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Harry's Life Through Severus' Eyes	By : Payito Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 1400 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Harry's Life Through Severus' Eyes
- 1
AN- This is a fic that has been stuck in my head for a while now. I hope you enjoy it, reviews are always welcome. Flames are not, if you do not enjoy slash of the Harry/Snape type I suggest you hit the back button. If you do not feel like reading an angsty story then you might wish to hit the back button as well.

Disclaimer - I own nothing. So please do not sue me, I am a broke college student with way too many debts already. I really can�t pay anyone anything.
It�s been 31 years since I first came to Hogwarts. And in all that time I have always felt safe here, like this was my home a place where the evil that controlled the rest of my life could not control. But now Hogwarts is haunted by more then the castle ghosts that have been here for centuries. It is haunted my memories. Memories that never should have been. Memories that I wouldn�t trade for anything except for his life. Yes, him the object of these wonderful memories, I can still see him curled up on my Persian rug studying or reading a book while I graded papers. His eyes lighting up when he laughed, his laugh. All this and more haunts Hogwarts now, but especially my private rooms and my classroom, the two places we could see each other. I know that this was the only way for him to defeat Voldemort, but it�s still my fault. If I hadn�t invented that potion he would have never drunk it and he would still be alive, yes Voldemort would be too but it would be worth it.
I know I�m off subject, but I never wanted to write this. This story of his last months of life. The months that still haunt my dreams, my every waking moment. This story that Dumbledore begged me to write, his reasons meaningless yet here I am writing about a man who gave his life while he was a mere 16 so that the rest of the world could live in peace. A man who was viewed as a boy when he was taking on the responsibility the �men� were too weak to take, too cowardly to fend for themselves against the monster they feared. But not him. He was never afraid, or at least that�s what everyone said. Unfortunately I know this to be wrong, he was scared. Scared for his friends, scared for people he didn�t know, scared for himself. Don't worry I will get to the actual story soon, I promise. This young man lived every day of his life with the knowledge that someone wanted to kill him, someone that most adults could not even name. But he never tried to run away from the task fate dealt him, the task that would ultimately kill his friends his family and finally himself. He had a hard life, I know not many people realize this I didn�t and I saw him every day. But it never brought him down for very long. He never had a �normal� childhood no matter what the history books will say, his muggle relatives treated him worse then most treat their House Elves. But that is not the story I set out to tell, and I believe I have procrastinated long enough. So here is the story Dumbledore entreated me into writing.
It was just before Christmas break, I was in my room grading the papers my third years wrote, so really it was pure rubbish, when I heard a knock on my black oak door. Now this is not a normal occurrence few people venture down to my dismal dungeons, except for Dumbledore now and again. Sighing I went to answer it. As I surmised it was every ones favorite white haired long bearded old Headmaster, Dumbledore.
�Hello, Albus.� I said in my most cordial tone, clearly indicating that I wished to be alone to anyone who had known me as long as this man had.
�Hello Severus. I need to speak to you.� Albus responded in his highly happily annoying voice. Repressing a sigh I stood away from the door way so that he could enter.
�Please sit down, would you like some tea?� Contrary to popular belief I can be civil when the occasion calls for it, but of course I was always civil to the man who saved my life. He sat in the barely used armchair facing the fire, the other one was worn in, as it was the one I usually occupied, I really only wanted one armchair as I never get any company but the beautiful black leather chairs only came in pairs. I gracefully sunk into my chair and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to reveal what exactly was so important that he would come down to my abode. He didn�t keep me waiting long.
�Well as you know Voldemort is still alive and Harry is no where near ready to kill him.�
�This is all old news.�
�I know. But Minerva and I have been teaching him everything we possibly can; his education is that of a Hogwarts student plus many things that no Hogwarts student ever learns in this school. We have, quite simply, run out of things to teach him.� Here the old man stopped and looked at me expectantly.
�And what does this have to do with me?� I asked, not sure if I liked where this conversation was going.
�Well, I wanted you to teach him potions and Dark Arts.� Nope, didn�t like where this was going at all.
�Absolutely not. Remember the Occulmancy problems? This is insanity. I will not teach him.� I was almost shouting at this point.
�Yes, I remember the problems you two had. But he has matured; he no longer is half as curious as he once was. He will not meddle with anything that is yours. And potions and Dark Arts do not involve any personal memories. He has mastered Occulmancy; I only ask that you test him at times. I will make sure he does not retaliate.�
�He can do that?�
�Yes he can, he is actually quite talented at it. He could enter my mind with only a little difficulty.� I gasped.
�But when I was teaching him could not even shield his mind much less fight an attack and turn it on to me.� Dumbledore just smiled.
�Well I must be going; he shall be here tomorrow at three so the two of you can set up a schedule.� With that he smiled and left me behind dumbstruck. It was only after he was long gone that I realized I was going to be teaching the brat again.
The next day, being Saturday, I was in my rooms relaxing by reading a book. I had actual forgotten that Potter was coming by today. So, naturally, when I heard a knocking on my door I jumped. Calming myself down I put a marker in my book to mark my page and opened to the door and saw him for the first time in seven months, as he had been taken to an unspecified location for training. His jet black hair was long now and hung in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, his brilliant green eyes were no longer covered up by those hideous glasses; he had grown taller and now reached my chin. The body itself was obviously well muscled and kept in shape and his skin had a nice even tan that made me wonder briefly if he was tan everywhere. Naturally I chalked this up to a brief moment of insanity and promptly buried it into the deep recesses of my unconscious mind where I never venture. Silently I stepped to the side so that he could enter.
