Wow, so it's been a long time since I posted anything, and this time I'm stepping outside my usual fandom for this account. So fingers crossed for my big Harry Potter debut.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the Harry Potter material and/or universe.
"...Should be the last of it, if you'd just sign the forms, Ms. Libra."
Melissa tore her gaze away from the movers piling boxes and trunks in her living room, and took the offered paperwork from Mr. Selwick, the Deputy Head of the Department of Wizarding Estates. She signed the dotted line saying that yes, she had received the possessions that had be bequeathed to her by one Severus Tobias Snape. Those possessions currently boxed up and scattered throughout the small cottage she was living in, having just moved to Godric's Hollow.
"Apparently he wanted you to be in charge of his burial too, and we would've contacted you sooner to take care of that if his body hadn't disappeared." Selwick rambled as she ticked off boxes saying that she'd gotten everything, and nothing had been damaged...
"I still say this is very strange, you know." He continued, taking the forms back and banishing them with a practiced flick of his wand. "A young woman from overseas, that no one here has ever heard of, inheriting the estate of a man known to avoid other people like the plague, spy or not. Do you know why Mr. Snape left everything to you?"
She knew what he was half-expecting to hear. That she had been his dirty, underage, jailbait mistress, or something trashy, and pathetically tragic like that. Something the Daily Prophet could chew on for a while. Really, once the funeral was over there was little respect for the dead. Especially a dead war-hero.
"He was a mentor. I met him through Albus Dumbledore, and he mentored me. I suppose he hated me less than everyone else."
Selwick shrugged, and followed the last of the movers out the door without another word. Finally. They were finally gone, and Melissa let out a breath she hadn't been conscious she was holding. Her little cottage, that had been paid for with the money left to her by Dumbledore, was rid of them, but not of the endless boxes holding Severus' belongings. Why had that man felt compelled to own so many books?
Sinking down onto the slightly springy couch, she stared at the container at her feet. An old trunk—like a school trunk—of dark wood. Carved into the wood, Melissa could just make out the worn letters EP. Eileen Prince, his mother. Of course; she'd probably inherited everything of his mother's too because Gods knew, he never did purge the old house in Spinner's End of anything his parents left behind.
Unsnapping the latches, Melissa lifted the lid, and was immediately assaulted by the warm, familiar smell of fire, and parchment, and sandalwood and potions. Severus' smell, coming from the teaching robes at the top of the trunk. Those robes were uniquely made for Potion Masters, with tight-fitting sleeves and anti-burn charms woven into the fabric. She knew that they hadn't been packed pell-mell into the trunk by movers; Snape had packed this himself, and it must have come from his quarters at Hogwarts.
Lifting the woollen garment aside, Melissa stared down at the rest of the trunk's contents. An antique potions kit she knew must be worth a fortune. A small jewellery box that upon closer inspection, held the Prince family seal. Leather-bound tomes she recognized as being first edition muggle books. The quill set she had bought him one Christmas. And in the bottom corner, a sheaf of parchments, bound together with twine. She almost over-looked them, until she noticed her name in the top-left corner of the first one. It was a letter.
They had sent lots of letters back and forth, between England and Australia over the years. She wasn't surprised that he'd kept copies of his letters to her. Her letters to him were probably sandwiched between his; a full record of their correspondence. But... the date was different than she remembered. This was the day they'd met, July 1st, 1991. They hadn't started writing each other until later, when she'd predicted the troll being let into the castle on Halloween...
Untying the string, Melissa lifted the letters into her lap, and grabbed her glasses from the side-table. She had to know what they said; what would he have written to her about, just after their first meeting?
Στεπ ονε ψου σαψ ωε νεεδ το ταλκ, ηε ωαλκσ
July 1st, 1991
Dear Melissa,
Before today, I did not realize the depth of Dumbledore's uncaring in the face of war, for anything other than the outcome. That he would willingly draw you—a child—into the war-to-come... How can he do it, knowing that no matter how safely tucked away with that friend of his, Rhea, you are, you will be forever at risk?
