Summary:
A certain professor remembers a man who has found forgiveness he hasn't discovered himself.
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I will never forget the man who saved me. The man who risked his cause to pull me from the darkness. I did not go to him. He found me and saw something that not even the Dark Lord had noticed. But then again, who would have ever thought that I would have had light left inside me when my heart had turned cold to the dying screams and mourning cries of those I had tortured, mentally or physically. Then I believed that killing was not torture. No, it was mercy. Allowing the person to feel no pain as they were punished for the wrong doings they had done against my master. Those shrieks and weeps will never be forgotten now, now that the light has returned again and I now remember good from bad. Then I believed there were no such things as good or evil, only power. Power, and those too weak to seek it. But those were never my thoughts, my words or my beliefs. They were the opinions, the cardinal ideology presented by the man I considered godly. The man I risked my liberty, life and land for.
No, I shall never forget those recollections. How I wished I could, so that I could no longer suffer through my day mares and nightmares. The horrible thoughts that I created were punishment for the horrendous things I had done in the past, but still, I wanted to forget. I drowned myself in my work, during class time and private time. Reading books upon books on the subject I was knee deep in, sinking deeper with every extra moment I stayed with it. When I presented with Head of House, a title, I threw myself in it as well. A title, higher than the others I associated myself with once again. Though, I had highly doubted that any of them had murdered or tortured for their 'employer.' I became absorbed with my role at this ancient school until I could no long waste time on remembering old things. During the waking hours of course. Who can settle on what they envision? And dream I did. The old blood, the old screams, the aging pleas for mercy. Yes, I gave them what I called mercy. I gave them death.
I cannot forget any of those things. But what was more appalling to the mind was after the death. After the torture. The silence. The thickening silence that I could have cut with a butcher's knife from the dead couple's kitchen. The silence penetrating every tingling nerve in my mind, causing me to hastily look around when the walls groaned or the pipes rattled softly. Oh, my victims were now just as silent as their home. There faces empty of will, the painful contortion gone. Surprise lingering there on one person or another. Most knew what was to come. The only time they were surprised was when they awoke at St. Mungo's. Their faces were so utterly and completely empty, their spirits no long residing in that mortal shell, but their eyes were not.. Their eyes were different. Unfocused, yes, but full of what was called life. Fear still danced in the dark blues or tender greens, horror and dismay still lingering in the dilated pupils. Their eyes wide and unblinking, etching themselves into the viewer's memory banks forever more. I will never forget those eyes. Every pair carved into my stone heart, the one that was very slowly turning back to human over the years.
Even now, I am slightly amazed at the 'progress' I have made. Of course I assisted with the Philosopher's Stone, I would not allow new memories to come to with the return of my former master. The same man I had given my free will to. But when I had muttered the counter-curse, saving that foolish first year seeker, I could not deny that if it had been only a few years earlier, I would have watched the boy fall to the ground without a bat of an eye. I wouldn't have considered it my duty to head off Quirrel when he distracted the school with his filthy troll, I would not have shooed off that numbskull, Lockhart, when we discussed Miss Weasley's disappearance. I may have gone after Black as I had, but that was not out of loyalty to the Ministry that had persecuted me rightly, it was out of pure-sweet revenge. As it would have been any other time. I would have gotten it too. I will not forget the anger I felt, the fury I was claimed by when I saw him. It was like the fury I felt when I had raised my wand to deliver the last blow. How dare they beg for mercy? If they had not defied the dark lord they would not have had visitors this night. Oh, no, but he did not defy the dark lord, he defied his damnable parents and his heritage. And he had denied me many chances to right my hatred for the elder Potter. Revenge had tasted so sweet when he had returned the looks of hatred and loathing. I would have killed him had he said one word, the words of Albus Dumbledore forgotten to my furious mind. I will not forget the looks of loathing..
I will not forget the looks of hatred..
I will not forget the glassy, dark blues that stared incredulously back up at me as I lowered my wand once more..
I will not forget the screams or cries of pleas for mercy..
I will not forget the man who started the war, who ended many things, mine or not..
And.. And I shall never forget, above anything else, is the man who saved me.. Even when the Dark Lord's mark is gone from my skin, his memories washed from my mind, magically, naturally or by death, I shall not forget the cool, disconcerting bright blue eyes that had stared at me solemnly as I rose my wand to him. He had not moved, had not taken any slight attempt to defend himself again my attack. He had spoken.. He had spoken to me, the man who was ready to end the aging process that creased his ancient face. All he had said, all he had murmured, was a single word. A triple, nearly silent, syllable word. That one word had caused me to drop my wand, to look at him as if I had met a deity. How could he, so softly speaking, have brought me from the dark side with a single word? I had no longer the desire to kill Albus Dumbledore, to have my master praise me from destroying his main foe. How foolish was I to ever think I could have in the first place..
That one word, the word that had changed my world for the better, that had found the light so expertly hidden beneath the layers of evil, pain and cool disconcern, had been my name. My very name. Severus. I do not know how he did it; I do not know why he said it, but I remember how he had said it. He had sounded as if he had forgiven me. Forgiven me as if I was an upset child who had broken into the pastry jar and broken into tears due to guilt. As if I had done nothing vile, as if I had made a mistake any man would have made. He forgave me for killing. He forgave me for torturing. He forgave me for following an assassin. He forgave me for killing entire families, for breaking others apart. For destroying lives and corrupting others. I could not understand why he forgave me. I had no business receiving his forgiveness. He was forgiving a man who had cost him dear things in his life. But why? Why forgive a professional killer, a man who believed he enjoyed hearing terrified screeches.
Why was he forgiving me for killing, when my very last victim had been his honourable and valiant wife?