Harry Potter: I became Snape

Sirius Black stood alone by the window of the Gryffindor Tower, his fingers absently tracing the cold crystal vial in his pocket.

The night wind slipped through the half-open window, tousling his dark hair, but he barely noticed. His entire focus was on the vial—the potion that could change everything: a dose of Amortentia.

"Take it… use it or don't… but remember, this is to help him…"

Severus Snape's voice, low and insidious like a devil's whisper, still echoed in his ears. Sirius gently closed the window. He should have smashed the vial right into that hook-nosed git's face, but—Snape held a secret too dangerous to ignore.

An illegal Animagus. That secret could get all three of them expelled, or worse, hauled before the Ministry of Magic.

"Daydreaming again?" Remus Lupin's gentle voice broke through his thoughts from behind. Sirius didn't turn, catching only Lupin's reflection in the window's blurry glass, arms laden with a stack of books.

"Where's James?" Sirius asked. "He should be done with his detention by now, shouldn't he?"

Lupin sighed, setting the books on the nearest table with a dull thud. "After finishing Filch's tasks, he went off to find Evans. Slughorn's Slug Club has an event tonight, you know." He paused, brows furrowing slightly. "Though I don't think he was invited."

"Doesn't he get that she can't stand him?" Sirius turned, irritation creeping into his voice. "Ever since that Dueling Club fiasco—"

"Shh!" Lupin glanced around nervously, though the common room held only a few younger students engrossed in a game of Wizard's Chess, their focus entirely on the pieces slaughtering each other on the board.

"Not here," Lupin warned in a hushed tone, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes making him look older than he was.

Sirius raked a hand through his hair, frustration burning in his chest. Lately, the troubles seemed endless. The carefree days of their youth were slipping away.

His best friend, his brother in all but blood, James Potter, was facing unprecedented setbacks in his pursuit of Lily Evans. And it was all because of that damned Snivellus.

Memories flooded back.

Last summer, when James had hung that sullen Slytherin upside down from a tree, and the idiot had spat out that filthy word—"Mudblood"—at Lily, James had gleefully declared he no longer had to worry about Lily's friendship with Snivellus.

"She might say I'm a show-off, a bit daft, or even that I make her sick," James had grinned, his dark hair a wild mess, glasses crooked on his nose, looking like he'd just tumbled off a broom. "But at least I'd never call her a Mudblood."

"So, mates, I reckon I've got a real shot at winning her heart! And—" he'd lowered his voice mysteriously, "I've got a feeling Evans fancies me. She's just hiding it well."

Sirius had wholeheartedly agreed. After all, who could resist James? Star Quidditch Chaser, heir to the Potter fortune, pure-blood scion of a prominent family, and a Gryffindor legend. What girl could withstand that effortless charm—that confidence, that smile that could brighten the gloomiest sky?

Even Sirius sometimes found himself swept up in James's natural charisma.

By James's reasoning, Lily was practically guaranteed to become Head Girl in their seventh year, so he'd better aim for Head Boy. That way, they'd have countless opportunities to interact—formal occasions Lily couldn't avoid.

"Girls are overrated," Sirius had told James, not understanding why his friend was so fixated on one. He'd shrugged. "Hanging out with them is nowhere near as fun as the four of us stirring up trouble."

Watching the younger students' chess game, where one side's bishop smashed the other's rook to bits, Sirius thought bitterly: How did things end up like this?

Back then, he'd figured that while Lily wasn't particularly remarkable, she was a cut above most girls. Since his best mate liked her, maybe he could learn to tolerate her. Perhaps they could all share meals together someday, like a family, like those summers at the Potters'.

But those idyllic past, present, and future dreams had come to a screeching halt.

After that incident, against all expectations, Snape had changed.

He was no longer the greasy, sullen, unhygienic Slytherin weirdo. Instead, he'd cut his hair, made new friends, distanced himself from the pure-blood extremists Lily despised, and—most shockingly to Sirius—become Head Boy. And, unbelievably, he'd started washing his hair regularly.

Sirius still remembered the Dueling Club meeting when Snape had leaned close to speak, and he'd caught a strange, fresh scent. It wasn't the usual wizarding shampoo, nor the kind the Potters used. A wild thought had crossed his mind: Is Snivellus using Muggle products?

But one thing about Snape hadn't changed: his hatred for James.

Sirius recalled a night last term when James had snuck out with the Marauder's Map and the Potter family's Invisibility Cloak. Half-asleep, Sirius had seen James slip out, a mischievous grin on his face—the kind he wore when planning a prank.

Before dawn, Sirius was startled awake by rustling. James sat on his bed, covered in dirt, his face grim, a crack splitting one lens of his glasses.

"What happened?" Sirius had mumbled, dragging himself upright.

James just shook his head, silent.

Sirius had never seen him like that—James, the eternal optimist, the one who could always find something to laugh about.

Worried, Sirius reached for James's shoulder, but James flinched away. Thankfully, apart from the dirt, he seemed unharmed.

