A Lost Memory

AN: I've taken some liberties with canon, like adapting Snape's death scene a little. No flames!

Seventh Year, the Battle of Hogwarts

As if in a dream, Harry approached his hated teacher, walked to his side, stared down at the man, dying in a pool of his own blood. Rapidly glazing black eyes stared up at him as he drew off his silky silver invisibility cloak and knelt, actuated by a strange sense of sorrow he barely understood.

Snape stared up at him. "P...Potter?" he rasped, his voice a mere whisper, potion-stained fingers half-heartedly attempting to staunch the relentless blood flow drenching his dark robes.

"Shhh, Professor," Harry whispered, gently drawing up the man's thin frame against him, supporting him. He may have hated the man, but no one deserved to die like this, alone and in agony, betrayed by the murdering backstabber whom he had served.

Blood began to drip onto his robes ceaselessly, but he knelt there, ankles starting to ache from the awkward position; it was something he would have wanted to do for Sirius, or Dumbledore, or...anyone, really, and it would have felt wrong to simply leave the man dying. And then Snape gasped, and a silvery something issued from his lips, shimmering like heat on a summer's night. "Take...it..."

Hardly able to breathe, Harry drew out a bottle, guiding the memories into it with a quick, expert sweep of his wand. Snape shuddered, breath slacking, as if, with the memories, something essential had bled from the man. Snape tilted his head, gripping Harry's robes in a desperate, if slackening, grip. "Harry, I..." a long pause. Too long. If it were not for Snape's ragged breaths, Harry would have thought that he had died. Then, at last, he continued through the bubbling of blood in his throat: "Look...at...me..."

A host of things to say rushed through Harry's mind at that moment, but his voice choked in his throat, and he could say nothing.

But emerald green eyes met midnight black, and the phantom of a smile ghosted across the Potion Master's lips, followed by the diamond glint of a teardrop slipping silently down his cheek. And then the man's head lolled back lifeless against Harry's shoulder.

And Harry rose shakily to return to Hogwarts and Dumbledore's pensive, as Voldemort's challenge reverberated through the Shreaking Shack. To see his hated professor's final memories.

Harry stared at the pensive, and then at the bottle in his hand, filled with shimmering, swirling silver. After what he had seen, and done, an escape, even into Snape's memories, would be a blessed relief. And he poured the fluid into the stone font and plunged recklessly into the past.

And every single one of his perceptions crumbled, as he watched a ragged, nine-year old Snape meet his gorgeous mother, and as they became friends. Then they were sorted into separate houses, and they grew apart due to Snape's interests and acquaintances, and the bullying of the boys in her house. Then Snape, in his humiliation after a particularly nasty "prank" called her something unforgivable even as she tried to defend him, and they parted after he tried to apologize and she didn't let him. Then Snape took the Mark, but upon overhearing the prophecy and taking it to his master, he learned that He was going to hunt down Lily because of it. And so he first begged Voldemort for her life and then went to Dumbledore, desperate, begging to spy, if only to save her. He watched in shock and horror as Snape wept over Lily's body, then broke down in Dumbledore's office, mad with despair.

It was then that he learned Snape had always been protecting him, and he learned that after all this, he was a horcrux. Cold, numb shock washed him, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, he would have exited the pensive if he had the power to. And then one more memory washed over him, and as it did he felt a wrenching something in his head and he suddenly remembered something that had happened years previous, something that had long been wiped from his mind.

First Year, after Christmas...

Harry couldn't help himself. He knew that he should spend some more time with Ron, or get homework done, or sleep, but all he could think of was the mirror, waiting for him in an abandoned classroom. Waiting to show him his family.

Slowly, being careful not to seem anxious, he pulled on his pajamas, telling a surprised Seamus that he had a headache and was going to go to bed early, and to tell Ron not to wait up for him. Then he pulled the curtains around his bed closed and lay down, making sure to keep his eyes open so that he wouldn't actually fall asleep. His dorm mates slowly began to filter back in with their usual light chatter, and he had to indure another hour of quiet talking and Exploding Snap before Percy came in to tell everyone that it was lights out, and the other boys settled down, although not without giving Ron some good-natured ribbing about his brother being a prefect. Shortly after that, there was no sound except Ron's loud snoring and the running water in the bathroom, where Dean was brushing his teeth.

