Staggering as he stepped out of the floo, he tripped and nearly fell.

He caught himself on the edge of his desk, upsetting red ink over a stack of second year essays. He cursed.

A trembling hand came up to rub the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the tension.

It had been a rough night.

His shoes dragged on the stone floor as he moved. Grateful that there was no one there to see him like this, he had to steady himself, again.

His back popped as he straightened himself to take off his cloak.

The closet opened and he recoiled.

Severus Snape stared back at him.

You look tired.

Staggering backwards, trembling, I try to untangle my wand,

“Rid… RIDD … riddikulus,”

stumble over my cloak, falling.

Trapped.

You have been working too hard … so tired … always doing someone else’s dirty work.

I try to move away from the towering figure.

A gloved hand reaches out, smoothing a stray lock out of my face.

I am frozen.

You deserve better.

So much potential, so much talent; wasted… teaching Mudbloods.

How great you could have been, how powerful.

You still can…

I tremble, the hand gently cradles the back of my head, long fingers combing through my tangled hair. I hate myself for leaning into the caress.

You think Dumbledore trusts you?

You are nothing to him; you are a tool, a jaded tool.

We have always respected you.

I shake my head in denial, knowing the lie for what it is: the truth.

The hand comes to rest on the inside of my left arm.

The thumb moving in sensual circles.

I shudder, jerk away.

We are your family, what are they to you?

We have never laughed at you.

We trust you.

Folding my arms around my body, looking down, shadowed by the dark mess of my hair, I nod in agreement and despair.

Do you really think that they will thank you in the end?

You have risked your life how many times?

Has anyone ever thanked you?

A finger under mychin forces me to look up.

Don’t you hear them?

His breath hot against my ear, his voice seducing my mind. Psst!

He chuckles.

Listen:

Can’t trust a Slytherin … Once a traitor, always a traitor…

Some stains do not come off. Ever.

You wormed yourself out of Azkaban. Once.

Everyone knows that is where you belong.

They will gladly dispose of you once you are no longer useful.

I look into my own eyes as the voice whispers on.

Are you useful?

I close my eyes; nod, shake my head, then nod again. Uncertain.

Lips gently brush against my ear. I hear a chuckle, again, frightened.

Useful little tool. Tell me … how long still? Till Dumbledore dies?

Till Potter does?

I nod, once. Hot tears running down my cheek. A cold finger traces its path.

The voice whispers on, sweet and dark as honey.

Useless are you? Hideous, useless traitor...

You should have died back then, in the shack…

Why should anything so hideously ugly have a right to live? Black was right, your existence is … surplus…

I cover my face with my hands, unable to look up.

Death? So you wish to die?

But they have taken even that from you, haven’t they?

A door opens.

“Professor? I am supposed to have detention with Mr. Filch, but the classroom door is …”

Harry stares at Snape crouching over a hunched up, trembling figure.

Someone whimpers, as if in pain.

“What are you doing?”

“Sir?”

Snape straightens, reluctantly leaving the cowering body and fluidly morphs into a dementor. Harry blinks, confusion giving way to training.

“RIDDIKULUS!”

The boggart disappeares with a popping noise, leaving a heavily breathing pile of Professor behind on the floor.

“Sir?”

Snape tries to push himself up on trembling hands.

“Potter.”

“Professor? Sir, are you alright?”

Offering his hand to the Professor.

Snape blinks and looks at Potter’s outstretched hand with disgust.

“Get away from me, Potter.”

“The boggart, that was you? Why didn’t you just…”

“Did you come to gloat?”

Snape got up from the floor with barely concealed effort. Standing unsteady, staggering towards the table for support.

“Was snooping in my pensieve not enough? You and your friends thought it would be funny to see what the greasy git is afraid of, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU!”

“What?”

Snape’s face red and angry, white blotches traitorously giving away his tears.

“Oh, don’t play innocent, Potter. I know you are part of this,” Snape waved his hand in the space between them, spitting the word, “prank.”

“I WAS NOT PART OF ANY PRANK!”

“Fifty points from Gryffindor. Get out, Potter. Now.”

“IT WASN’T ME!

“LIAR. GET OUT! Get out, get out…”

Snape trailed off, turning, unable to face those piercing green eyes.

Harry slammed the door shut behind him. God, he hated that man.