Disclaimer: Harry Potter Books are the intellectual and financial property of J.K. Rowling. I receive no financial compensation for writing fanfiction. I merely get the fantastical pleasure of playing in her world, and you get the pleasure..or displeasure…of reading the result.

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Chapter One

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Harry Potter subconscously rubbed his left side as he laughed with his classmates. Tears poured from the corners of his eyes, largely due to the uncontrollable mirth at the sight of the eight-legged creature crashing into walls and desks…and the sharp pains that were traveling down the left side of his chest. He took great, steadying breaths in a failing effort to curb his expressiveness.

A part of him didn't want to stop. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so…free. The familiar emotional sensation of flying on a broom, he mused. Perhaps it was the fact that he didn't want the feeling to end that hindered his sense of self-control. Another stab of pain. I really have to stop.

He was suddenly struck with an idea. Harry had been surprised when Snape returned to the classroom, shortly after Neville's boggart. Harry's laughter momentarily increased with the thought of Snape seeing himself wearing the clothes of Neville's gran. It's perfect. All I have to do is get one good look—Harry forced his eyes to shift to the left, at the wall where Professor Snape was leaning, his arms folded over his chest. Sure enough, Snape was looking straight at him, scowling hatefully at him. The sight instantly sobered him. He drew in a deep breath, wincing painfully as another sharp pain filled his chest. Harry allowed himself a small, sardonic smile.

Thanks, Professor. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you decided to stay. My bruised ribs are even more grateful. Who says a hateful, greasy Potions Master can't serve a useful purpose every now and then. I really owe you one. Snape's eyes widened in momentary shock. Harry jumped. Oh no, did I say that aloud?

Harry looked around in panic, seeing everyone staring at him. Hermione nudged him. "Why are you just standing there, Harry? It's your turn," she whispered.

"Oh, right," he said lamely. He stepped forward, watching apprehensively as the boggart began to spin. Well, at least it won't have the element of surprise. Everyone knows my biggest fear is Vol—But Harry never finished his train of thought as an overwhelming, terrifying realization struck him and the boggart became a dementor. Harry heard a distant, collective scream as a chilling fog enveloped him.

"No, not Harry!" A woman's voice pleaded frantically.

"Stand aside, silly girl," a cold, clear voice said.

"No, please! Not Harry! I'll do anything—"

"Stand aside—"

"Anything! Don't kill him!"

"Step away, girl! NOW!"

"Please! Kill me instead! Kill me!" But the fog was lifting, and Harry found himself blinking at the back of a tall, lanky, greasy-haired man in black robes and…himself?

But something was wrong about the other Harry. He was almost certain that he wasn't that attractive-looking…or that tall. And the other Harry was wearing an expression that Harry didn't like one bit, oddly reminiscent of Draco Malfoy.

"You're so pathetic," Boggart-Harry taunted Snape.

Harry's eyes widened in shock. Snape's afraid of me? But—

"You haven't changed a bit. You're still the sniveling, bed-wetting loser you've always been—"

Harry stared in disbelief as the boggart continued to humiliate the trembling Potions Master.

"That's…not…me," Harry said lamely, blinking stupidly at his arrogant pseudo-twin. Snape flinched loudly as his eyes snapped toward the real Harry Potter, his eyes becoming large as he noticed the other students for the first time. He paled even more as his worst nightmare came to fruitation: complete humiliation in front of Potter's spawn and his friends. Boggart-Harry's eyes gleamed triumphantly.

"What made you think she'd ever want you? My father's a bigger man than you'll ever—"

Mum? Snape loved my mum?

"Everybody sees it. You're fooling no one—"

Harry was becoming increasingly agitated as unshed tears formed in the Potion Master's eyes. The boggart-Harry strongly reminded him of Dudley Dursley, the bullying tyrant. Harry scowled. There was nothing on the planet Harry hated more than bullies, besides himself, perhaps. Which was perfect, since the boggart closely matched the real Harry, despite the apparent height issue and its eyes were hazel and its nose was longer. Close enough, anyways.

"Shut up," Harry clipped in a low, dangerously calm voice as he took a step forward.

"—sniveling—"

"You said that already," Harry snapped tersely, his voice still low.

"—worthless, weak, miserable—"

"Shut up," Harry demanded, his voice raising slightly in anger as he stepped closer.

"Mr Graynickers…can't even afford decent—"

Harry snorted. "Yeah, look who's talking," he muttered darkly. Snape's bloodshot eyes shot him a doubletake, but Harry didn't notice. He was too immersed in glaring at his pseudocopy with intense dislike.

