Disclaimer: Not mine. Please don't sue.
Something of His Own
Severus Snape traversed the halls of Hogwarts on his nightly ritual that lead in the direction of Gryffindor tower.
On this particular night Snapes interest was drawn by a very plain looking sketch book laying innocently upon a step not far from the portrait of the pink lady. Severus Snape wasn't foolish enough to think that something that looked innocent actually was, so he poked it once or twice with his wand and mumbled a few words, just to make sure it wouldn't burn his eyes out. After a thorough inspection Snape decided that it was safe and flipped it open to the first page, looking for the owner's name. What he saw made him stop and examine its contents.
He was looking at a very well executed sketch of his own hands. The long slender fingers of his right hand wrapped around a pestle, grinding an unknown substance to powder in the mortar, held by his left hand. The motion was flawless, so real, so life like. Upon examining the sketch more closely he realized that nothing had been missed by the artist, down to the small crescent shaped scar on the back of his left hand. It was absolutely amazing, he stared at the picture for a long moment before noticing the title, written at the bottom center of the page. 'The Masters Hands'. Severus didn't know if he should be flattered or insulted. Obviously someone was not paying attention in class, at least not to the lesson. His vanity won out however, he chose to be flattered.
The next page was a sketch of a pair of amazing eyes. Of course Snape recognized them immediately. How many times had be sat in the Headmasters office, being offered a lemon drop? He was looking at the eyes of Albus Dumbledore that were twinkling like stars on a bright clear winter night, wisdom and humor and regard shinning like beacons in their depths. It was an amazing rendition, down to the tiny crinkles around the eyes that betrayed an unseen smile. The title read, 'Omniscient Soul'. A warm understanding flitted through Severus. He knew exactly what the artist meant. He had felt the same way on numerous occasions. Clearly a great deal of love had gone into the sketch, a warm kind of regard, like a child to his father.
Severus flipped to the next page after he unconsciously sat himself on a cold stone step. The sketch was that of a mouth in a sneer. Again, Snape recognized who was being represented, even though the rest of the boys face was absent. It was clearly Draco Malfoy. The title made Snape laugh, 'The Actor'. Someone knew Draco far to well.
The fourth sketch was that of Hagrid sitting on the steps of his hut playing a flute. The music swirled up around his head making his long beard and hair rustle like it would in a warm, light breeze. Clearly a lot of love and care went into the portrait, every detail of the half giant was captured, down to his pink umbrella propped against a wall. Severus found himself wondering who the artist was, how such love, admiration and friendship could be portrayed through a pencil sketch. The title read, 'The First'. Severus had no idea what that meant. He flipped to the next page and scowled.
A knight, in full armor mounted upon a magnificent steed. The visor on the knight's helmet showing his face. It was the face of Ron Weasley. Severus' scowl deepened. What in idiotic portrayal! Weasley as a knight...Ha! It was a fine sketch though. The horse was up on its hind legs, mane and tail flying. The knight held a sword above his head, his mouth moving in a victory shout. The title read, 'The Courage of Godrick'. Severus frowned. He hardly thought that the Weasley brat would know a thing about courage.
The next sketch caught Snapes attention simply because it took up so little room on the page. While the rest of the sketches filled their pages, this one did not. It was a charcoal drawing of a door under a staircase. Severus did not understand why it caught his attention like it did, except for maybe the feeling of sadness that emanated from it. As he examined the sketch he noticed light coming from under the door, and a shadow moving along behind it. There was someone in the closet! Snape was perplexed. Clearly it was only a closet, a cupboard no bigger than the one he used to store his more sensitive potions. He read the title, 'The Cupboard Under the Stairs'. Snape quirked an eyebrow. He had the overwhelming urge to open the cupboard door and let who ever was inside out. 'It's only a sketch,' he told himself, and yet he couldn't repress the feeling of needing to rescue the person inside. Just as Severus was forcing himself to turn the page he saw the doorknob turn and stopped to watch what would happen next. The door slowly opened, and a small, dark head peeked out. Snapes breath caught in his throat as he recognized the face. 'Potter?' The boy in the sketch seemed to be looking out at him. Then, just as suddenly as the head appeared it disappeared and the cupboard door closed behind him. Severus didn't allow himself to dwell on the thoughts that were beginning to fill his brain. He turned the page and gasped.
A pair of eyes, cold, soul-less, calculating...evil, stared back at him. They didn't blink, they did not move at all and yet they seemed to be boring into his very soul. Severus had seen those eyes more times than he cared to remember, he knew that in reality they blazed red even though in the sketch one couldn't tell. The title read, 'Tom Marvolo Riddle: I Am Lord Voldemort'. Snape knew full well whom this sketchbook belonged to. If he had any doubt, the title confirmed his suspicions. Only Harry Potter would know those eyes so well, or the name that went with them. Dumbledore had told Snape about Potters adventure in the Chamber of Secrets. Not many knew where the name Voldemort had come from and until that moment Snape had been one of them.
He did not linger on the page long, uncomfortable being anywhere in the proximity of the Dark Lord pencil sketch or not. Now that Snape knew whom the owner of the book was he knew he should stop looking at it. The sketches within were very personal, like a visual diary of memories. Severus knew that he was looking at Harry Potters own thoughts and feelings. It was this knowledge that prompted him to turn the page.
He laughed at the next sketch. It was a rough drawing of Hermione Granger sitting at a desk with her hand up in the air, her arm stretched to its highest extent. Her face was beaming with barely contained enthusiasm. It was a rough sketch but the emotion behind it was very clear. The title read, 'Always Curious'. Snape raised his eyebrow at the title. This was not the way he thought of Miss. Granger, know-it-all was a more accurate description to his view.
What little conscious Snape had stabbed at his heart as he turned the page. It was the only colored sketch in the notebook. A boy stood in front of a mirror and reflected in it were two people that Snape recognized. Lily and James Potter. They were smiling at the boy, hands resting affectionately on his shoulders. Potters face reflected back at Snape, a sad and yet content look in his eyes but the most predominate emotion was longing. Severus snapped the book shut and starred at the cover for a long moment. Emotions welled up in him that he believed had long abandoned him and a kind of fear he did not know how to control enveloped him. He dropped the sketchbook on the step where he had found it and raced back through the halls to his rooms.
Only moments after Snape flung himself through his chamber door a boy appeared out of thin air. He had messy black hair, round glasses over bright green eyes and a scar in the shape of a lightening bolt on his forehead. Harry Potter reached down and gingerly retrieved his missing sketchbook. He examined the cover and flipped through the pages. It looked unharmed. He tucked the book under his arm and pulled the invisibility cloak back over himself.
He hoped no one had found it and looked through it. He knew the sketches were good, he spent a lot of time on them, but he didn't want to share them with anyone. They were his and his alone, something know one else knew about, they were something of his own.