�So, it seems that once again the famous Boy-Who-Lived gets the special treatment of extra knowledge no other student gets.� He was silent. �Well since I must go along with this insanity and try to teach you something, however hard of an idea that is to comprehend, let�s get started.�
�Very well. What are we doing?� His voice was low and almost sounded worn out. But I didn�t really take this into account consciously I was to busy trying to figure out what we were going to do. I had, as aforementioned, completely forgotten what Albus had scammed me into.
�Deciding what days we shall go through this nonsense.�
�I have every day and night free except for Saturday.�
�Very well I have Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday nights and then all day on Sundays. What days will we meet?�
�All of them if that is alright with you. The more we meet the faster this training will be over.� This amazed me since not only did it make sense was slightly intelligent but in the fact that he was being mature about having to be taught by his �greasy old potions Master� and was willing to see me as much as possible to get it over sooner.
�Very well then, shall we start tomorrow?�

�That sounds perfect.� He sounded a little relived at this arrangement. I was later to discover that instead of lazing around as I thought him doing all day he was keeping in shape mentally physically and magically by practicing in the Room of Requirements all day until he was exhausted.
�Very well then Potter, I will see you tomorrow.� He stood up a left with out a word.
Hindsight now forces me to see that something was very wrong with Potter at this time, but, of course, being the snarky bastard I was I took nothing more then a momentary notice in what was a potentially immense problem. But no more of these observations made to late to do any good for anyone.
On that first Saturday Potter was on time, miraculously, and maybe even more miraculously he was polite and silent even when I insulted him his friends his family and his potion making abilities. After a week of him being silent, except for the occasional question about the material at hand, I found it highly disturbing. The Potter I knew would have exploded quite a few times by now. So I decided to talk to him. This was, probably, what ultimately started me on the journey that would end where I am at this moment, writing about a bo- man half my age. The next time we met, it was a Tuesday, instead of starting off with the normal hex or Legimins; I motioned for him to sit. As he did, I noticed he wasn�t confused or anything of the sort he simply sat and looked me in the eye. Now this not something most people do. Especially those that practice Occulmancy so naturally I was a bit perturbed at this blatant disregard for shielding his mind. Now of course I took advantage of this, while I did want to talk to him he was being a fool, or so I thought. As I attacked his mind I thought it would be the day I finally penetrated his shields. But no, the boy was good and almost with out effort he threw me off. Now this scared me, most people have a problem throwing me off if they are on the other side of the room looking the opposite way. Yet here was this half grown boy five feet away staring into my eyes and he threw me off without breaking a sweat. As I looked up at him a hint of a smirk ghosted on his face.
�And, what are we doing today, potions or dark arts?�
�A combination. But first I wanted to talk to you.� The look of half surprise and half wary distrust that flitted across his face for a mere moment made me wonder if this was even a partially sane idea that I was about to execute.
�About what?� His voice was bland; the sound of a person who has seen too much and no longer can deal with the lasting consequences of what he has seen. As a Death Eater spy I am around people that have this unearthly voice, but before Harry none of them had been under 40. So upon hearing this dead voice I paused and again pondered what in the hell I was thinking, of course this was not for long as Potter was staring at me expectantly.
�Well, um, Potter��
�What is it professor?� Dead haunted tired voice, it gave me chills.
�Whatiswrongwithyou?� I asked in a blurred and probably incomprehensible manner, yet after a moment he said in the most monotone voice I have heard,
�I don't really see how that�s any of your business. Unless the meddlesome coot who calls himself our Headmaster has put you up to this then you can tell that if he has any concerns about my well being he can ask me directly but he may also take notice that there is really no need since I am quite well. Now that that is out of the way, what are we doing today specifically?� Needless to say I was completely flabbergasted; Potter had never spoken to me I such a manner, he had been rude he had yelled, but NEVER before had he been so completely calm, logical and in control. It was slightly scary to believe he was even capable of being calm or logical. So after processing all this information while he stared at me with those beautiful haunted eyes I said the only thing I could-
�We are making a dark potion that enables the drinker to render himself as well as anything he touches invisible��
It was not until much later as I lay in my bed in the dungeons listening to the walls creak under the great weight of the stone, did I realize the reason for Potter not being emotional. He simply did not have any reason to be caring or loving any longer. His friends, Weasley and Granger, had been killed shortly after that mutt of a godfather in his fifth year. Dumbledore was only too obviously not within his good graces. So, the great Harry Potter no longer has a reason to care, so why do I find myself caring? With this puzzling thought in my mind I fell into a troubled sleep.
I find this all together depressing, and troublesome. Why Dumbledore decided that I should be the one to write this biography about his last months in life. There�s really no rational explanation, other than Dumbledore believing that it will help put a better more truthful perspective on the amazing man who saved us all at the cost of his innocence, his hope and in the end his very life. He also has a theory that it will help me deal with my loss, but really writing this is only making me look at my bottle of Firewhisky look far to interesting and making it leave far too soon. And I am becoming a little too maudlin to continue writing tonight.
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Harry's Life Through Severus' Eyes