"Because who could possibly love a Snivellus. Freak—"

Harry's eyes popped angrily as an echo from his past filled his mind.

"Stop crying, you sniveling freak, or you'll get much worse!"

Harry raised his wand in rage as he stepped beside Snape. "SHUT UP!" He bellowed, snapping his wand forward. Suddenly, Boggart-Harry found itself standing completely disrobed, except for moldy-looking, hole-filled graying undershorts.

The Slytherins roared with laughter, and for once, Harry joined them, but his laugh was humorless. He smirked in grim satisfaction at the look of confused horror on boggart-Harry's face.

"Now who's the Snivellus?!" Harry barked before turning on his heels and exiting the room, his robes billowing.

"That was…unexpected," Severus mused quietly to himself as he sat at his desk, staring into a tumbler of Firewhisky that he had poured, but probably wouldn't consume. The brat-who-lived, Potter's spawn, had actually defended him from the boggart Potter. He frowned thoughtfully as he reclined in his seat. Something was nagging him. Even in Severus's terrified mindset, he couldn't help but notice it, the subtle differences between Potter and the boggart. Once the real Potter had stepped forward, the differences became quite apparent to Severus's compulsively analytical mind. Size wise, the boggart-Potter dwarfed the real spawn by at least a head and a half.

Severus snorted. Had he actually believed Potter to be that tall? He couldn't recall, but the comparison had brought something uncomfortably home for him. The real Potter was abnormally small for his age, for his genetics, even. Severus couldn't remember seeing anyone from the Potters or the Evans that was as short as the boy. He had watched as the smaller boy stalked from the room in a fairly decent impression of the Mad Bat-out-of-Hell robes-swishing routine that Severus himself had trademarked after so many years. Oh, the irony! He vaguely remembered comparing Potter's height to those of his classmates. Potter was easily the shortest male in his year. The next shortest, Draco Malfoy, beat him by over half a head.

Hmm, a dwarf Potter, Severus mused, trying his best to sneer, but failing miserably for once. He couldn't help the feeling that somehow, he had missed something. Trying to redirect his thoughts, Severus returned to comparing Potter to the boggart. Height aside, the differences were so subtle that Severus wondered if he had imagined them.

His frown deepened. He didn't know why, but he had to know for sure.

…

After setting the borrowed Pensieve on his desk, Severus pressed his wand to his forehead and withdrew the memory. He'd take no pleasure from reliving the experience. But if he focused on Potter's perspective more—

Who was he fooling? But he felt compelled to proceed, regardless. He prodded the memory with his wand and plunged into the basin with a courage he did not feel.

The memory began just as he had changed his mind about staying for Lupin's session, a decision he'd regret to his dying day. But rather than joining his memory self by leaning against the wall, he joined the rather fat line of third years awaiting their turn with the boggart. Potter was a little further in the back, just in front of Granger and, of course, his snakes. Severus stood beside the boy, watching intently.

Potter's eyes darted momentarily toward the black-clad man on the wall, who had just folded his arms across his chest and shot Potter a venomous glare. Potter winced so hard he nearly bowled over Weasley in front of him. Reddening slightly, Potter shifted his gaze toward the boggart. Every time a classmate had confronted the boggart, Potter had laughed with the others. But it was a very forced laugh, very unlike the one that had angered Severus earlier. He noticed Miss Granger shoot Potter a concerned glance before returning his attention to the boy.

He leaned forward carefully, to examine Potter's eyes. Although Legilimancy was useless in a pensieve, Severus was still adequate at accessing emotions, especially 'open books' like Potter.

Severus' jaw dropped. Damn. He couldn't believe it. He had thought Albus had been lying when he had said Potter had her eyes. All the times he'd looked Potter in the eye—how in the hell had he missed Lily's eyes? His confusion deepened as he saw the flickering feelings in those bright green emeralds. It had been a while since he'd seen so much depth in a person's eyes. On the surface, he could see the complacent, yielding, submissive acceptance he usually saw when Potter was not in the close vicinity of him. A bit beyond was the bitter defiance he was accustomed to seeing, usually directed at him. Even deeper was a mixture of guilt, shame, and resentment. Finally, a painful resignation and feelings of inadequacy. But there was something deeper yet.

Severus had always been aware that Potter was hiding something. He had assumed that it was due to the fact that Potter didn't want everyone knowing what a spoiled, arrogant brat he was…manipulating, cowardly, and irrationally reckless. A comsumate Gryffindor, Severus had sneered.

