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Extracts from the Diary of S. Snape	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9296 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Hope you enjoy - I have a blast writing as Snape! SP

Severus Snape and the Boy Who Lived (1991 – 1992)

Most teachers, in those blissful final few hours before the damned children arrived, rushed around checking that every last little thing was in place. Severus Snape didn't. He sat in the staff room, feet propped on a coffee table and drank a cup of tea as black as his hair. It was a standing joke among the teachers that Snape's tea could dissolve spoons. Newer teachers (usually DADA) never quite knew if it was a joke or not. And Snape wasn't about to enlighten them.

No, he was contemplating the last few moments of peace and quiet he would have for the next ten months – oh how he longed for July to be here so that he was staring at the long lazy days of summer rather than mourning their departure and dreading the newest batch of Slytherins and Gryffindors. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs rarely caused him the problems that his own House and its greatest rival did.

And this year, so Albus had claimed excitedly, one H Potter would be starting at the school. And Snape was sure the damned idiot would be a Gryffindor. If he took after his mother, there was a chance the child wouldn't be a total wanker, but if, as Snape suspected, Harry was like James, there was going to be conflict between them.

Even now, well over a decade since he had left school, he still felt bitterness at his treatment at the hands of the Marauders. Oh and speaking of bitter...

“S – S – Severus,”

It was Quirrell. Although why he was now sporting a ridiculous purple turban was beyond Snape. And truly, it didn't matter. All that did matter was that despite losing yet another DADA teacher last year, Albus had shaken his head when Snape had mutely asked, and gone and appointed this youngster.

Truthfully, Severus supposed, Quirrell wasn't so very much younger than he; Snape himself was only 31, but he knew that long hours in the Potions lab had bleached his skin of any colour it might once have had, and had given him poor posture except when he consciously thought about it. Then he rose to his full height and was easily able to scare all those deserving little shits who tormented him with their idiocy and sheer inattention to detail.

Snape finished his nearly cold tea, sighing as he heard the unmistakeable rumble of hundreds of feet stomping on the stones. “Here we go,” he thought unenthusiastically.

In the Great Hall, after one 'Potter, Harry' had found his way into Gryffindor (What a fucking surprise! The boy's the spitting image of his ass hole of a father) Snape sat idly glaring at the new students. He knew, having sat at those tables himself, that right now the first years were being warned which teachers to treat with respect, and which were easy to get around. It was therefore in his own best interests to let the customary scowl settle on his face, even before his eyes strayed to Harry Fucking Potter.

Shit. Just. Shit.

Snape swallowed. Somehow he'd not noticed until this moment, when the candle light had stopped turning the boy's glass lenses white, and now he could see the colour of the eyes behind the glass. Green eyes. Lily's eyes.

Seeing the boy who looked so like James sitting there with Lily's eyes seemed to just be rubbing that unholy union in his face. Snape had mentally understood that Potter and the love of his life had had sex, but to see the damned evidence slap bang in front of him was just too much. The ass hole. The absolute ass hole!

Just who he aimed that comment at even he was unsure: James, Harry, Albus???

---

Snape threw his empty cup across the room, letting it smash against the stone walls. His first lesson with the sodding Boy Who Lived had left him feeling murderous. Well, more murderous than a lesson usually left him. Snarling in frustration, he dropped heavily into a soft chair and rubbed his throbbing forehead.

The boy is a moron! I don't expect too much from my students – Merlin knows, I'd be disappointed! But to not even know where a bezoar comes from! It's written on the back of the fucking book! He didn't even need to open the damned text book; just glance down and there the information was. Fucking idiot.

That girl, though, she's going to piss me off. Fucking smart-arses.

And I have Malfoy junior in my House. Lucky, lucky me. Still, if he's anything like Lucius (and he does rather look like his father), he'll have exquisite manners and be a total arse licker.

Taking a number of deep breaths to calm the fury curling in the pit of his stomach, Snape glowered at the smashed cup. Now he had to cast Reparo too. He was so fed up with Dumbledore thinking that because he'd loved and lost Lily, he had a desperate desire to protect her son. Her son, he decided, was a moron and would die much too young. Feeling a pang of remorse for that harsh assessment (but fearing it was right nonetheless) he closed his eyes and tried to not hate the boy, nor the latest Weasley, nor the annoying girl who had known all the answers.

His headache throbbed back.

---

Looking down at the pile of homework essays, Snape's lip curled. He'd been right about Malfoy. The boy had been asked to explain the influence of counter-clockwise stirring in a potion (an easy enough task, but somehow the Longbottom boy had made a total pig's breakfast of the essay) and had included a line that said: 'Watching a skilled Potions Master, such as a Potions Teacher, it is easy to miss the high level of skill needed to know exactly when counter-clockwise stirring is needed.'