And if you were a dunderheaded child, maybe I could understand your acceptance of your role, but you are not! You're quite possibly the most charming and witty young witch I have met. You must know the risks; the things it may cost you. But you also seem to know that you owe Dumbledore for giving you the life you have now. And it is a much different life than you would have had, with two Death Eaters as parents.
I know no one would have me tell you this—maybe in a couple of years, but not yet—but I watched you parents fall to Aurors during the summer before the Dark Lord's disappearance. They were young and ambitious like I was then, and while neither took much enjoyment in carnage, they did believe what they were doing was for the betterment of our world. They died still believing the Dark Lord's delusion.
If it is any consolation, there are others who will be pulled into the war you predict. Harry Potter, of course, and my godson Draco Malfoy. His father Lucius was the one who recruited me, when I was on the brink of adulthood. Draco will be drawn in the same way; before he's old enough to understand consequences. You all have been conscripted, despite it being to different sides, and I fear that is what will kill you. I know it will kill me—spying is a fatal occupation—but you three don't deserve to die like I do...
Because Draco is a victim of circumstance, who'll never know anything other than what's been ingrained into his head since birth. The Potter boy will be hunted for reasons he will never fully understand. And you Melissa, your foresight is a powerful weapon against either side, that both would kill to possess. I think even Albus would rather kill you, than let you fall into the Dark Lord's hands. And now that I've written that, I know I shouldn't send this letter; you're not ready emotionally to read that cold truth. I'd much rather lock it away from the world, than destroy more of your innocence.
S. Snape
Ψου σαψ σιτ δοων, ιτ'σ ζυστ α ταλκ
September 10th, 1991
Dear Melissa,
Again, I find myself writing to you. Only this time I have no intention of sending this letter. Because I realized after the last letter that it eased some of my anger towards Dumbledore, and so this one may ease some of my disappointment. And I am very disappointed—more than I have ever been before. Disappointed, frustrated, and resentful, and all because of Dumbledore and Harry Potter.
The old man told me ten years ago that Potter had Lily's eyes, but he neglected to tell me he had his father's face. Lily's eyes in James' face! All these ten years, I've imagined meeting Lily's boy and finding some of her good spirit in him. Instead, I face an arrogant little brat who already hates me just as much as his pig-headed father did. And Dumbledore knew! Of course he knew; he used those eyes as a way to get my promise to protect the boy.
The old coot has used my weakness for Lily again. And she will always be my weakness—she was my first true friend, and the first person I dared to love. Not that it did any good in the end, when she had pushed me out of her life and married the man she swore she hated as much as I did... They say hate is only an attraction away from love. I say it's bollocks.
Already, Potter's building a group of followers, just like his father. The youngest Weasley boy is a partner- in-crime like Black was, and I think the Granger girl will soon be his Lupin—a swot with a bad habit of helping the others into and out of scrapes. All he needs now is a snivelling little rat like Pettigrew, and they'll be another Potter gang, ready to cause chaos at Hogwarts, and torture another outsider like I was. The only thing worse will be when he finds a pretty little redhead girlfriend...
I'm not even sure anymore if I'm describing the past or the future. Too much history repeating itself and never correcting. I wish I could refuse to teach the lot of them, leave, and open up an apothecary in Sydney, where no one knows me but you and Rhea. I wish I could, but I can't; I made my choices, and now I pay penance for them, until either I am absolved of my crimes against Lily and the rest of humanity, or I die. Probably the latter.
S. Snape
Ηε σμιλεσ πολιτελψ βαςκ ατ ψου
January 29th, 1992
Dear Melissa,
"Keep an eye on Quirrell" back in autumn had to be from you; too short to have been Dumbledore's own knowledge. He insists on never sharing the entirety of what you tell him, and I think he's actually hoping not to give it all away until the end, when there's nothing we can do to prepare for it. The troll, for instance. He knew there would be a troll, but only told me it would be a distraction technique for Quirrell to attempt to get the stone. He didn't say it would attack a student in the bathroom, nor that Potter, Weasley and Granger would try to take it on. And that time he admitted to knowing before hand, but thought actually doing something would be inefficient.