But now it troubled Severus. As he looked deep into the pools of green, familiar feelings churned within his gut. Some of his own repressed memories nudged at his shields as Severus recognized the feelings for the first time. Sadness. Overwhelming, disturbing, pervasive melancholy. Pain. Anguish. Anxiety. Fear. Loneliness. Shame.

It was rather disconcerting to see those emotions…especially in her eyes.

Potter's brows furrowed as he continued his mirthless charade of false laughter. He wrapped his arms around his stomach. Severus's eyes widened, troubled, at the familiarly defensive gesture. No. Surely not…

Weasley's turn came. For the first time, a small, knowing smile crept across Potter's face. Severus turned, curious, to see Weasley's biggest fear. He snorted. A giant spider. Weasley shook and whimpered. "Come on, Ron," Potter whispered softly.

Weasley gulped as he shakily pointed his wand. "Riddiculus!" Skates appeared on all eight feet of the giant spider. Trying to remain upright, the spider skidded across the room and crashed into a desk. Severus smirked as he watched his memory self cover his mouth and 'cough.' It had been funny, after all. The wayword spider attempted to get to its feet and skated clumsily across the room before slipping and falling on its massive belly.

Severus returned his attention to Potter, who was blinking stupidly at the spider's antics. His face contorted as the scene penetrated his mental restraints. Suddenly, Potter erupted into peals of laughter, free, pure, uninhibited mirth as the spider continued to careen into desks and walls. Severus realized, like he had in the memory, that he had never heard this Potter laugh. A real laugh, anyways.

He remembered what had made him so angry before. Potter's laugh, he had realized, was nothing like his father's. It was soft, evenly inflectioned, melodic. The teen gave an uncharacteristic snort, which caused him to laugh even louder. Potter's laugh is beautiful, Severus thought bitterly once more. As he looked over at his other self, he recalled what had led to his latest ire with the child. The other Severus was staring at Potter in shock. Probably coming to the same conclusion I just did. Then, his expression became bitter, and Severus remembered what he was thinking then. I was thinking of the son that should have been mine and Lily's. The one with that laugh. And then I was resenting Potter for having those kind of thoughts.

Potter's eyes filled with unshed tears as he rubbed his left side with his chest, wincing. Wincing? Eventually, Potter's laughter became so uncontrollable that the guffaws of his peers faded as everyone began to stare. The teen's face became wet as the boy succumbed to a state of complete hysterics. A pained, desperate expression filled his face as he realized what was happening, rubbing his left ribcage constantly.

It seemed Potter had developed a plan, for his eyes quickly found those of the bitterly-seething Potions Master. Potter's laughter quickly abated under the teacher's hateful glare. Severus winced at his own furiosity. The final hint of laughter died from the boy's face, quickly replaced by a small, grateful yet sardonic smile. A voice from Potter's mind echoed through the room, Severus recalling that he had probed the boy's thoughts:

"—how grateful I am that you decided to stay. My bruised ribs are even more grateful. Who says a hateful, greasy Potions Master can't serve a useful purpose every now and then. I really owe you one," the voice echoed earnestly.

Severus recalled his initial shock after 'hearing' that, and it must have showed on his memory self's face, because Potter began frantically searching the crowd for evidence that he had spoken his gratitude aloud. Miss Granger nudged him and whispered in his ear.

"Oh, right," Potter said with a look toward the dementor, blushing. He warily stepped forward, still stoking his ribcage subconsciously.

Hmm.

The smug look that Severus thought he had seen as he had watched from the wall was clearly absent. A resigned sigh escaped Potter's lips as the boggart began to contort. The teen watched the boggart spiral apprehensively, knowingly, as he took another step forward. But quite suddenly, Potter's eyes widened fearfully just before the boggart gave one final spin and changed into a dementor.

Perhaps Potter was expecting the Dark Lord, Severus mused.

Potter's eyes became terror-filled and distant; he trembled as the students collectively screamed. Lupin made to move, but the memory-Severus was closer. Severus snorted as his memory-self stepped between the boy and the boggart. I don't know what it is about that brat that brings out the recklessness in people! Potter's going to kill me one day!

The boggart began to spin as both Snapes regarded the dazed teen. Suddenly, a haughty, menacing laugh filled the classroom, causing Severus's memory-self to spin around, his eyes wide with shock. Even the boggart's laugh is different than Potter's…in fact, it sounds more like—

"You're pathetic," Boggart Potter sneered at the memory Snape. Severus turned to the real Potter to gauge his reaction.

