Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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"It ends here and now, Severus Snape! I have had enough!"

"Whatever is the matter, Minerva?"

He affected boredom, letting his gaze roam over the Great Hall, settling on his house table in the end. He smiled faintly in satisfaction. All was well. Aside from the Gryffindor witch next to him continuing her rant, of course.

"You and your damnable bullying! I put up with you favouring your house, because I understand they need an advocate. But this time you are going too far!"

"Am I?" he asked her with a raised eyebrow, finally looking at her, his dark eyes glaring at her dangerously. "Please do tell me how I go to far?"

"You know perfectly well how children model their behaviour on their peers and those they consider authority. Do you want Lily's son to share your own fate? Do you want Lily's son to be relentlessly bullied by his peers because a teacher showed them it was perfectly all right to do so? Lily's little boy? Do you?"

"That is low, Minerva," he growled in reply, his eyes narrowing.

How dare the insufferable witch bring up Lily in defence of Potter's spawn. Some niggling voice in the back of his mind informed him the brat was Lily's spawn, too, but he disregarded it with the ease of long practise.

"No. What is low, lower than low in fact, is your behaviour!"

"So the brat has come running to you with complaints then?" he sneered. Just like his father …

"No, Severus, in fact he has not done so. But I would have to be blind not to see what is going on! What you are doing!"

"I am merely taking our arrogant little celebrity, who you all insist in coddling, down a peg or two," he said disdainfully. Dismissively. What right did the witch have to criticise him for trying to keep the brat's empty little head from swelling even further?

"I worry enough about the poor bairn, I will not have you add to his misery!"

"Misery? Surely that is an exaggeration, Minerva? What should he feel miserable about? He is adored by all, after all."

"Do you really not see how uncomfortable that makes him? How he hunches his shoulders when they stare, how he flinches when they whisper and point? Look at him, Severus! Look at Lily's child and tell me you can only see James?"

"He is the spitting image of his father, Madame," he pointed out coldly.

"Oh, the face and the hair, certainly. But his behaviour? His mannerisms? Look at him, Severus! Look at him properly for once, I beg you!"

He sighed, resisted the urge to childishly roll his eyes, and nodded reluctantly. He could humour her, and look at the brat with the eyes of the spy and the experienced head of Slytherin. And Lily's friend. For fairness sake, he would even suppress his hatred for James Potter behind his Occlumency shields. This once. For Minerva. She did not usually beg, after all. She deserved that much from him, as despairing and exasperated as she sounded.

He would look, and no doubt see what he had always seen, a spoiled, arrogant brat. And then he would tell her so, and attempt yet again to make her see the truth. Instead of those empty fabrications of hers. At least that was what he told himself.

Until he actually looked.

And saw … himself. His own sullen responses, only covered up somewhat better. The posture full of defensive spikes keeping everyone at bay, while clinging desperately to the only people who offered him friendship. Those spikes which were so easily mistaken for arrogance. He should know, after all. He did the same, suspicious that the hand offered in friendship intended to strike him instead. And surely would, if it was let too close. To be allowed close, you would have to prove yourself first. Like defeat a mountain troll together. That would probably do it.

He saw the wistfulness in eyes which had long given up expecting anything from the world, and yet still longed for … something. Hidden behind those ill-fitting glasses. Which matched the rest of the boy's apparel, with the exception of the carefully tended school-robes. A dichotomy which pointed to … neglect? Because the boy was supposed to be rich and spoiled. Yet looking at him objectively, he saw signs of neither. He appeared no more prosperous than his Weasley sidekick … friend, and that was not a good comparison at all, given how lacking in money the Weasleys were.

Aside from that troublesome thought, the boy really showed no obvious regard for his appearance, quite unlike the father. There was none of the easy self-assurance of Potter senior, either. This was not someone who basked in the adoration of his fellows. This was someone who desperately wanted to stay under the radar, and could not. Because the others would not let him. All Severus could observe, now that he was finally allowing himself to see beyond a hated face, was discomfort. Insecurity. The desire to fit in, where you did not feel part of.

