Chapter Text
Of course, he had to have those fucking eyes.
Snape had no clue that when he’d meet the child’s eyes in the Great Hall for the first time, they would be the same striking green as Lily’s.
He has a somewhat repressed memory of the headmaster saying that even as a baby, the boy’s eyes were nothing short of resembling hers. He can't even say that the old man was wrong.
Looking at the boy’s face, however, it was nothing like his mother’s, but that of his swine of a father—glasses and all, no less. But the lenses still didn’t conceal that enthralling shade of green that Severus knew to belong to his dearest friend.
The Potions Master had known that the boy’s eventual arrival would make for a far‑from‑dull school year. Ever since the event of his unfavorable namesake as the boy‑who‑lived, he’d done his very best not to go anywhere near the child—and somehow, eleven years still hadn’t felt like nearly enough time.
In any case, the brat is likely living off the high of being famous, taking the title with pride. Now, especially, since he was sorted into the lion's den just like his father.
But then again, how should he know what the boy was like?
Even if certain events never transpired, if his parents had lived, Snape knew he still had no reason ever to meet the boy. How could he possibly? Lily surely wouldn’t ever have wanted to see him again, let alone introduce her son to him. There was also the matter of James Potter, who would have very well hung him upside down by his ankles just for old times' sake.
Here he is, reminiscing about what could have been, and about his long-lost friend, all because of those damned eyes…
Said eyes suddenly pierced his own from across the Great Hall. What was worse was the way the boy tilted his head in curiosity, nothing like Potter but so very much like Lily that it was painful. Snape’s breath hitched at the sight.
He occluded, of course, to hide such a reaction, and even more so when the boy offered an indecipherable, shaky smile. It was neither Lily’s nor Potter’s, and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
What was the intention? What is he thinking? What does he know?
Snape didn’t dare back down; he held eye contact. Well, he did until the brat looked uncomfortable and averted his gaze, rubbing his forehead, leaving Snape’s initial hitch of breath to turn into a sneer.
Surely the only Potter left isn’t already a carbon copy of his father? To be so bold as to smile and then immediately wince at the mere sight of him? He tried to catch the boy's line of sight and was only barely able to because that trademark nest of Potter hair was covering his eyes. He knew they weren’t on him anymore, so he followed them.
He shifted his gaze to the man muttering on his left, Quirrell.
Interesting, to say the least.
Harry was still wincing from the twinge just above his brow, rubbing at it almost harshly. What was that?
But more importantly… why’d he go and directly acknowledge their eye contact with that stupid smile?
It started as a weird staring match between him and the man Percy told him was the Potions Professor. The man seemed... intense. Not angry, not exactly curious either—just something Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on.
His face was just so blank.
He’s gotten a lot of different stares all his life. Mostly ostracizing or similar in that nature, and then when Harry learned he was a wizard, a famous one at that, the stares changed. Not much better, though… he didn’t like being eyed like he was some celebrity.
But the dour man’s stare from across the hall was neither of those. It was strange; he was almost reminded of Aunt Petunia when he made eye contact. She would always give this split-second look of... something... whenever Harry accidentally caught her gaze. She’d quickly look away and order him to get busy on his next chore, but it would be more halfhearted than usual.
So why did that man have almost the same look...? It was still different from his aunt’s, and certainly much more reserved than when his uncle would glare at him, his face turning into that of a bruised tomato.
When Harry tried to smile, the man’s eyes flickered with something else. Embarrassed by his attempt, Harry looked away, which only made his scar ache. He wasn’t even sure why!
Could it be karma in the form of magic for staring at the Potions man, for trying to be friendly when he wasn’t supposed to? Some sort of punishment?
He looked back up and noticed that Snape wasn’t looking at him anymore, but at the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher instead. Huh, so Percy was right; he must really want that position.
Harry wondered what a conversation between the two would even be like. After meeting Quirrell, he didn’t seem all that put together, so why was he even a teacher? Okay, maybe that wasn't nice of him to think. Thinking inconsiderately is probably what's giving him these headaches… Or maybe it's his staring problem…
Harry figured he should keep his eyes to himself for a while…