Actually doing something would be doing his current job of protecting the students from whatever dangers they will face at Hogwarts. Instead, he has given Potter his father's old Invisibility Cloak, which I know he hopes Potter will use when he feels the need to protect the Philosopher's Stone. Would you believe he thinks he needs to protect it from me? Well, of course he does—I do seem the type on the surface. If only he knew...
But he can't know. No one can know my weaknesses—not even you, Melissa. Not until it is safe. When it is safe, you'll read this letter, and however many will follow after it, and probably wish you hadn't. I can't blame you—I would suggest you put these pages down right now and burn them all. You know the story—you know how it ends. Go on with your life, girl. Or more likely woman by the time these reach you. I'll have to be dead, after all.
S. Snape
Ψου σταρε πολιτελψ ριγητ ον θρουγη
April 5th, 1992
Dear Melissa,
Apparently your curious nature beat out your sense. I don't blame you. It did the same for me once too, and I was nearly bitten by a werewolf. One must never go some place an enemy tells you to. That was probably the most dunderheaded move of my life. And it beats out taking the Dark Mark solely because it wasn't stupid—it was misguided. There is a difference. One means that your information or assumptions are incorrect, the other means that you didn't think at all.
And that is why Potter, who jumps into situations like illegal Norwegian Ridgebacks, is a dunderhead. Because he doesn't think at all about the safety of the rest of the castle, or even the friends he got involved in the mess. (Did I mention Weasley got bit by the thing?) I only wish I knew the exact damage he will cause them when they chase after Quirrell once he attempts to seize the Philosopher's Stone. If one of them dies because of that idiot boy getting involved in things he shouldn't, I will not only make sure he is expelled, but probably strangle Dumbledore with his own beard.
And this is the part where I remind myself that violence is not the answer, and try to ignore that part of myself. You would never believe that someone who puts up the controlled aura I do has a terribly volatile temper and a rather violent one at that. But I blame it on my parents constantly laying hands on one another (though I'm sure if my father had been a wizard, they would have duelled) and not once do I remember them actually hugging or kissing each other. In all probability, I was the only reason they got together and stayed together. Isn't that rather terrible?
From what I remember of them—which is not a lot, I'm afraid—your parents seemed quite content to be together. They didn't ignore each other like the Lestranges, or hide homosexual affairs like the Malfoys (and I am talking about Lucius, who has never been good at hiding his tendencies, even though he calls it Malfoy grooming...) or even the cool respect of the Crouches. From what I remember, the Libras would often be seen at least holding hands under the table. Probably a well-matched arranged marriage. Like James Potter's parents. Hard to believe I said that, but really I can hold little against them; it is not entirely their fault that they gave life to a big-headed prat.
Snape
Σομε σορτ οφ ωινδοω το θε ριγητ
June 26th, 1992
Dear Melissa,
Everyone made it through alive, aside from that snivelling excuse for a wizard, Quirrell. Filthy scum, to bring something so vile not only into Hogwarts, but into his own body. Even at the height of my ambition and idealism, I would have cringed away from the idea of sharing my body with the soul of The Dark Lord. Maybe even then I knew he was foul. But the thought that he was on the back of Quirrell's head all year makes me sick with disgust, and a little fear.
When he returns—when, not if—and I am asked to spy on him, how much of what I've said will have damaged my standing with him? I suppose I could say I only saw weak, greedy Quirrell going after the stone, but there are other things...
Dumbledore says he has confidence in my ability to lie. One would think that would be a bad thing considering how much rests on my trustworthiness to him. I could lie to Dumbledore as much as I like and he would never know, but he still trusts I won't, because of my devotion to Lily. Doesn't he understand that won't be able to sustain me forever? One can only love the dead so long...