Their noise woke Remus and Peter, who gathered around James's bed, concern etched on their faces.

"Leave me alone!" James suddenly roared, leaping to his feet.

But just as quickly, he deflated, collapsing back onto the bed, hands covering his face. "I'm sorry," he rasped. "I lost the Marauder's Map. And the Invisibility Cloak."

"What?" Peter gasped, his small eyes wide.

"How?" Sirius pressed, concerned. The Invisibility Cloak was a Potter family heirloom, cherished by James.

"I just lost them!" James clutched his head in anguish. "There was an accident. Don't ask."

The three exchanged glances and wisely stayed quiet.

"It's alright," Remus said softly. "The Map's gone, but we'll manage."

"Yeah," Sirius added, avoiding mention of the Cloak. "We know all the secret passages by heart."

He knew James must be hurting more than any of them, dreading how he'd explain this to Mr. and Mrs. Potter.

The loss of the Map was a blow, but compared to the joy James brought him, it was nothing. As long as James was okay, they could still find happiness together.

Even if they could never recreate that magical parchment, it didn't matter—it had been a miracle to begin with.

When they'd set out to chart Hogwarts' layout and passages, adding names and notes, the castle itself seemed to awaken. An invisible force pressed down on them, the air thick. When it lifted, the Map had come alive, tiny moving dots marking everyone's names and locations.

The four had stared, awestruck, at their accidental creation. They theorized they'd stumbled upon some ancient magic woven into the castle by its founders, unintentionally triggering its activation.

But the Map's loss was only the beginning. Misfortune never came alone, and fate had other plans.

In the next Dueling Club match, though Sirius hated to admit it, James's prized dueling skills were no match for Snape. Every spell was countered with precision, every attack effortlessly deflected. Snape crushed James in front of nearly the entire school—including Lily Evans—leaving James's pride in tatters. Sirius saw the light fade from his friend's eyes.

To avenge James, Sirius stepped onto the dueling platform. But Snape leaned in and whispered their secret, audible only to him.

In that moment, Sirius understood where the Map had gone and what had happened to James that night.

He didn't tell Moony or Wormtail. He couldn't bear to burden James with more guilt, knowing his friends wouldn't blame him.

The duel's impact on James was devastating. He even skipped the next Quidditch match—unthinkable for someone who lived for the game. Gryffindor had to scramble for a replacement and lost to Ravenclaw.

Sirius watched his friend sink deeper into gloom, powerless to help beyond trying to distract him with memories of happier times.

In his desperation, Snape had approached him, offering the crystal vial.

Fortunately, James was slowly recovering, though he was quieter now. They still snuck out at night, still planned pranks, but James's smile no longer shone as brightly. Still, they found ways to have fun.

Things would be better without Evans, Sirius thought.

"There's no shame in letting go of the impossible," Remus said, echoing words he'd once told James.

His voice snapped Sirius back to the present. He realized he'd been staring at the empty fireplace, while Remus had settled into an armchair across from him, concern on his face.

"James still won't listen?" Sirius asked bitterly.

"You know how he is." Remus shook his head, fingers tapping the armrest. "Once he's set on something…"

Sirius's fist clenched, nails digging into his palm. He thought of the vial in his pocket, of Snape's whisper.

"Use it or don't… this is to help him…"

To help him… Will it really help?

Sirius closed his eyes. James's smile, his grace on the Quidditch pitch, the way he'd opened his home without hesitation when Sirius ran away—"You're a Potter now, brother…"

"I'm going to bed," Sirius said abruptly, standing.

Remus looked like he wanted to say something but only nodded.

Back in the dormitory, Sirius dug out a tin box from the bottom of his wardrobe. Inside lay a few photographs—one of him and James at twelve, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the Potters' garden, holding new broomsticks, laughing freely. Another showed him with the Blacks—Uncle Alphard, Andromeda, and Regulus.

His time with James was the warmest of his life. Grimmauld Place had never given him such joy. He remembered his mother's Howler screaming when he was sorted into Gryffindor, the cold silence when Andromeda and Alphard were disowned. But at the Potters', there was always a place for him at the table, and Mrs. Potter always baked an extra lemon tart, his favorite.

"For James," he whispered, tracing James's smiling face in the photo. If it could bring back that smile, what were his doubts worth? Snape was right—this was to help him…

Some time later, Sirius was startled awake by the creak of the dormitory door. In the moonlight, he saw James shuffle in, exhausted, curling up on his bed without even removing his shoes.

Outside, tree shadows clawed in the moonlight. Sirius thought back to that full moon in fifth year, when the three of them had completed their Animagus transformations to keep Remus company. James was the first to sprout antlers, bounding around the dorm with those ridiculous horns, making Peter fall off his bed laughing.

"Sirius, look! I beat you to it!" James's eyes had sparkled.

Now, those stars were gone.

When James's breathing finally steadied, Sirius pulled the crystal vial from under his pillow, staring at it silently.

"This is to help him," he told himself. The clear potion shimmered faintly in the vial.

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