Harry waited as long as he was able. After Dean came back and got into bed, Harry sat up in bed, disentangling his legs from the bed clothes, and pulled the curtains open again, halting at every tiny noise. When no one woke up, he got out of bed, wincing at the coldness of the stone floor, and bumbled around in the dark looking for his trunk. Eventually he barked his shin on it. After rubbing the offending appendage and muttering something Professor Mcgonagall would probably have taken points for, he unlatched the trunk and rummaged through it until his fingers slipped upon the cool, slippery silver fabric of his invisibility cloak, wrapped around his DADA textbook. He pulled it free, shaking out a few droobles wrappers, and carefully adjusted it around himself. Then he pulled the hood over his head and crept out the door, down the winding mahogany staircase. It was time.

Harry could scarcely keep himself from breaking into a run before he'd even left the Common Room. As soon as the portrait clicked shut behind him, he was running, only slowing down when he approached the classroom where the Mirror of Erised resided; he didn't want to miss it by mistaking one suit of armor for another. This was too important.

Despite the fact that he had been here before, he almost missed the door in his fervor, and had to backtrack, looking for it. And then, at last, he found the room. Unfortunately, he was not the only one.

Harry was almost halfway across the room when he realized that he was not alone; a figure dressed entirely in black was standing before the mirror in silence, staring into its depths. It was Professor Snape.

Harry's first reaction was overwhelming curiosity. What was Snape seeing in the mirror? What did the unpleasant Potions Master want that much?

Overcome by curiosity, Harry approached in silence until he was only a few feet from the man, but as with Ron, when Harry looked at the mirror, he saw only his own fantasy, his parents, standing around him protectively, while further on, aunts and uncles and grandparents gathered, all of them supporting him. Harry continued to approach. Even though he was disappointed, he still wanted to look in the mirror; that was, after all, what he had come for.

"Lily."

Harry jumped, abruptly jerked out of his thoughts at the word. It was not more than a whisper, the intonation was enough. Snape's long, potion stained fingers reached out as though to touch whatever he saw in the enchanted glass, and Harry, glancing at his profile, saw with a start that his dark eyes were glossy with unshed tears. "Lily," he said again, and Harry shivered at the pain in his normally malicious or emotionless voice. "I'm sorry, please understand..."

He might have gone on, but at that moment there was a scuffling in the hall outside, and Snape abruptly straightened, all traces of the hungry longing that had swept over his face vanishing under a blank mask. In another moment, his habitual sneer had taken up residence on his face again and he swept towards the door, robes billowing. Straight into Harry.

For a moment, both of them froze in pure shock, the one because he realized his predicament, and the other because he had just come into contact with an invisible body. Professor Snape was the first to react, as he yanked the slippery fabric off out from around the Gryffindor, Harry squeaking in shock and fear as he became visible.

The Potions Professor was not pleased.

"What, exactly, are you doing here?" He snarled, spit flying with every word. His black eyes glittered dangerously in the half light. Harry took a step back, only to be grabbed harshly by the shoulders. "Can I not go anywhere without you disturbing me?"

Harry shook in his grip, eyes wide. The pressure on his shoulder blades was starting to hurt.

"Have you come to spy on me? Is it not funny to see me in pain?"

Harry closed his eyes, wishing he was back in his dorm, that he'd never gone out. Or perhaps that he'd had the sense to leave while he could. Snape looked almost mad, and Harry had had to deal with an infuriated Vernon Dursley enough to be afraid. Unbidden, his throat closed up, green eyes hot with overflowing tears.

Snape shook him roughly. "Answer me!"