I think I will come with Dumbledore this summer to stay with you and Rhea. Getting away from England and all its problems will be nice. Even if he keeps pushing me onto Rhea. For goodness' sake, the witch is almost fifty, and though people often forget it, I'm only thirty two—the woman is almost old enough to be my mother. Not that Dumbledore seems to give a damn about that. Stupid old man.
He seemed to see little wrong with a certain seventh year girl's decided attraction to me (should I mention she got fifty detentions this term just in hopes that one would be served with me?) though I really was repulsed by the idea. And it was not just because she was a rather unfortunate looking girl. The truth is that there is nothing right about a teacher having an affair with a student, whether it's written down in the law or not. And the students of Hogwarts are not a particularly tempting bunch. Decidedly British.
Snape
Ασ ηε γοεσ λεφτ ανδ ψου σταψ ριγητ
September 2nd, 1992
Dear Melissa,
A flying car. Never in all my years teaching here at Hogwarts, have I ever seen a student arrive in such a fashion. And guess who it was who arrived in a flying Ford Angela? Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Of course it was Arthur Weasley's car, so now he's going under investigation for endangering the Statute of Secrecy. But does Potter care about that? Of course not because Dumbledore came to their rescue and kept them from being expelled like they should be. Or at least Weasley should be. And considering they crashed the thing into the Whomping Willow, I expect them both to be dead by the end of the term.
Really, their only hope the Granger girl. She is ridiculously intelligent, if a know-it-all and a swot. Really; every question I pose to the class is immediately followed by her hand waving in the air. But she is decidedly level headed on the whole, and I wish the other two would listen to her, so that they could stay out of these situations. Protecting Potter is going to cause me to be completely grey by their fifth year.
On another note, Dumbledore passed on what he seemed to think was an amusing letter from Rhea, telling him that after the night we left, you began sneaking out of the school, and down to the Quidditch pitch to play alone until nearly dawn. Have you caught my insomnia? Or is it something else that is bothering you? I intend to ask in my real letter, but I have a feeling that you won't tell me. You probably would have already if you could.
You have to take care of yourself though, Melissa. I know I am one to talk, but do you want to end up like me? I know that every teenager fancies them self invincible, but when you turn thirty, it all catches up to you. And I would hate to know that you are old before your time. Especially knowing you now; youthful and healthy and untouched by time.
Snape
Βετωεεν θε λινεσ οφ φεαρ ανδ βλαμε
November 1st, 1992
Dear Melissa,
Did you know what was to happen on Halloween? Did you tell Dumbledore only to have him do nothing? Say nothing to me? I can understand that a cat being petrified in such a manner is not putting a student in immediate danger, but whoever is responsible is still out there. And I don't think for a minute it was Potter; the boy has not the knowledge nor the power to petrify someone (or thing, though I sometimes wonder if Mrs. Norris is not some animagus in disguise. If it was Filch's common-law wife, that would explain his rather disturbing fondness for her. He went rather mad when he saw her and thought her dead.)
I'm more worried about the attacker than the victim (that mangy cat has always hated me). It has the stench of powerful Dark Magic—the type Lucius Malfoy or The Dark Lord would use. Or Bellatrix Lestrange, were she not in Azkaban. But the only one I can think of with access to the castle is Lucius, and he would know better than to try something. What worries me more is that if what was written about the Heir of Slytherin (and such an indirect reference as "the Heir" is telling to more than a prank) is true, then the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, and the monster has been unleashed. The question, of course, is who the Heir of Slytherin would be. Not Malfoy; he would have boasted to death about it. But there are other families that are just as dark...
The monster itself is another concern. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick and myself (we've left out that useless twat Lockheart.) have been discussing the types of creature it could be, with the power to petrify. A Gorgon, a Cockatrice, a Basilisk... They're all plausible. There's even an old Slytherin House legend that our founder's lover was a Gorgon, he was so in love with serpents. But a Gorgon could not live for 1000 years... It must be a Basilisk. But how would a great serpent get around the castle unseen?