Potter was swaying on the spot, blinking stupidly, his mouth slightly open. Perhaps I can obliviate them all, Severus thought grimly as he surveyed the rows of shocked faces.

"You haven't changed a bit. You're still the same sniveling, bed-wetting—"

Potter's eyes snapped wide as he took in the boggart's appearance. Lily's emerald eyes quickly filled with horror as the boggart continued to taunt the teen's professor.

"That's…not…me," the real Potter uttered in half revulsion, half embarrassed tone.

"What made you think she'd ever want you? My father's—" Severus watched as a confused recognition crossed the boy's features. Damn. He knows.

"Everyone sees it. You're not fooling—"

Potter's eye flashed dangerously. Severus stepped back in shock as an electric wave rippled through the air, causing some of the nearby students to gasp. Potter's eyes took on a bitter, mischevious gleam. He glared at the boggart with complete loathing. Just another reason the boy would be better suited as my son…rather than his, Severus mused ironically as he considered the very Snape-like leer on the very Potter-like face.

"Shut up," the boy said in a calm, dangerous tone as he took a step forward. Severus shivered.

"—sniveling—"

"You said that already—"

"—worthless, weak, miserable—"

"Shut up," Potter snapped in a firmer, more aggressive tone. He stepped closer.

"Mr Graynickers, can't even afford to buy decent under—"

Potter snorted derisively. "Yeah, look who's talking," he muttered.

I thought that's what he said. Interesting.

"Because who could ever love a Snivellus freak—"

Potter's eyes popped wildly, maniacally. He raised his wand as he rushed forward to confront,er, 'himself.' "SHUT UP!" He shouted as he brought his wand down with a snap, pointing it at the boggart.

Severus lifted his wand. "Stop."

The memory froze. He stepped forward to examine the two Potters. The real Potter, as he had remembered, was considerably shorter than the boggart, by nearly two heads. Boggart-Potter was lean, healthy and outrageously confident; the real Potter, while he was also lean, looked peaky and self-conscious, his short, gangly body swimming in his school uniform. Severus had known how wiry the boy seemed, but now that he scrutinized more closely, noticed how dangerously thin he was. Potter looked as though he was recovering from repeated famines. Probably thinks he's too good for his aunt's—Severus stopped himself. He could make no more assumptions about this Potter. Afterall, he had missed so much…could he be wrong about everything?

Severus slowly circled the real Potter. He recognized the robes he wore from last year because of the small, burned hole on his right shoulder where Draco Malfoy had slung essence of evatsic at Potter, who, with a seeker's reflexes perhaps, dodged. It was fortunate for Potter that he avoided most of it; essence of evatsic is highly corrosive. In the end, it winded up eating through Potter's robe, his jumper, his shirt, and his skin. At the time, Severus had never questioned Potter's lack of expression as it burned through his local skin and tissue. Outside of being mildly impressed, he never thought it anything more than the Gryffindor's attempt at bravado. He didn't even question it when Potter suggested that he, Severus Snape, hated Potions Master, tend to the injury, rather than Madam Pomfrey.

But now he wondered. It seemed that everytime Potter sustained injuries in class, he asked for the teacher of the class to fix it, rather than go to the infirmery. Severus recalled the talking of Potter's different teachers discussing the fact in the lounge. Severus had never joined the conversations about Potter, who seemed a popular object of discussion among the faculty. He just sneered it off as another one of Potter's attention-getting things.

He stopped suddenly. What's this? He leaned in beneath Potter's right ear. An oblong, purple bruise. Probably Potter's reckless nature. But Severus bent forward, peering down the back of Potter's collar. The bruise was joined by a palm and some fingers. The briuse that was sticking out of Potter's collar was obviously a thumb print, a huge thumb print. By the looks of it, someone, with a very large hand, had grabbed the child from behind with a great amount of force. Severus inhaled sharply.

Severus began examining every visible skin surface. He found more bruising up Potter's robe sleeves. He found several cuts on the boy's neck and arms. He was bending down to examine Potter's ankles when something caught his eye with the child's wand hand. Severus blinked. Potter, of course, was gripping his wand like he was already a deuling master, with his thumb and forefinger, leaving his palm and other fingers slightly curled, but visible for scrutiny. Severus gasped. There, on Potter's right hand was a large, circular, spiral scar. The kind of scar someone gets when someone else deliberately holds the victim's hand to the heated eye of a Muggle cooking stove. The kind of scar that Severus was staring at in disbelief as he absently opened his own scarred hand for comparison.