Yup, I was right: TOTAL arse licker.

Still, he admitted to himself, as he pulled the next piss-poor effort under his gaze, I'd rather he was fawning all over me (blatantly trying to influence my marking. Better luck next time, Draco) than giving me death glares like the dumb duo or asking follow up questions to every. goddamn. thing. Like that sodding Granger does.

Snape read another poorly constructed, badly spelled, and frankly, barely coherent response and felt the rage building in him. One of these days, he'd take his wand and Avada Kedavra an entire class. Of course, then Albus would blast his ass into eternity, but still, he'd enjoy those brief moments of total silence before he was murdered.

A smile on his lips, Snape dipped his quill in the red ink and proceeded to destroy the hapless student's work.

---

Of course Snape had heard that Potter was the new Gryffindor seeker, and, of course, the rules had been bent so that he was allowed a broom. What else could be expected when the Headmaster was so partisan? As much as Albus thought he was even handed and open minded, he still favoured Gryffindor and did all he could to disadvantage Slytherin. But this, this, allowing the sodding boy to have a brand new racing broom, was beyond the fucking pale!

During the match, Snape had been pleased to see his House performing well, despite being severely outclassed by the damned Nimbus 2000. He didn't much enjoy watching Quidditch, but when he heard Quirrell muttering something dark under his breath, Snape had swung a surprised glance at him before sending his own counter-curse into the air, trying to save the stupid boy.

Dumbledore really seemed to go out of his way to put the child in life or death situations – here the idiot was, barely eleven and a half, sitting on a piece of wood forty feet up. Yeah, nothing is likely to go wrong there!

And then Snape felt a hot sensation near his feet. He could have sworn that some mysterious blue flames had been scooped off his robes by a small hand as he stood up and shifted around, making very sure he knocked Quirrell over too.

He glanced around just in time to see Harry vomit up the snitch. Fuming, he stomped back to the grounds.

He'll be fucking insufferable now!

---

It was finally the Christmas holidays, and a vast proportion of the student body had gone home. Not enough, of course. Even one of the noisy buggers was one too many, but still, he was enjoying the slight rest. Snape could have gone home had he wanted to, and sometimes he really did, but Albus had asked him – no, ordered him – to keep an eye on Quirell, and he could hardly do that from Spinner's End. And it was crucial, especially after cornering the younger man in the forest and demanding to know his plan. So, here he was, at god knows what time, prowling the corridors, watching for some hint of wrong doing from student or teacher.

No wonder, he thought sourly, I look double my age. I sleep less than five hours a night.

And now, standing facing the young man in the turban, and wondering for the hundredth time why Quirrell wore such a ridiculous item, he felt that prickling between his shoulder blades that meant he was being watched.

When he'd spoken to Albus about it, the headmaster had been surprisingly blasé. “Oh, that's interesting, Severus, but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Lemon drop?”

Refusing the sweet through clenched teeth, Snape had tried to explain why ignoring an apparently invisible person was something to worry about.

“It might just be Harry, you know. He was given an invisibility cloak for Christmas.”

Even Snape didn't have the words to respond to that. He left in a daze, feeling the usual rage burning in him: Albus expected him to somehow keep an eye on Quirell, protect Harry (who could now wander anywhere as he was fucking invisible!), teach, and occasionally (perhaps) get some sleep.

Ass hole! Double ass hole!

---

Snape found sleep next to impossible once the school year ended. He had spent too many nights wandering the corridors to be able to rest easily now, and the silence, at the moment, was too damned much for his hyper sensitive nerves. Given a week or so, he knew he'd be able to fully relax and then he'd go to his Muggle home and have a proper break.

He knew, and wasn't very thankful that, Dumbledore had added significantly to his load this year by assigning him Quirrell and Potter to look after. Of course, Quirrell was now dead, meaning the DADA post was once again available. As he snuggled under his sheets he made a mental note to ask Dumbledore about the job.

He'd heard – everyone had heard – about what Potter had done in the chamber under the school. No doubt it was heroic, he supposed, but he was rather pissed that the boy had thought he was the guilty party. As though he wanted money or eternal life? Definitely not eternal life! He could imagine it now, forever trapped at the bloody school, forever running around after Dumbledore's latest 'project'. No, if he had been immortal, he'd have found a way to end it all.

But all that was over. The Dark Lord had been vanquished. And really, he should have been ashamed at being beaten by such a mediocre child; certainly he had gone off somewhere, possibly to change his name so no one would recognise him as the supposedly fearsome Lord Voldemort who had had his ass handed to him by a boy who could hardly write his own name clearly.

Sniggering, Snape settled and drifted off to sleep. Glad, very glad, the school year was over.

Next year: Severus Snape and the Perfumed Arsehole...
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Extracts from the Diary of S. Snape