Harry Potter: I became Snape

Seeing the puzzled expression still lingering on Barty's face, Severus Snape waved his wand and let out a heavy sigh, his voice brimming with appreciation and recognition. "Alas, every time I see you, I'm reminded of my younger self."

"At the Walpurgis gatherings, you always stand quietly off to the side, just like I used to huddle in corners."

"But you haven't attended those meetings in ages," Barty said, lowering his voice. "They all say you betrayed us. Is that true?"

"No, it's they who betrayed me," Snape sneered. "I used to be like a devout follower, hoping to find acceptance and belonging there. But over time, I realized that to them, I was nothing more than a dispensable servant."

"And what does that prove?" Barty scoffed, his face full of disdain. "We can't officially join until after graduation anyway…"

"Do you really think so?" Snape's gaze flicked casually to Barty's left arm. "Mulciber clearly didn't, though he's rotting in Azkaban now, isn't he?"

Barty let out a soft humph.

"You know," Snape leaned closer, locking eyes with Barty, "we have a lot in common. For instance, we both have deeply disappointing fathers… extremely disappointing."

"Is that so?" Barty's lips curled into a mocking smile. "My father isn't a Muggle."

"Oh, yes, yes," Snape said, clapping his hands with exaggerated flair. "The illustrious Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—Barty Crouch Sr. Who doesn't know him?"

"Yet at school, you never mention him, as if he doesn't even exist."

A flash of disgust crossed Barty's face, like a scar being ripped open.

Snape abruptly stood and plopped down on the edge of Barty's hospital bed. They were so close they could almost hear each other's breathing.

Staring intently into Barty's eyes, Snape lowered his voice to a near whisper. "All this time, we've both pretended our fathers don't exist. But in a way, I almost envy you. At least your father isn't an utterly deplorable bastard."

"He's not much better…" Barty muttered, his tone betraying a hint of wavering resolve.

"Do you think he loves you?" Snape asked suddenly.

Barty's body stiffened. After a long pause, he slowly shook his head, saying nothing.

"My father doesn't love me either," Snape said, his voice low and heavy. "He doesn't even love my mother. I hate him."

Barty's pupils widened for a moment.

"So," Snape's face hardened with a trace of menace, "I made sure he lost the thing he cared about most."

"What was that?" Barty asked, unable to suppress his curiosity. He seemed keenly interested in the answer.

"He was a bitter, bad-tempered Muggle," Snape said, sidestepping the question. "He didn't care about anyone. The only thing he valued was himself."

"When I returned to school this time…" Snape paused deliberately before continuing, "I could see the Thestrals pulling the school carriages."

"You mean…" Barty propped himself up with both hands, shock in his voice. "Professor Kettleburn said in class that only those who've witnessed death can see Thestrals…"

"No, your guess is off," Snape said, giving Barty a meaningful look. "One more question: do you think your mother loves you?"

Without hesitation, Barty nodded.

"You know," Snape said earnestly, "the most fundamental thing we share is this: we both have mothers who love us."

Snape gently patted Barty's shoulder, his tone softening. "Barty, I'm not joking. We're truly alike."

"Those people at Walpurgis, the Death Eaters, even the Dark Lord—they'll never truly understand us. We are the ones who are alike."

"I'm willing—and able—to help you," Snape said, extending his right hand. "To take away the thing your father values most while ensuring your mother can still love you. Are you willing?"

Barty stared at the outstretched hand for a long moment. Finally, he slowly reached out and grasped Snape's hand.

"Once you're fully recovered, if the time is right, I'll share my story with you, Barty," Snape said, releasing his hand.

As he left the hospital wing, the sky was already bright, sunlight streaming freely into the corridors.

Snape rubbed his tired eyes, planning to head to the Great Hall for a bite to eat before returning to his dormitory for a long, comfortable sleep.

Along the way, he'd expected his "stellar performance" at the dueling tournament to make his classmates avoid him like the plague.

To his surprise, several students nodded or greeted him warmly as they passed—something that had never happened before.

As he crossed the Entrance Hall, still puzzled, a tall sixth-year Ravenclaw boy strode over and invited him to breakfast.

"You were absolutely brilliant, Severus," Bertram Aubrey said enthusiastically, handing Snape a steaming cup of pumpkin juice. "The dueling tournament the other day was such a thrill. You should've seen Potter's bare arse…"

"Er, thanks, Bertram," Snape replied, slightly overwhelmed by the enthusiasm. "As long as I didn't scare you lot."

"No, I should be thanking you!" Bertram grinned broadly. "To be honest, you did startle me a bit at first. But then I realized you didn't strip anyone else's robes off."

He lowered his voice, relishing the memory. "You know, Potter hasn't shown his face in class for two days. It's bloody satisfying. Honestly, if I could take them on myself, I would've done it ages ago."

"And Black—what did you say to him? The look on his face when he conceded…"

"What did they do to you?" Snape raised an eyebrow, starting to understand Bertram's fervor.

Bertram slammed his hand on the table, his face flushing with anger. "Just because I was paired with Lily Evans in Divination, Potter and Black cornered me in the corridor after class. They said I was getting ahead of myself, dreaming too big, and then they hexed me with some nasty curse."

He gestured animatedly, his voice rising. "That curse made my head swell to twice its size. I was stuck in the hospital wing for two whole weeks! My head ached so badly I could barely stand it…"

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