And how long until Potter decides to chase after the monster and get himself killed? With all the worrying I do over the brat, someone who didn't know might think I actually like the boy. But I just can't stand to fail in this task Dumbledore has given me. I've failed at so much else in my life, I need Potter to survive a much for my own sake, as the rest of our world. Selfish? Absolutely, but it's not about the means, but the ends. As cruel as it may sometimes be.
Snape
Ανδ ψου'λλ βεγιν το ωονδερ ωηψ ψου ςαμε
December 29th, 1992
Dear Melissa,
Well, this time it was not Potter who got into the scrape, but Granger. Messing around with Polyjuice Potion of course, probably trying to spy on the Slytherins. Potter and Weasley probably took it as well, but they didn't wind up half-transformed into a cat. I'm sure if you saw it, you laughed Melissa, and I will confess to these pages that as soon as I was away from the Hospital Wing, and safely inside my own chambers, I laughed like I haven't laughed in years.
Call me cruel, but I have had very little to laugh about in the past few years. And seeing Hermione Jean Granger with fur, ears and a tail has got to be the most hilarious thing I've seen since my childhood watching cartoons with Lily. And knowing that she'll be alright within a few weeks once I have the antidote brewed... That's my excuse, at least.
When you wrote to me that you wished you were here to join in on the adventure, I worry. You know the dangers—you see them before anyone else—and you want to be in the path of them? You have been set apart by Dumbledore for a reason. You are too important to risk; too valuable to lose. And if I am honest, I could never forgive myself if something happened to you. So I'll ask you for my sake that you don't put yourself in danger. Not that I'll ask in such a sappy manner. But I will tell you in my own way. And when you get these letters, you'll probably look back and realize that however harsh I sounded at the time, I meant it out of care and concern.
I wonder what sort of memories reading these will dredge up for you, however many years from now. I'm sure at one point or another I will hurt you (as I have every other person to enter my life) and maybe when I chronicle it here, it will only open up an old wound you'd have rather left closed. Maybe by doing this, I am hurting you more than I ever did in life. But I can't stop; I need someone to know my truth. And there's no one I trust like you. Even now, when you're a twelve year old chit of a girl, I can see the strong young woman you will be. A much stronger, better person than I could ever hope to be.
Snape
Ωηερε διδ Ι γο ωρονγ Ι λοστ α φριενδ
June 23rd, 1993
Dear Melissa,
He nearly died tonight.
When Potter went after the Philosopher's Stone, and had that brush with death, I was shaken. But to know that he was bit by a basilisk, and nearly died in the Chamber of Secrets... I'm never going to be able to protect him. I will do everything I possibly can, and then the boy will die anyways. Just like Lily. I did all I could to save her, and then she died. And now I will go through the same thing with her son.
I feel like we keep repeating the same patterns over and over in our lives. When I saw you at Easter, you said it was the undercurrents of fate. But when I suggested using foreknowledge to change fate, you told me that "there are things in life that we do best to leave alone." Those sound like Dumbledore's words. Something else the old man has fed to you to keep you quiet and compliant.
You owe him nothing, Melissa. You did not ask him to give you this life of yours, so you have no obligation to him. I must atone for my crimes against society, but you... And yet you'll never deny him, even if I tell you this. Because Albus Dumbledore knows what to say to get anyone to do what he wants of them. He's played my weaknesses against me, he wouldn't hesitate to do it to either you or Potter. We are his pieces in wizard's chess. Potter a knight, me a bishop, and you a rook. All powerful in our own ways, all expendable.
And at the end of this war (and it is definitely a war that is coming) what will have been taken from you? Your childhood? Your innocence? Your faith in humanity? Your health? Your sanity? And the worst is that Rhea will let it happen, because she believes Dumbledore knows best. She won't fight for you the way your mother would have. And I can't fight for you, because I can barely fight for myself. When it comes to Dumbledore I have no moral ground to stand on, so therefore I have no right to tell him what is immoral of him to do.
