Dunderhead - A Harry Potter story: Snape becomes Harry's mentor

Chapter 8: CONFLICT

A profession in teaching was not at all what Severus Snape had imagined himself to be doing but, given the circumstances of his life, he had had little choice. Severus had not thought that he would enjoy teaching the bunch of brainless misfits that Hogwarts continued to produce year after year. He had not enjoyed his time at Hogwarts, for the most part. As a student, his time at the school had been spent in isolation in his dorm room, the potions lab, or the library. He had been constantly tormented, bullied and pushed around. He had had few allies, never mind friends. 

However, Severus Snape's first year with the Hogwarts' school staff had turned out not to be wholly unpleasant. In fact, Severus found that teaching could be rewarding, albeit frustrating. It had its setbacks, but it had its moments of satisfaction as well. To see his pupils excel was gratifying, and to watch the next potions prodigy grow under his wing was more rewarding than he could have imagined. He grew attached to his Slytherins, to a degree, and favoured them to the extreme, though not without reason. Slytherin was the least popular house amongst the students, even the staff felt animosity towards the green house, though they would never admit it, and Severus continued to cling to the idea that at least one or two of the graduates each year from amongst hundreds of dunderheads would go on to do something worthy of themselves, just so that he could take comfort in the fact that all his work had not been a total waste.

One of the more frustrating elements of his job was watching his students dismiss potions like it was no more important than yesterday's pudding. Potions was his life and it was too under-appreciated amongst the students and general wizarding population. Although, what was even more infuriating, was to watch students failed again and again, day after day, with no signs of any improvement. This year, Neville Longbottom had gone and done what Severus had not thought possible. He had become ten times worse. Snape was vexed to no end by the boy. It was a wonder to him how two of the most brilliant and courageous people in the first Order Of The Phoenix could have birthed such a dim-witted son. It was a bloody shame and a waste.

Similarly, Potter's similar ineptness in Occlumency had been getting increasingly tiresome. If that boy did not get it soon, Severus was going to lose his patience. Severus wearily took a sip from his herbal tea. It had been some night. Potter had had the audacity to call him that name, wrenching painful memories to the forefront of Severus' mind, which resulted in him assaulting the boy with the back of his hand. And then Potter had proceeded to have a complete meltdown against Severus' nice, clean robes. Yes, it had been the most distasteful experience that Severus had had in a while.

The nerve of that boy, the obnoxious, irksome, disrespectful little monster! What had they looked like? What had Potter looked like, clinging onto Severus like some sort of symbiotic! What had Potter been thinking? What had Severus been thinking? He should have sent Potter straight back to the tower and let him deal with it himself. It was not as if the Golden Boy couldn't handle a few tears, Severus chastised himself and cursed Potter.

But, unbidden, an image of a pale face, drenched in tears with a hand-shaped mark shadowing his left cheek, blurred before Severus' mind's-eye. Severus slammed his cup down onto the table, sloshing tea over his fingers and muttering under his breath. He was in denial. He did not care about the Potter boy, the wretched, spoiled rotten brat. He needn't feel guilty over his treatment of Potter. The spawn of James Potter did not deserve his understanding. I should not have wasted my time explaining myself to him! Severus brooded, thinking about how the boy had disagreed with his insistence upon informing Dumbledore of the evening's events. My word is law, Severus thought angrily, how dare he argue with me or contradict me! And I let him get away with it too. Damned brat! True, he should not have hit the boy, no matter what was said, and he felt dutifully regretful. 

Now, upon that regret, what was this thing that he could feel nagging at him? Severus had allowed himself to be coerced into an unwilling embrace by Harry Potter. It had been the kindest he had ever been to any student in history. Severus stood up abruptly from his armchair, as though the fleeting thought had taken a seat on his knee and he intended to push it off. 

He turned on the fire and let in burn low in the grating in the stone wall of his chambers. "How dare he do this to me." Severus hissed. "I am not a nice man. I do not hug, and I certainly do not offer comfort to Potter!" He muttered angrily, watching the fire flicker and feeling as though he were watching his thoughts spitting and sparking in a similar fashion.

The boy's behaviour this night had startled and disturbed Severus. Potter's behaviour had baffled him. This night he had witnessed a side of the boy that he had not seen before. Was it vulnerability? Innocence? Perhaps it was just the fact that the boy had seemed so sincere in his apology, or that he had broken down so pitifully. Severus rubbed his temple and then ran his hand through his hair. Potter's son had always been easily provoked by words, and Severus knew exactly what those sensitive buttons were: the boy's reaction to his comments had always been a mixture of fierce blushes, the clenching of teeth, or angry retaliations, and Potter's retaliations did nothing more than land him in more trouble than he was already in.

Severus had never thought he'd see the day that Potter cried. The Potion's Master might have tried purposefully in the past to crush the boy's ego - and if tears had been what would bring the Golden Boy down a few grand notches, then so be it. Prior to this evening, Severus would not have hesitated to humiliate the boy to the point of tears. He would not have felt regret for being brutally harsh. After all, this was not the first time his stringent, somewhat draconian methods of teaching had driven a student to tears. So why would the Boy Who Lived be an exception? But then why, all of a sudden, did Severus feel responsible and at fault? Why did he regret Potter's tears? I should not have hit him, Severus thought again for at least the thousandth time that evening. The Potions Master shook his head and poured himself another cup of tea. It was late and he needed to do his rounds. He was in a foul mood tonight. 

Severus growled, his hands tightening around his cup of tea. It was far too easy to see James in Harry Potter. The boy was a mirror image of his father and everything from his hair, to his nose, to those hideous wire-framed, round glasses on his thin and pale face was a reminder of Severus' childhood tormentor. Severus forgot all the time that Harry was Lily's son as well, a comment that Albus made often. But, in Severus' opinion, the boy was not like Lily at all. Lily had been a kind person, an intelligent person. Potter's son was another matter altogether. Nonetheless, Harry was still Lily's child and, though he did not care for James Potter's damned offspring, for Lily's son he would die for. He had made just such a promise. Severus got up and straightened his robes before making his way out of the office and into the quiet halls to begin his routine patrol of the grounds. He would speak with Dumbledore about the events that had transpired.