to the front of the class. "You're dismissed! I want three feet on the proper etiquette in the classroom and why any of you incompetent brats should be allowed anywhere near a potions laboratory in the future! Potter sit down."

Malfoy stared at his cauldron. "Professor I worked for two hours on-"

"Twenty points from Slytherin Mr. Malfoy," Snape sat down behind his desk. "Get out."

Ron who'd been sharing a desk with Neville glanced at Harry who shook his head. Hermione shoved her burnt text book into her bag and gave Harry a pitying look before he moved go to her. She and Ron were the last two to leave and they lingered at the doorway.

"Miss. Granger, Mr. Weasley I do not intend to bump off Mr. Potter here and now and if I did I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would be the first to stop me. Two teenage wizards aren't. Goodbye," he snapped his fingers and the door slammed shut.

"You might be labouring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you," Snape hissed, "but they're not. Pretences have to be kept up. Are you so ignorant that you can't see that?"

Harry said nothing, instead he stared directly at his hands and wished he was somewhere else.

Snape stood from his desk, straightened his robes and walked slowly in between the desks, all left in a state of frenzy, ingredients scattered across surfaces, notes left behind in the hurry to leave.

"Answer me Potter."

Rearing his head he shook it and began to laugh, his eyes watching the professor from beneath his dark fringe. "What would you know about pretences?" he asked, his voice breaking. "What would you know about pretending to know what the hell's going on while Dumbledore wants you to save the bloody world. What would you know?"

"You have an Occlumency lesson tonight, I expect you here," he found his voice growing slightly softer, the edge fading. "If you care anything for your mother's sacrifice, for your father-"

"What the hell did you care for them?" Harry demanded. Now he was on his feet again pointing a finger at the man's chest. "Why the hell am I supposed to trust you?"

"Because if my loyalties didn't lie where they do," snarled Snape. "You and your little friends would be dead thrice over. I will always do what I can to protect you Potter, I know the Dark Lord has returned, and I swear to you I will not let your parents' or anyone else's death in the struggle to defeat him have been in vain."

"If you hate me so much why didn't you let Quirrell kill me at my first quidditch match?"

Snape felt as if he were going round in circles. The insolent child wasn't listening. He felt the skin of his arm prickle, the dark mark (he refused to capitalise it in his mind, he was trying to do the same to the Dark Lord's title and failing miserably) was growing stronger and stronger each day. A constant reminder of the little boy playing gangster.

He was like the boy who watched the kitten being tortured begging that the bigger boys put it out of its misery. The Dark Lord was the one doing the torturing, Lucius and Bellatrix joining in, laughing and poking at the poor creature with sticks. But they always turned to the watcher and asked if he'd like a go, and he couldn't say no and it got so hard to say no and he wanted out but he didn't know what to do and he was so scared and-

He wanted his Mother. But that was just instinct. His mother had never comforted him in her life.

"I never hated your father boy, I never hated your father's friends. We weren't on the best of terms," he sighed, "but I never hated them. I did things I wasn't proud of and so did he. James Potter was an arrogant, foolish man. But I-"

I went to Dumbledore for help, I wanted out, I didn't want to go to meetings anymore and watch them and...I wanted to help people. I didn't want to hurt anyone.

"I'm a spy for the Order of the Phoenix, I attend the Dark Lord's meetings and I report back. That is why it's another reason that it's important that you learn to shield your mind, my life is dispensable, but my position in their ranks is not," he paused. "Potter I am not speaking to you as a child now, I am speaking to you as a young adult though you are not. You have the weight of the wizarding world on your shoulders but I will not make acceptances, however I will be slightly lenient. I know you don't like me Mr. Potter but the enemy of thy enemy is thy friend."

Harry felt his lip begin to tremble. He glanced around the empty classroom, searching for anything to focus his eyes on than the gaze of the strict professor. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and let the woman he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised comfort him softly.

Snape felt a strange feeling that felt almost like happiness creep over him as tears flooded the boy's eyes again, Lily's eyes. It wasn't that he enjoyed seeing the boy so distraught, he hated it, but nostalgia came with the tears. He remembered Lily's tears of joy when she found out she was pregnant, he remembered James (that same face, the face that stared at him now), telling him not to come anywhere near them until he'd got himself clean.

Such a strange word, as if associating with the Dark Lord made him dirty. If anyone was dirty it was Umbridge. The bitch didn't deserve to be anywhere near children. He'd seen the punishments and he'd do what he could to disturb them, demanding that he needed people to scrub cauldrons and scour the stone floor. He needed people to collect herbs in the forest ("Unless you don't want me to be able to brew up more potions for you Ma'am!").

Playing with the child, clapping his hands together as Lily watched delighted. Already he was working for Dumbledore, who vowed they were safe. But no matter what the Dark Lord couldn't know the truth, he couldn't know about the feelings Snape had for...for... He remembered holding James's hand as Harry whizzed around on a toy broomstick almost colliding with the poor cat.

The boy had definitely inherited Lily's attitude, gentle and likeable but so free spirited. Lily didn't want to be tied down to a man, she was happy to carry James's child. Their child. Happy to play mother if James wanted to play father. James and him. She loved and would have loved him, she would have been proud of him-

"...so proud of you," he whispered. Silently he summoned a potion from his personal supply and caught it with ease. He handed it to the boy. "Calming potion, believe me, I'm only allowed to poison a handful of pupils per term, quota to fill and what not. Especially since we've got the ministry itself here."

Harry almost laughed, his hand shook as he took the vial and uncorked it sniffing it cautiously. But he wouldn't have known if it was a poison or not, and if it was Snape wasn't exactly going to give him one that smelt like death. Had the professor actually cracked a joke?

"I believe the bell just went, I will inform- Professor Flitwick is it you have next? That you've been taken ill and are resting. Just make sure you're here tonight and in Defence Against the Dark Arts in the morning. And don't be late."

Harry stood open vial held tightly in his hand. "I'm...I'm not ill Professor."

It sounded almost as if he'd jumped to denial too quickly. Quite frankly there were different types of ill and some of them were more tricky than others. The staff had been waiting for breakdowns since the first year, especially since summer, since the Triwizard tournament, since Cedric.

"I know, but since when did you have trouble lying to teachers?" he asked, trying to sound cynical and smirkish but instead it came out as he truly intended it to, sort of jovial.

Harry paused, the scars on the back of his hand that held the vial red against the white tightness of his skin. In his other hand he'd grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Thank you Professor," he murmured downing the vial's contents and handing it back.

He was gone before Snape realised it and soon he was returning the vial to where he put all the used vials for cleaning, in a pile labelled first year detention. They tended to have skinny enough fingers to treat the things gently. As he began to sort through his stocks making mental notes of what he needed collected and what he had enough of he tried to make a lesson plan for his next lesson.

He didn't have one until third and he thought he had Slytherin and Ravenclaw seventh years. They rotated who had what lessons which what house each year, but it was just his luck that Potter's year had Gryffindors and Slytherins together.

But he couldn't concentrate because it felt as if the entire world was trying to escape the inside of his head. Harry's words echoed in there and he knew he had to mask them, cover them with petals and feathers and thoughts of hatred.

As he realised he was out of wolfsbane he sighed and held the empty jar to his cheek, letting its coolness flush through him. "I didn't hate James...I loved...I loved him."

A tear slid down his cheek as he bowed his head and let them fall slowly and steadily into his hands.

AN: AU. Duh (hopefully duh cause if you thought this was cannon you haven't really been in the presence of any of the books, films, games, comics). Not mine either- cause while I'd love to be JKR I'm not.

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