But this is all in the future, and may never even come to pass. But two appearances by the Dark Lord in two years after being silent a decade? He'll find a proper way back soon, I know it, and then the peace will be over. I will be thrust into the flames to spy among the demons who call themselves the Death Eaters, and you will be forced to live and relive terrible scenes to collect information for the old man, then left to dust when he no longer needs you. It's all a matter of when, not if.
Snape
Σομεωηερε αλονγ ιν θε βιττερνεσσ
September 5th, 1993
Dear Melissa,
Of all the vile things to bring into the school... Dementors. The most terrible, revolting Dark Creatures in existence. They make you relive your worst memories, and for me that is... terrifying. I remember the hellfire that consumed my arm as I was branded with the Dark Mark, and the night I arrived at Godric's Hollow to discover the Potter Cottage in ruins and Lily dead, and the long ago night I was nearly attacked and bitten by a werewolf.
It was fourth year, and one of the Gryffindors, Remus Lupin, was very odd, and disappeared every month near the full moon. I shouldn't have listened when Sirius Black told me how and where to find him—Black and James Potter tormented me all through school—but curiosity beat out reason. I followed Lupin down a tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow, and saw him transform into a werewolf. And then James Potter pulled me out of there.
Sirius Black went to Azkaban for life for handing over the Potters to the Dark Lord, and then blowing up a street full of muggles to kill Peter Pettigrew. He broke out this summer, and that is why there are Dementors at Hogwarts. And to top it all off, Remus Lupin has come to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.
I hold little against Lupin—even though he stood aside while his friends did everything short of kill me in school, I understand that they would have easily turned on him too. Lupin is actually a competent teacher from what I can tell, and for that I am glad. But Black being out of prison... it makes my blood boil to know that the man who betrayed Lily is out there free. And if I can, I will take him down myself.
Everyone will think I want Black captured and Kissed so badly because of my loathing of him. They won't ever know it's because I loved Lily so much, and my charge to protect her son. It's sickening, that I need to protect a boy from his Godfather. But then again, I think Black gave up that title long ago, and I took it up—grudgingly, but nether-the-less.
Snape
Ανδ Ι ωουλδ ηαξε σταψεδ ουτ ωιθ ψου αλλ νιγητ
November 4th, 1993
Dear Melissa,
Why is it always on Halloween? First the troll in the toilets, then the basilisk attacking Mrs. Norris, now Sirius Black breaking into the school and assaulting the Guardian Portrait to Gryffindor Tower. And instead of sitting in my rooms with a glass of Ogden's to brood over and mourn, I'm forced into dealing with these things! I swear Melissa, I want...
I want to quit. I want to tell Dumbledore that I've had enough, and that he doesn't own me or my soul, and that he and Potter and all their problems can fuck off. I want to come to Sydney and take you away from Rhea before she lets Dumbledore complete his hold on you. I want to hide us both away in America, or Canada, or maybe Mexico. Somewhere where we can hide away from them all, and just live normal lives. I'll open up an apothecary, you'll go to school, and it'll all work out somehow...
But then I remember that I promised on Lily's soul that I would protect her son, and if I give up and fail in that, will I be able to live with myself? Would you be able to see me in the same light? You seem to be under the impression that I'm this anti-hero; this Dark Knight. Or I think you said "The noir hero is a knight in blood caked armor. He's dirty and he does his best to deny the fact that he's a hero the whole time." You forget that I'm not a hero yet; I haven't done anything worthy of such a description yet. But maybe you see further than you want Dumbledore to know.
In any case, unless he's James Bond, the spy of the story is never the hero, Melissa. He's used, abused, killed and forgotten while the generals leading the battles get all the glory. Potter and Dumbledore will get the glory, while I'm forgotten as soon as I'm in the ground, and you as soon as you're no longer needed. And I don't need to be a seer to predict that.
