The Spellbook Society - Harry Potter Fanfiction Anthology

The ancient stone corridors of Hogwarts whispered with memories as Harry Potter walked through them once more. It had been years since he last visited the castle, but the familiarity of the place still tugged at him, each turn bringing back moments from his youth—some fond, others laden with pain. Today, he was here on official business, a routine inspection as part of his duties as an Auror, but the walls seemed determined to remind him that Hogwarts would never just be another assignment.

His footsteps echoed softly as he descended into the dungeons, a place he had never visited without some measure of dread. The air was cool and damp, carrying with it the scent of moss and old magic. As he approached a door he hadn't passed through in years, Harry felt a strange pull, an inexplicable urge to step inside Snape's old office. He hesitated at the threshold, his hand resting on the worn wood, before he finally pushed it open.

The room was, much as he remembered it—dark, austere, and somehow oppressive. Dust covered the surfaces, and no one had touched the remnants of Snape's time as Potions Master since the day he left it all behind. Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The years had not been kind to the room, or perhaps it was just that time had moved on while this space remained frozen.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, something caught his attention. A faint glimmer, a flash of color hidden behind an old, tattered tapestry in the corner. Curious, Harry stepped closer, his fingers brushing aside the heavy fabric. There, concealed from view, was a portrait—a portrait of Severus Snape.

For a moment, Harry simply stared, his mind reeling with the sudden appearance of the man he thought he had finally made peace with. The portrait was silent, as if surprised to be found. Snape's figure was as severe as he remembered, clad in black, his sharp features etched with the same disdain Harry had grown accustomed to. But there was something different, something in the way the painted eyes regarded him.

"I never thought I'd see you again... Not like this," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snape's portrait remained still, the silence stretching out between them until it became almost unbearable. Then, with a familiar sneer, Snape spoke.

"Mr. Potter. How unfortunate that I am trapped in this frame, forced to suffer your company once more."

Harry let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Some things never change."

"And yet, some things do," Snape replied, his tone cold but lacking the venom it once held. "You're not the child I used to know."

"And you're not the man I thought you were," Harry countered, his eyes narrowing. "Not after everything."

Snape's eyes flickered, a brief flash of emotion that Harry couldn't quite place. "You speak as though you understand, but I doubt you ever truly did."

Harry's frustration bubbled to the surface. "That's why I'm here, isn't it? To understand? To finally figure out why you... why you did everything you did."

Snape regarded him silently for a long moment before he sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of years. "Do you really want to unearth old ghosts, Potter? Some things are better left buried."

"Maybe," Harry admitted, "but some things need to be said. You were protecting me all those years, weren't you? But you made me hate you. Why?"

"Because you needed to hate me," Snape replied sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Hate made you strong. Hate made you fight. Emotions cloud judgment—yours and mine. I could not afford to be soft. Not with you."

"But it didn't have to be that way," Harry insisted. "You could have told me, could have made me understand."

"And what would you have done with that knowledge, Potter?" Snape snapped, his voice harsh. "Run off on some foolish quest to save the world, as you were so fond of doing? The truth would have been your undoing."

Harry opened his mouth to argue but found he had no words. Deep down, he knew Snape was right. He had been reckless, headstrong, and, more often than not, driven by emotions he barely understood. But that didn't make it any easier to accept.

"Maybe," Harry said finally, his voice softer. "But I still don't get it. Why did you hate me so much? Was it really just because of my father?"

Snape's expression hardened, the old bitterness returning. "Your father was a bully, a spoiled, arrogant boy who thought the world revolved around him. You were a constant reminder of everything I despised about him. And yet... and yet, you were also her son."

Harry felt a pang at the mention of his mother. "Lily."

Snape's gaze softened, just for a moment. "She was everything your father was not. Kind, compassionate, brave... She saw the best in everyone, even in me. But she chose him, and I... I never forgave him for that."

"And you never forgave me, either," Harry said quietly.

"No," Snape replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "But that was my burden to bear, not yours."

Harry stood in the dim light of the dungeon, the weight of Snape's words pressing heavily on his chest. There was so much pain, so much regret, intertwined with the hatred that had defined their relationship. He had come seeking answers, but each revelation only seemed to lead to more questions.

"I don't know what to say," Harry admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "I spent so many years hating you, blaming you for everything that went wrong in my life. But then... after I saw your memories, after I learned the truth, I didn't know what to feel anymore. I was angry, confused, guilty... You sacrificed so much, and I never even knew."