After examining bruised and swolen ankles, Severus cancelled the freezing charm on the memory, once again witnessing the boggart Potter donning a set of underpants that would have rivaled the humiliation of wearing Severus's own juvenile pair.

Severus left the Pensieve. He had his answer. All this time, he had never seen Harry Potter. In fact, he was quite certain he'd never met the boy. For the last several years, all he had seen…was James. James Bloody Potter…not Harry. The evidence was as clear as the James look-alike boggart with the lightning-shaped scar.

"Snape's afraid of you! That's bloody awesome!" Ron exclaimed in an awestruck voice.

"That wasn't me!" Harry snapped at the obnoxious red-head for the umteenth time.

"Harry's right, Ron," Hermione said musingly. "The boggart was way too tall, and its eyes and face were wrong."

"But it had the scar," Ron pointed out predictably.

Harry huffed and whirled on his friend. "I'm not anything like that…thing! I'd never say anything like that! Well, maybe the 'pathetic' part, but not to Snape. Malfoy, maybe. But the rest of that rubbish—"

"Go on, Harry! Don't tell me you'd miss an opportunity to tell off the greasy bastard!"

"Ronald!" Hermione scolded.

"No, but I'd have the decency to tell the truth and what he really needed to hear."

Ron frowned curiously. "Like what?"

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed in a very Hermione-ish way, as if what he was about to state was perfectly obvious. "Like he's a great, bullying git! Like he's a miserable, depressing bat, who needs to stop—"

"Erm, Harry?" Hermione said softly, her eyes looking anxiously over Harry's shoulder.

"—judging people based on their parents or Houses, or whether or not they can brew a perfect potion! Potions isn't the only thing in the world—"

"Harry?" Ron said as his eyes widened, but Harry didn't notice as he continued to rant.

"—students can have other talents. Neville is brilliant in herbology, but Snape treats him like shite because he isn't as good in potions! Neville would probably do a lot—"

"Harry—" Hermione whispered frantically.

"—better in potions if Snape would quit hovering like a bat and snarling at him and treating him like a complete moron all the time! Snape thinks he's all big and scary—"

"Harry—" Ron whined fearfully in an unusually high voice.

"—but all he accomplishes at the end of the day is looking like a giant arse—" Harry cut off as he noticed his friends' behavior. A sinking feeling hit Harry as an intimidating shadow fell upon the three. "He's…right…behind me, isn't he?"

"Indeed," a smooth, silky voice replied quietly.

Harry paled as he slowly turned to face the hated Potions Master. He forced himself to look up.

Snape regarded the teen with a raised eyebrow. "Follow me, Mr Potter."

Harry's shoulders slumped as he followed Professor Snape down the corridor toward the dungeons, only barely managing to hear Ron say to Hermione,"He's done for! He'll be potion ingredients before dinner."

Harry flinched at a soft snort in front of him.

"In," Snape commanded. Harry hurried in, his head bent low like an errant puppy waiting to be scolded. Snape closed the door of his office, pointing to a chair. "Sit."

Harry sat quickly.

Snape's lips quirked as he sat behind his desk. "I'm pleased to see that you are, at least, properly house-trained, Mister Potter," he said softly.

Harry glared angrily at his fingernails before a sudden, mischevious glint appeared in his downcast emerald eyes. "I'm especially good at fetching and digging, sir," He said in an ironic voice to his lap. Particularly for the Dursleys, he mused to himself, thinking of all of his meticulous outside chores.

Snape smirked. "I'm sure you are. I confess myself curious, Mr Potter. Tell me what, exactly, does a 'giant arse' look like?"

Harry's cheeks reddened. "Me at the moment," he muttered to himself.

"Really?" Harry jumped at the sardonic tone, not expecting Snape to have heard. Of course he heard you, stupid. They don't call him Great Bat of the Dungeons for nothing! "And why, Mr Potter, would you ever imagine me resembling you?"

Harry's blush deepened. "I'm…not always an arse…sir," he said in a slightly annoyed voice.

Snape touched his fingertips together and quirked a brow. "Is that so?"

Harry's eyes shot up defiantly. "Yes. Sir."

Snape's mouth twitched. "How often are you an arse, Mr Potter?"

Harry stared. Snape was acting rather weird. "Um…occasionally, sir?"

Snape leaned back, his mouth still twitching. "So…you imagine that I occasionally resemble you?"

Harry fidgeted as he blushed deeper. "No, sir. I…occasionally resemble you…when I'm an arse," he admitted, embarrassed, to his fingers, his eyes only darting up after he had finished the comment.

"I see," Snape said softly, his obsidian eyes glittering strangely in the dim room.