Snape stood before the dungeon classroom, the familiar chill greeting him like an old ghost.
He had taught this lesson dozens of times—but now it felt foreign.
The door creaked open. First-years shuffled in, uncertain and whispering. Harry Potter entered last, glancing around nervously.
Snape observed him with calculated restraint.
"I don't expect you to truly understand the subtle science and exact art of potion-making…" he began, the same cold monologue rehearsed in years past.
But his voice lacked venom this time.
He asked his usual questions, yet when Harry didn't answer—when Hermione leapt up with her hand—Snape didn't lash out.
Instead, he calmly said, "Clearly, books alone cannot teach perception. Mr. Potter, you'll learn… in time."
A few students blinked in surprise. Snape... didn't insult him?
Ron whispered, "Is he sick or something?"
Harry gave Snape a long, uncertain look. Something had changed.
And Snape could feel it.
The weeks passed. Snape resisted the urge to snap at Harry, though it wasn't easy.
He subtly guided him during lessons. Left notes in his textbooks. Gave small, unexpected praise when earned.
It didn't go unnoticed.
Hermione mentioned it to McGonagall.
"Professor Snape hasn't taken a single point from Gryffindor since term began."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "That may be a record."
Harry, meanwhile, grew confused. Suspicious, even. Was this a trick?
Snape knew he had to be careful. Overplaying his hand would only spook the boy.
Snape found him alone in the corridor past curfew.
"Potter."
Harry jumped. "I was just— I didn't mean—"
"I know where you've been," Snape said quietly.
He walked with him back to the common room in silence.
Then, just before they reached the portrait: "The mirror doesn't show truth. Only dreams."
Harry stared at him. "You've seen it?"
"Once," Snape said. "It nearly broke me."
He walked away before Harry could reply.
Chapter 6: Echoes of the Past
Snape's nightmares returned. Lily's eyes. Voldemort's voice. The feeling of Nagini's fangs.
He woke sweating.
He couldn't forget the future, even if the present was different.
He began writing again—notes, warnings, spells—trying to build a defense before the darkness returned.
But his presence was shifting Hogwarts' rhythm. His classes were less feared, more focused. And Harry—Harry was watching him.
Not with fear. But curiosity.
And perhaps... a little hope.
The Midnight Duel
When Draco challenged Harry to a duel, Snape was already waiting in the shadows.
The duel never happened. He intercepted them, sent Draco back with a glare, and walked Harry and Ron to safety.
Harry glanced at him. "Why do you keep helping me?"
Snape didn't answer directly.
"You're not your father," he said finally. "I see that now."
Harry looked stunned. Snape walked away before more could be said.
The Stone's Secret
Snape remembered the trials to protect the Philosopher's Stone. He re-warded his section—his riddle was trickier now.
He kept closer eyes on Quirrell, watching for signs of Voldemort.
But something was changing in Harry too.
He'd started sitting closer in class. Asking questions. Staying behind.
Snape saw it—not just the curiosity, but the trust.
He didn't deserve it. But he would earn it