Okay, nobody thinks in sentences that are so well-constructed and precise. It's actually more like a diary entry, but I doubt Snape would keep a diary . Hence, I wrote about Snape's thoughts, but in a stylized way. :)
It's the Christmas holidays, and the boy is staying here, wandering the empty halls like a ghost of his father. I still can't get over how much he looks—and acts—like James. He has that sort of defiant arrogance when he's corrected, letting the world know how he thinks he's in the right and everyone else is wrong. But why am I complaining? He's the little Quidditch STAR, the apple of Dumbledore's eye, the BOY WHO LIVED. He's no longer quite the shining celebrity—in terms of what he's gone through. Does that mean he's actually seen as just any student now? Ha! Now he's the little Quidditch STAR, just like his pompous father. I'm glad that they've stopped pitying him and seeing him as a hero. His experiences haven't made him any less of a rude, rule-breaking git; indeed, he seems to little realize what his parents did for him. Yes, I used that word. Git. He is one. The only thing stopping me from completely tearing into him, telling him what I think, is his eyes, as much as I hate to admit it. I feel weak, silly, being held back from putting him in his place by those eyes…
His eyes are Lily's eyes; I saw it from the moment he came in on the first day, laughing, with the Weasley boy and the Granger girl. James Potter's look of contempt is often behind them, but they're still so much like hers, deep, sparkling, reminding me of what I lost. Lily was the only one I loved. It could have been my son going to potions class, it could have been Lily and me in Godric's Hollow…how I longed—and still do— to say how I felt, how I feel now, but instead, I turned her away forever.
I thought about using a memory potion to forget her, wiping her away from my mind forever. Then I wouldn't be haunted by those familiar green eyes or feel a sharp pang of memory when I see Harry Potter striding down to fly on his broom, looking so like his father, reminding me of the day I saw James Potter with Lily Evans, wrapped in each other's arms, with the beautiful redhead pressed against the wall of the empty Quidditch field.
But by the time I finished the potion and was raising it to my lips, I just couldn't do it. I didn't take a sip. Somehow, I'd rather remember and feel the pain than forget and feel nothing.
He has her eyes…
Severus Snape paused in the darkened hall, his wand only giving off enough light to help him move slowly through the corridors. He sighed, glad of the frigid comfort of the cold, sheltering silence. Down here, he would wander until his eyes grew gritty and sleep threatened to come over him. That helped take away the sour taste in his soul from the days spent teaching the often stuck-up returning students and goggle-eyed first years. Here he could get away from the banter of the ghosts and away from the main halls of Hogwarts itself, with its stern Gothic windows and empty arches. Somehow, the darkness was friendlier. Snape had never heard the Muggle song, Sounds of Silence, but he would have identified with one verse.
"Hello darkness, my old friend, I'm here to talk to you again,"
"Mom? Dad?"
Harry Potter's voice, sounding strained and broken, sounded through the darkness, so quiet that it seemed to reverberate through the unlit, dungeon-liked corridors. It came from the direction of an unused classroom where old school supplies and desks were stashed; the boy must have been wandering the corridors after hours yet again and fallen asleep; it sounded like he was dreaming of his parents. Severus grimaced. He knew he should feel sorry for Harry, but he just couldn't. Ready to give out another detention, he swept silently into the abandoned room. Despite his hardened heart, he was not prepared for what he saw.
Harry had removed the Invisibility cloak that his father had owned and was gazing into a mirror, pressing one hand to it, the other hand holding his lighted wand. Tears were streaming down the lanky, wide-eyed face, dripping to the floor unheeded, the flaming red scar standing out in stark relief on his forehead.
"Mom?" Harry repeated. "Dad?"
His voice was cracking even more; Severus shrank back into the shadows. The Mirror of Erised had found someone else to haunt. How many hours he himself had sat there, back when it had been in an old tower room, gazing desperately at Lily's glittering and sad but unseeing eyes. He knew he hadn't really seen Lily herself, but a reflection of her, of what he'd dreamed of. Still, that had been good enough for him. He'd ended up losing sleep, affecting his teaching, and it had nearly taken control of his mind. Wisely, Dumbledore had hidden it again, but it had taken all of the potion master's self-control not to go looking for it.
He felt an unwanted twinge of sympathy as he saw the boy gazing hungrily into the glass, an expression of terrible sadness and longing on his bespectacled face. Frightened by the memories that came flowing back, alarmed by what he knew the mirror would do to Harry, Severus stalked away from the room, his dark robes swishing slightly.
"Dumbledore," he found himself saying fifteen minutes later. "The boy has found the mirror."
Dumbledore's scorching blue eyes gazed intently at him. "I will take care of it," the headmaster replied. "I will hide it where nobody can find it," he added with emphasis.
"Good," he said icily. "Make sure the Potter boy knows not to go traipsing about looking for it, though I doubt he'll listen."
"You can't say you'd blame him if he did, would you, Severus?" Dumbledore replied calmly, meshing his fingers together, his eyes burning into Snape's soul. The hook-nosed teacher merely grunted and stalked out of Dumbledore's office. He went to his own room, but did not turn on any candles. Instead, he yanked down the drapes, shutting out the moonlight streaming onto the floor, and sank, without getting into his pajamas, into his lumpy bed. The moonlight was beautiful, but the darkness would take over him, and he would not have to lie awake in the silvery glow of the moon, hating his life and wishing Lily were next to him, her dark red hair streaming across the pillow.
Severus waited, seeking the heaviness that the darkness would bring upon him, but it did not come. He kept thinking about what he'd seen this night, remembering the sorrow on Harry's face, knowing what the boy was seeing. He was seeing a beautiful young woman with ivory skin, hair the color of paprika cascading down her back, warm green eyes looking sadly out…
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
xXx
© "Sounds of Silence" © Simon and Garfunkel