Sound Asleep
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, J.K. Rowling rules all.
For once, this particular intruder's demeanour was not condescending to those around him. Any dust mite attending the lonesome spectacle would be surprised beyond their wildest imagination.
Severus Snape was crying.
The sallow faced man was not one to usually leave his emotions undisguised. Hordes of pestilent children had faced his malevolent wrath for something as simple as adding one too many Sophorous beans to the broth. Classes of first years had trembled at his surly yet noncommittal gaze, wondering what it was they had done.
But not one had been witness to his despondency.
It was a rather trivial matter to the average bystander or passer-by, but it mattered not to Severus what the Magical world perceived of him.
Severus held himself in disdain. He was weak, weak as a child who bawled the instant his or her mother stepped out of its peripheral vision. How many people cried when they took a look at a photograph?
The last time Snape had cried was when his father snatched him away from his friend while they were playing hide and seek at the local park. His father snatched him away from his friend, despite her outbursts. That night, Snape had gotten his hide a fair beating and silently wailed at the pain and humility, wondering if he would ever see his friend, his only friend again. He was 10 then.
And 30 years later, he was bawling like the child he was once upon a time. All because of the same person. The same friend he had made, lost, and loved long ago.
Lily Evans.
Perhaps it was a nagging curiosity, perhaps it wasn't; Snape would never be sure what force, magical or spiritual, had dragged him to Grimmauld Place. Withstanding the poorly placed jinxes, Snape glided up the stairs, the sleeve of his bedraggled cloak collecting billions of germs from the untouched banister. Trespassing in the darkness, uncouth as it was, did not dissuade him from continuing. Snape could agree that perhaps he had been the teensiest nervous of what he would find. Or what he would not find.
Severus utterly ignored Regulus's room. It held absolutely no promise whatsoever. Closing his eyes, Snape prayed with all his might that he would find something of value before touching the cold brass of Sirius's doorknob.
Of course, at that time, he hadn't expected anyone to even consider granting him his wish. Why would anyone want to associate themselves with a ruthless, cold blooded serial killer? In this case, apparently someone had wanted him to take a taste of his own vile medicine. An uninterrupted force collided with Severus and his emotions, causing him to feel something relatively similar to what others had felt when he uttered the simple curse, vanquishing Albus Dumbledore from the earth.
Pain. Sadness. Betrayal.
Through the clutter in Sirius's room, Snape was astounded that he even found the letter and photograph. They seemed to have a fervent aura, beckoning him towards them. When he picked up the photograph, Severus simply crumpled atop of the rubbish on the ground. Silence reverberated around him, causing him to elicit a guttural moan. The photo…
How would Snape describe it? He seemed drained of emotion, limp and dry like noodles when separated from the boiling water. Sepia coloured, it did no justice on her laughing frame. And even so, it struck him with familiarity, crippling him so. Her smooth skin, her twinkling eyes, Lily was very much alive – more than he would ever be. Her perfect lips, curved in amusement at her child on a flying broomstick. Jealousy raged through Snape then; why was a child, an insolent one at that, give her the façade of an angel?
Memories inundated him, coursed through him like water in a delta. There had been a time when they were alone in a classroom, she sitting contentedly at a table eating pink Sugar Mice and he, traipsing up and down the room's length with such a serious expression on his face. Lily, at the time had thought that Snape was either a) calculating the area of Hogwarts or b) deliberating on conquering Scotland or c) whether bombarding Petunia with dungbombs would get them in trouble. Snape was walking with such vigour he failed to notice a loose stone in the floor and went sprawling, landing hard on his buttocks. Lily had tried to suppress her giggles, but to no avail. Snape realised that she looked the same in the picture as she had then. Lily would never change.
Willing himself to look away, Severus started to read the letter. Her handwriting, meticulous with every curve and loop of every letter seemed to be dancing on the parchment. Her rich words filled his head. He swore then and there he could feel the love that Lily had woven in her letter to Sirius, the love of her son. It was so thick that it clouded the blanket of stale air around Snape. He could smell it, taste it, and feel it. Her presence, although she was dead, had not ceased to prevail. Shifting over to the second instalment of the letter, the woven magic seemed to end there, the finality clear as crystal with the words Love, Lily. A salty tear made its way down his long face, curving off his chin and with a splash! Landed on the letter. When was the last time she said that to him?
He remembered (not that he would ever forget.) Day after day, following the unfortunate incident by the lake, Snape had bombarded her with countless letters, enough to refresh the wallpaper of Hogwart's walls. Snape had almost gotten carpal tunnel and a hunchback from writing so much. It almost equated to nothing, because she would not respond. But he would not give up.
Until finally, Lily sent her word back. Snape eyed it surreptitiously, anticipating what words she would choose to use for his psychological demise.
Severus he read.
Perhaps you truly didn't mean what you said. Perhaps it was the other Slytherins that egged you on to upset me. Whatever the cause, I don't believe it was you.
And yet, even though it wasn't intentional, what you called me did hurt me. Sev, you made me cry. Just a stupid, silly word, and I cried all night over it, wondering why you said it. You're my best friend! Why?
Sev, I don't want to get hurt again. I know that you won't ever say it again, but I can't take chances. I sound awfully like a coward, but that's the way it has to be.
I'm sorry.
Love, Lily.
Snape had been devastated then. But until now, he hadn't acted on it. Reading those words again, written by the same person left him even more devastated. With the letter and photograph combined, Severus finally broke down, emotionally torn apart. The sobs racked his heart, tearing through and laving a large crevasse at the site of destruction. His tears splattered everywhere, on his clothes, on the letter, everywhere. The wretchedness tore inside of him, infecting his meagre happiness like a plague. And it was her fault, all her fault.
Snape clutched the letter to his heart, the loud sobs finally subsiding. The silent picture remained in his other hands, his eyes fixated on her gleeful image. Lily's beauty extinguished all others by comparison… beautiful forever…
Severus's memory of Lily Evans would be incarcerated forever in his mind, only his to relive. But for now, he thought, exhausted, he could dream of what could have happened instead of what did.
Soon, he fell asleep, the precious possessions close by. In his dreams, Lily and him were 16 again, blissful near each other and basking in the toasty warmth of the sun somewhere far away. Snape was peaceful for once in his life. He was sound asleep.
A/N: I've been trying to write this piece forever, it's been nagging at me and I've been delaying purposefully, intentionally. It's rough and disjointed and unpolished, but I can't seem to portray it any better than this.
I never dedicate fanfiction to anyone, but my friend's been dying for a story from a fandom she loves. So Melissa, this is for you. Knock yourself out.
Nadia the demented one