This story was actually partially inspired by Briana Marie's Growing Up Flower Twins. Briana offers a very unusual view on some of the things Snape does, caused by different romantic problems. I'm not giving it away, so read it if you want to know why. But this is my personal view on Snape.
Disclaimer~ No one or nothing is mine, especially Snape. Lupin is mine, although JKR and millions of other fangirls would probably not agree, so for legal purposes I do not own him. But that is a moot point, as he is, amazingly, not in this fic, except for a tiny reference.
Potter. The word leaves a bitter taste in my thoughts. How can you be so completely like your father? Arrogant, insufferable, always sticking your nose in other people's business. Anyone else would stay out of affairs that obviously do not concern you, but you are curious, and other people's privacy is no boundary to you. After all, you are the famous Harry Potter. Always getting whatever you want, and always rubbing it in other's faces. You may have fooled Dumbledore and all of the other teachers, but I've known what you were like since the first instant I saw you. Strutting around campus like you own the place, because you have a hideous scar on your face and can play Quidditch decently. Quidditch. Oh, yes, sure you may be the team captain, sure you may have been named the best Chaser in fifteen years and some simpering, idiotic Gryffindor girls may have worshipped you, but what good was that to you? Could you brew a Veritaserum? Make a decent Polyjuice Potion? Even understand the complicated process that goes into the creation of a Wolfsbane Potion to help your little pet monster? Of course not. And in the end, Quidditch did not help you.
Occlumency. You came in here, disgusting scowl on your face, what, angry at me? Did you think I asked Dumbledore to assign me as your teacher? Did you think I enjoyed the prospect of spending my afternoons with you while you whined, complained, and proved your utter incompetence at any magic that requires the least bit of brain capacity? If it wasn't bad enough that the drunken murderer you call your godfather hadn't already attempted to pick a brawl with me, must I deal with your attitude, as well, just because you cannot keep your overblown teenage emotions under control? Do you truly think I care about your private life, about your little kiss with some foolish admirer? Oh, Potter, your bloated head is quite the spectacle. How dare you speak the Dark Lord's name, how dare you act as though you do not fear him. What do you know of the Dark Lord? You have met him a total of four times, only twice was he at full power and only once did you have to fight him. Even then you were aided by your countless fans and the dumb luck so many mistake for heroics. You know nothing of his power, of the torture and terror he can inflict on men.
Oh, but I have forgotten. You are the famous Harry Potter. You are a hero to the wizarding world. If you wish to call the Dark Lord by his name, everyone marvels at how brave you are. If you wish to break school rules and put yourself and others in danger, then you're sure to get out of trouble. If you wish to spy on a person's most private memories, then you do so with no shame. You are Harry Potter. You are special. You disgust me.
Did you enjoy the show, Potter? Did you enjoy watching your father and his fan club humiliate me? Did it amuse you? I'm sure you were so proud that daddy was such a noble wizard. I can't look at you, Potter. I never could. You look so much like him, as everyone so often croons, inflating your already over-inflated ego. It's really quite a shame. Your eyes look exactly like your mother's. Too bad you didn't take more after her instead of Potter. She had all of the brains, class, and good looks in the family, and you inherited none of it. That Evans really was quite pretty. . .for a self-righteous little mudblood.
Oh, yes, I suppose you saw plenty of your mother in my pensieve, Potter. Quite misleading, wasn't it? One would have thought she hated Potter. One would've thought that perhaps she was not quite as insufferable as the other Gryffindors. But no, she was just like the rest- worshipping Potter and his little gang, finding their little jokes amusing.
Actually, you're quite a bit like her, aren't you? She was always sticking her nose where it didn't belong, too. So self righteous, always thinking she was better than everyone for standing up to Potter and his cronies. Thinking that made her special. She'd convinced everyone, hadn't she? They all thought that Li- the little mudblood was so wonderful. Brains, beauty, and the common decency lacking in most Gryffindors. She really shouldn't have been a Gryffindor, or so I-they thought. She was able to fool so many people, treating them as though she thought they were human beings, equals, even though they weren't noble Gryffindors. But in the end, whose side was she on? Potter's, of course. And where did that get you, Lily Evans? Dead. You didn't have to die. You could've lived a long, full life with someone far more deserving. But you chose Potter, and he carelessly threw your life away by following the advice of Black. Now you are dead, and your only legacy some self-absorbed little celebrity who disgraces your memory by ignoring rules set down for his own safety just so he can have a bit of fun.
Not that your memory needs more disgracing. You already disgraced it when you took the name Potter. Who knew it was possible for a mudblood to marry a wizard and be marrying down! I've always wondered where a mudblood like you got off defending me. Why would you do it? Perhaps long ago I thought it showed that you were different from them, a real witch despite your parentage. But if that were so, why would you have chosen Potter? He didn't deserve a girl like you.