Snape's eyes, dark and penetrating, locked onto Harry's. "It was not your place to know, Potter. My actions, my decisions—they were my own. You were but a child, caught in a war that began long before you were born. I did what I had to do, not for glory, not for recognition, but because it was the only path left to me."

"But why?" Harry pressed, stepping closer to the portrait. "Why did you keep it all hidden? You could have let someone in, you could have..."

"Could have what?" Snape interrupted, his voice rising. "Could have betrayed my every oath, my every principle? Could have risked everything we fought for, just to ease my conscience? No, Potter. Secrets kept you safe. Deception kept us all alive. The less you knew, the less anyone knew, the better."

Harry stared at the man in the portrait, the intensity of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Snape had always been an enigma, a man of contradictions. He had been cruel, yet he had loved deeply. He had been a liar, yet he had lived by his own rigid code of honor. How could someone be so infuriatingly complex?

"You never gave yourself a chance, did you?" Harry said, more to himself than to Snape. "You let no one see who you really were. Not even Dumbledore."

Snape's expression darkened. "Dumbledore saw what he wanted to see. He used me, just as he used you. He was a master of manipulation, a man willing to sacrifice anyone for the greater good. I did not differ from you in his eyes—just another piece on his chessboard."

The bitterness in Snape's voice was palpable, and Harry felt a surge of empathy. He, too, had felt the sting of Dumbledore's secrets, the burden of being manipulated for a cause he barely understood. But even so, he couldn't fully agree with Snape's view.

"He might have used us," Harry said slowly, "but he also cared. Maybe he was manipulative, maybe he made terrible decisions, but I think he believed in what he was doing. And he trusted you more than anyone."

"Trusted me?" Snape repeated with a sneer. "He trusted me to do the dirty work, to soil my hands so that he could keep his clean. He trusted me because he knew I had nothing left to lose. That is not trust, Potter—that is exploitation."

Harry felt a pang of sadness. "And what about Lily? You did everything for her, didn't you? Everything you did, you did because you loved her."

Snape's gaze flickered, a brief shadow of vulnerability crossing his face. "Love is a double-edged sword, Potter. It gave me the strength to endure, but it also destroyed me. I loved her more than life itself, but in the end, what did it matter? She chose your father, and I... I was left with nothing but my hatred."

Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself. "But you still protected me. Even after everything, even though I was the son of the man you hated, you still watched over me. That wasn't just about Lily, was it?"

Snape looked away, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps... Perhaps not. My feelings for you were never simple, Potter. You were a constant reminder of my failures, of everything I had lost. But you were also... her son. And that meant something, even if I never wanted to admit it."

Harry felt a lump forming in his throat. This was the closest Snape had ever come to acknowledging any sort of connection between them, and it was almost too much to bear.

"I wish things could have been different," Harry whispered. "I wish we could have... understood each other, somehow."

Snape's eyes met his again, softer this time, though still guarded. "Wishes are the folly of the living, Potter. The dead have no such luxuries."

There was a long silence, broken only by the distant dripping of water from the dungeon ceiling. Harry felt as if he was standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable, a chasm between past and present, between who Snape had been and who he might have been.

"Do you ever... do you ever think you'll find peace?" Harry asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Snape's expression was contemplative, and when he finally spoke, his voice was distant. "Peace, Potter, is not a reward. It is not something to be earned or given. It is merely the absence of conflict. I am a portrait, a shadow of the man I once was. I neither seek peace nor suffer torment—I simply exist."

Harry nodded, understanding in a way he hadn't before. "I guess that's all any of us can do, isn't it? Just exist... and try to make sense of it all."

Snape's gaze softened, and for the first time, Harry saw something that might have been approval in those dark eyes. "Perhaps. But existence without purpose is a hollow thing, Potter. You have your purpose. Do not squander it."

Harry felt a warmth spread through him, a sense of closure he hadn't known he needed. He had spent so many years grappling with his feelings toward Snape, and now, finally, he felt as though he could let go of the anger, the confusion, and the guilt.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, his voice firm but sincere. "For everything. I wish... I wish I had known you better."

Snape's portrait was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke, his tone was almost gentle. "And I, you."

Harry turned to leave, his steps lighter than they had been in years. As he reached the door, he glanced back one last time, seeing Snape's portrait watching him with an inscrutable expression. The dungeon seemed less cold now, less foreboding.

For the first time in a long time, Harry felt that maybe, just maybe, they had both found a measure of understanding.