It was at this point that the eleven year old boy totally lost control. "My mum," he whispered, voice wavering just slightly. "I ju-just wanted to see her. I didn't kn-know that you were he-here." Tears began to spill down his cheeks, and, still being gripped by the shoulders, albeit much more loosely as the professor was reeling in shock, he was unable to swipe them away. The tears increased as Harry grew more and more frustrated that his most hated professor was witnessing his breakdown, and most likely would use it as ammunition to taunt him. And without realizing what he was doing, he fisted both hands in the silky black cloth of Snape's robes and buried his face in the professor's broad chest.

Snape went totally still. The rational part of Harry's brain expected him to shove him away, perhaps with a derogatory comment, but the boy was to distraught to move, only clinging to the man as though he were a lifeline, lost in his tears. Snape's cautious embrace did not even register.

It seemed like a lifetime before Harry stopped crying. He'd never actually done so before, at least not since he was fifteen months old; neither Aunt Petunia nor her overweight husband tolerated sniveling, and when he finally stopped he did not know where he was, except that he had his face pressed against cloth that smelled of herbs and exotic spices and briny things in jars, that someone was holding him. Snape! Harry's eyes flew open and he gave a little gasp, trying to pull away, face crimson . "I...I'm s-sorry, s-sir."

There was a curious expression on Snape's face, one Harry couldn't quite read. "This changes nothing," he said at length, his tone almost conversational. "There are various parties who...expect certain behaviour from me in classes and in the halls, and it is imperative that l...appear to hate you." He sighed. "But...but know that I am not your enemy. If it comes to it, I will protect you."

Harry stared at him in confusion. "W-why?"

"I..." the Potion Master rubbed the bridge of his nose as if to give himself time to think. "I was not always a good man," he said finally, "and I must act in certain ways to deceive my old...colleagues. Simply put, I once followed the Dark Lord, before I realized how truly terrible he was."

Harry blinked. "So you were in His camp?"

A grim nod.

"What changed?"

"Your mother." Snape's voice shook ever so slightly. "I did something that got her in danger, and I changed sides to protect her. Not that it worked." His voice was harsh with self-loathing.

"My mum...?" This was quickly becoming surreal.

Snape nodded again. "We were, at one time, friends." His hold loosened. "But enough of that now. I do not want to have you sleep deprived in my class tomorrow, and you are already out after curfew." He swept languidly to his feet, helping Harry up by the scruff of his neck. "And for future reference, I will render you into potions ingredients if you ever speak of this to anyone."

Harry gulped and nodded, turning away. He did not hear the Potion Master's quiet whisper of "Obliviate."

Harry emerged from the pensive in a daze, to walk to his death, the memories still lingering in his mind. He walked into the Forbidden Forest, after telling Neville to make sure Nagini was dead, and gave himself up to be killed.

It surprised him as much as the Death Eaters when he was given a chance to go back. He reanimated his body and played dead in Hagrid's arms as he was carried back to the castle. He witnessed Neville lopping off Nagini's head and watched the defenders defy Voldemort. He saw Molly kill Bellatrix and Voldemort attack...and then he dueled Voldemort. And won. And it was all over.

Harry walked quietly into the morgue at the ministry to claim Remus and Nymphadora's bodies for burial, watching and wandering among the dead, students, aurors, and Death Eaters alike. And that's when his eye fell in a pair of ministry workers, talking, and a very familiar face.

"Why bother- no one's gonna claim him. It's not like any of the Princes are still alive. Just send him to the mass burial."

"Can't, it's a ministry decree to wait thirty days. Pretty stupid, if you ask me- I mean, who'd have the guts to claim a Death Eater. Hullo?" the second worker broke off, seeing Harry approaching. "What can I do for you?"

Harry hesitated...after all, he'd only come to claim the bodies of Remus Lupin and his wife...and then suddenly straightened in resolution. If his game was good for anything, it could help clear Snape's name.

"Yes sir, you can- I'd like to claim the body of Severus Snape for burial."

"What- he's a traitor! Sir," He added as he realized who Harry was.

Harry's green eyes darkened. "No. He was a spy. And he was the bravest man I've ever known."