His expression must have shown his internal disturbance, because Minerva's voice was hushed when she addressed him after seemingly endless moments of contemplation.

"What is it, Severus? You look like you have seen a ghost?"

"When I look at him, I see … myself, Minerva. And that cannot be right, can it?"

She paled. "Now you see more than I did," she whispered almost inaudibly, her hand fluttering up to her throat in an unconscious gesture. "I only wanted you to finally see Lily, but ..."

"But what?" he asked suspiciously, keeping his eyes on the boy. Who was really also far too small and thin. And ate too little, especially compared to the ravenous food-digestion machine next to him.

"They truly were the worst of Muggles, it seems ..." she said faintly, as if repeating something to herself.

"What are you talking about?"

"Lily's relatives."

"Lily's rel … but her parents are dead. Who ..."

"Petunia Dursley."

"What?"

"Lower your voice, Severus!" she shushed him urgently.

"You left him with that jealous, horse-faced harpy of a woman?" he whispered the question at her, feeling suddenly furious.

"Yes. Albus ..."

"Albus, who believes parents will always love their children? That there is surely only goodwill and happiness amongst relatives, as long as everyone tries? That Albus? The one who cannot believe that all too often, they are unwilling to try, or simply fail even when they do?"

He forced himself to lower his voice again at her urgent gesturing for quiet.

"I fear there was never any goodwill there at all, in this case."

"But she was willing to take in her sister's son?"

"I … do not actually know."

"What? How can you not know that? Didn't you talk with her? Didn't you ask her?"

"Albus … we left him on the doorstep. With a letter ..."

He turned to fully face her, his face wrathful. "You left Lily's son on her sister's doorstep?" he hissed at her. "Without even asking the woman if she would take him in? What possessed you, witch, to think that a good idea?"

She wrung her hands in agitation, her eyes darting about desperately. "I … "

He sighed, and covered his own eyes with a weary hand. "You do not know. Of course you do not. You fell to Albus' silver tongue, and were yet another victim of his oh so reasonable arguments. Why didn't you at least check up later, though?"

"I … don't know."

"This is … beyond … " he seemed to have run out of words to express himself.

He wanted to shout and rage at her. He wanted to strangle Albus, who was calmly eating his dinner a few seats down from them. He wanted to blame himself, for being so blind, and disinterested in the truth, and assuming the worst because of appearances. Part of him felt vindicated, though. At least he was not the only one whose world had shattered in the space of a few minutes. All because of a look.

"Is it … too late? Are we too late?"

The desperation in her voice made him feel slightly more charitable towards her. Assigning blame would help no-one, aside from his desire to forget about his own part in all this. Though he still would like to cheerfully throttle the old-fool-who-believed-in-love-and-family with his own beard.

"Too late to change the past? Surely, Madame. Most assuredly so. But too late to change the future? One would hope not."

"Will you help me, Severus? Will you help him?"

Her voice was full of pleading. His eyes strayed to the boy again. The son of James Potter. Lily's son. His own reflection. His face contorted itself into a distant, painful smile of remembrance.

"Always."

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AN: Yeah, my muse seems back, though still a bit reluctant to work again on my main story. But at least she gave me this little one-shot about a Minerva who was a more observant and pro-active head of house. One who confronted Severus about his behaviour when she finally had enough of his bullying. One who actually noticed it in the first place. This story would be set at some point towards the end of the first term at Hogwarts, before Severus' dislike for Harry has had time to really set in, and become more personally targeted at Harry himself.

I have also always wondered if Severus was aware who Harry grew up with. Because since he knew Petunia, I just cannot really see him assume the woman would spoil her nephew. I also cannot help but wonder how he would react if he learned about the neglect and abuse. And what he would see if he ever looked beyond James Potter's face. The man is a successful spy, surely he should see quite a lot if only he looked properly. He is often portrayed as simply hateful and unwilling to change, but that is, frankly, a disservice to a character with so much potential for complexity. Reducing him to 'loved Lily, hated everyone else', just seems horribly two-dimensional.

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