Snape did not hear the last line Dumbledore remarked about Harry being a Potter. Instead, he had been pulled deep into one of the most vivid memories buried in his mind as the flashes of that particular incident came crashing to his mind.
It was a memory he had always wanted to erase from existence. And being a master of the mind arts, he could have done that. He could have sealed it away forever, locked it behind impenetrable barriers. But he never did. He could not.
Because that memory was a reminder of his powerlessness. A scar etched on his soul of his helplessness. A mark of his weakness. Of the day his arrogance and belief in his own power had been utterly shattered. And he witnessed something that he had never ever considered.
It had not been long after his graduation from Hogwarts. With the knowledge he had accumulated in the Dark Arts and his unmatched skill in potion brewing, Severus Snape had quickly risen through the ranks of the Death Eaters.
He was already being spoken of in the same breath as Lucius Malfoy, who, despite graduating a few years before him and having the Malfoy wealth and fortune to offer the Dark Lord, held no more respect in their master's eyes than Snape himself.
Snape had been a half blood and to achieve such high praise in that group was a proof of his abilities.
He remembered the day clearly, painfully clearly. The Dark Lord had summoned him for a mission of great importance. To ambush and eliminate a certain Lordly couple. Lord Charlus Potter and his wife, Dorea Potter nee Black.
The Dark Lord had, for months, been attempting to bring the Potters into his fold. He wanted their resources, their wealth, their influence. But Charlus Potter had refused, not politely, not diplomatically but with cold contempt. He had humiliated the Dark Lord, openly dismissing his ideology and scorning his ambition. Not only he had refused but Charlus Potter had been actively trying to oppose the dark lord. He was taking a lead in persuading the other pure bloods to stay away from Dark Lord and his cause.
Voldemort's wrath had been immediate. He decided that Charlus and his wife would die not just to avenge the insult, but to make an example. The world would learn what happened to those who dared to defy him.
A team of twenty four Death Eaters was assembled, each an accomplished duellist and several of them were prodigies in their own right. Snape, in his youthful arrogance, had thought that number excessive. Two people against twenty four? It was to be an easy, glorious victory.
The couple was ambushed when they were returning from a visit to one of their properties in a far away corner of Wizarding Britain. The area had been sealed. They could not apparate and neither escape by any other means.
Snape had gone into that battle with cold determination. His hatred for the Potters, especially James, burned bright. He despised everything the family stood for. Their reputation, their influence, their pride. This mission, he believed, was his chance to settle a score against that bloodline.
But his arrogance was crushed the moment the duel began.
Charlus Potter was nothing like James. He had the same height, perhaps more, but his frame was broader and muscular, and his presence was much more commanding.
Where James carried arrogance, Charlus exuded power and authority. His very stance radiated confidence and strength. And beside him stood Dorea, a true daughter of House Black. Elegant. Fearless. But very very deadly.
Even cornered, the couple showed no fear.
What followed was not a battle, it was a storm. Charlus had unleashed the ancient family magic of House Potter. The air had crackled with power and suffocation as a colossal shadowy beast had materialised. Its form had been constantly shifting between mist and substance, its eyes had been burning crimson.
Charlus wielded his wand like a weapon of judgement, every spell tearing through Death Eaters with precision and fury.
And Dorea. She was no less formidable. Her mastery of spells and the destruction it brought rivalled even the most vicious of Voldemort's followers.
When it came to closure, the mission had been 'successful' but there was no triumph. Only devastation.
Charlus Potter and Dorea Black lay dead but so did twenty one Death Eaters. Only three had survived. Snape among them. And even he had barely escaped with his life.
That day, Snape had learned fear. True fear.
Even now, decades later, as the image of that black beast flickered behind his eyes, the same beast that appeared behind Harry, his hands were trembling. He understood now, more than ever, what kind of power ran in the magic of House Potter and just what their heir, Harry Potter, might be capable of.
.
.
.
"Snape," Dumbledore's calm voice brought the Potions Master back from the depths of his memories.
"Lost in thought, were you?" Dumbledore said softly, a faint note of amusement in his tone.
Snape exhaled slowly, steadying his breath and schooling his expression back into his usual composure.
"How can he wield it?" Snape asked sharply. "He is not even registered in the Potter family wards. Nor does he have any knowledge of them. How does he have it?"
"You made sure Harry Potter was not registered in those wards," there was suspicion in Snape's voice. "Did you not?"
"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Even after all these years, you still doubt me."
He gave Snape a pointed, mildly disappointed look, the same one that had often made even the most stubborn student feel chastised. Snape scoffed but remained silent. He was aware of the tricks played by the old man.
"Family magics," Dumbledore continued, "are not so easily erased or severed. While connection to wards is a determining factor in that bond, it is not everything. Family magics are ancient and complex weavings of magic. Far more deeper than words."
He folded his hands together on the desk, his tone grave.
"In moments of intense emotion, when all other paths are closed, it is not uncommon for such power to manifest. There is a reason, Severus, why family magics, particularly those of old houses like the Potters, are so greatly feared."
"To completely remove the influence of a family magic," Dumbledore said quietly, "is no small feat."
And though he said it neutrally, Snape could not help but feel that the headmaster's words carried meaning beyond Harry, perhaps for the entire wizarding world itself.
"But how can Harry still manifest that magic?" Snape pressed in a low whisper. "You bound his magic yourself, then how is he still this powerful?"
The atmosphere in the office shifted instantly. The warmth in Dumbledore's eyes vanished, replaced by something cold and distant. The air thickened as an invisible magical pressure radiated outward. His presence, calm moments ago, was now suffocating.
"There are some matters, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, yet his voice carried the weight of command, "that cannot be spoken of so casually. Not even by those who know."
Snape bowed his head slightly, recognising the warning.
"Yes, Headmaster," he murmured.
"You may leave now," Dumbledore said, his tone returning to calm but the twinkle in his eyes did not return.
Without another word, Snape turned and left the office, the echo of Dumbledore's quiet authority lingering long after the door had closed behind him.
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