The Spellbook Society - Harry Potter Fanfiction Anthology

The Portrait of Severus Snape

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."