Disclaimer: Snape is not mine, although I wish he were. Anything you recognize, including Snape, belongs to JK Rowling and not me.
Full Circle
Prologue: Shades of Grey
Does redemption exist? Can one's sins ever be mitigated, their rough edges smoothed by the passage of the years?
As a child, I would have questioned the meaning of redemption. Serious, but not yet sullen, I would have stared blankly at the questioner.
As an adolescent, my answer would have been charged with the blindness of youth, the determination to relegate objects into definite categories, not dissimilar from the neat labeling of ingredients in the laboratory. Any lack of classification was a distinct failure on my part. There was no redemption. And indeed, I did not wish for any. Death, at least, was a certainty, something solid, something tangible that one could hold in the palm of one's hands and draw out to furtively glance at when in need of reassurance.
As an adult, with a vested interest in the answer, I cannot help but wish for a response, any response, anything from an indefinite "perhaps" to a forceful verdict of "guilty." I am no longer partial to the worlds of black and white that so interested me in my youth. I am no longer willing to fight for a negation of the either so that the other might reign completely. I have saluted the banners of both sides, have charged into battle single-mindedly, and have had my own blank canvas transformed into a dizzying combination of black and white brushstrokes. I have had enough.
I have finally learned that either option is not the result of a single decision, but merely a slow culmination, a summation, a Riemann sum, if you will, of one's previous choices. I have found it true that one reaches a certain location by hesitantly traveling through shades of grey, finally attaining either the faintest tint of silver or the deepest ebony.
What is redemption if not a blank canvas, erasure by a master hand? But whose?
The sun was setting on the October night that I entered Hogwarts, hastening towards Dumbledore's office, blind and unaware of whom or what I passed in my frenzy. My reason, for the first time in years, had abandoned me, but what little sense I still possessed guided me to Dumbledore's office. It is quite possible that, at the time, I hoped that his would be the master hand, offering redemption through an almost certain death, a deserved death, one paid for through relentless plotting, scheming, and cold-blooded murdering of innocent and guilty alike.
It is said that "cowards die many times before their deaths." If so, I am nothing if not a coward, for I admit now to you that I would have been grateful for any escape from the moral suffering I underwent then, be it the kiss of a blade or that of a Dementor.
But now it is different. I can revel in my potions, my students' aptitude (or lack thereof), and the enveloping darkness of a dungeon.
But always there, behind my thoughts, behind the slightest enjoyment I take in any activity, are two shadows. The first is one I am already familiar with, as are you. It is the dark, ominous form of a judge, weighing my actions with an unwavering hand and hawk like eye. The second is yours, and though I have not seen you for some time—how could I, you ask, and rightly so—you remain unchanged. Ten years have not taken their toll on you. While my face has creased, yours remains smooth and childish, though you were never a child, or, at least, I cannot imagine you as one. You were always old, even when you were young. You were wise for your age, more so than I, for you learned to see the world in shades of grey before I had even the faintest inkling…
To be continued.
A/N: Thanks to Iris, who kindly served as my beta for this chapter, even though she was stressed out.
This was a prologue to what will hopefully center around the ever-fascinating Severus Snape (I'll bet none of you guessed that :-P). I want to continue this if I have time and do not lose interest. Please review and let me know if it's worth it.