Snape
Ηαδ Ι κνοων ηοω το σαξε α λιφε
April 2nd, 1994
Dear Melissa,
Thank Gods, Dumbledore is letting me come to Sydney for Easter this year, rather than being forced to play babysitter to a bunch of teenage brats who don't seem to understand that teachers are not solely devoted to the school, but may have friends and lives. Not that I have much more than you and Rhea, and a few old "friends" who narrowly managed to escape Azkaban twelve-odd years ago. Lucius Malfoy for example. Though I don't suppose Narcissa Malfoy quite fits that category either. She was no Death Eater, and hardly supported the Dark Lord or her husband. She was about family first, and what Lucius was doing put their son in a lot of danger. Anyone could have used Draco to get to him.
Now that I think about it, anyone who knew could use you to get to me. Not that I see you as my child, just that I couldn't bear to see you get hurt because of me. Dumbledore would be over the bloody moon to hear that I care about anyone other than Lily unconditionally, and he would probably make too much of it if he knew, so I won't dare tell even you. It's not your fault, Melissa, that you let the old man enter your mind in search of information. But I will probably mention to you that I do find it slightly disturbing.
Next summer, I think I will start teaching you Occlumency. Not that it'll be much good against a powerful Legilimens like Dumbledore if he wants to rifle through your entire mind. But if I can help you organize it, and learn to guard the things you want no one to see, maybe Dumbledore will leave them alone. You are getting to the age where you should be allowed to keep a few secrets. I'm sure you don't want him seeing your first kiss, or whatever teenage girls find embarrassing.
On the flipside, I have this dreadful feeling that whatever danger Potter finishes this year off with will have consequences far deeper than usual. When I mentioned this to Dumbledore, he laughed it off, saying that too much time with you has made me start thinking I can sense the future too. But I know the difference between being a fraud like Sybil Trelawney, being a rarity like you, and being intuitive like me. (I should retract that; Sybil is not a fraud. She is a true prophetess one percent of the time.) At any rate, I just know something bad will happen involving Black. Potter just can't resist near-death situations. I think it may be an over-all Gryffindor trait.
Snape
Λετ ηιμ κνοω θατ ψου κνοω βεστ
June 6th, 1994
Dear Melissa,
I should have listened to you.
You told me at Easter to stay out of this conflict; I would only get in the way. But I didn't heed the warning. I went racing off after Lupin the moment I saw him on the map, not thinking of anything but having my revenge on Black, and maybe getting Lupin in the deal. Half-way across the grounds, I had a fleeting thought of what you'd said to me, but then I convinced myself you were just being overly-cautious and protective.
But you were right; I was wrong. It wasn't Black who betrayed Lily, and he didn't kill those muggles either. Pettigrew did it, and he's been living for thirteen years free, as a rat! And in hindsight, he was much better suited to following the Dark Lord than Black; a follower who was always looking for power and protection in greater friends. But I couldn't see it because even Dumbledore thought Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, and I was so blinded by grief and hate...
Black and Pettigrew are on the run—Dumbledore seems to be under the impression Pettigrew will find his way to his old master, and I don't think that came from you—and I'm left to live with the fact that I would have handed over an innocent man to the Dementor's Kiss. And it's because I didn't trust Lupin, or Potter, or Dumbledore's judgment. And if anyone should trust his judgment, it should be the man who inspires the most doubt in it.
Through all of this, Melissa, I've realized that part of me is still that hurt, humiliated, and hateful teenage boy I was in school. Nothing has changed; my body has gotten older, I've gotten colder, and I'm more set in my ways, but aside from that nothing changed when I "grew up". Frankly, I think my only hope for proper improvement may be you, with your calmness and clarity.
The Dark Lord will be coming back, very soon. You feel it, Dumbledore feels it, I feel it... even that old bat Trelawney feels it! But in my case, I think it's skin-deep. His magic is forever embedded into my skin, in the form of the Dark Mark. Even as I look at it now, I can't help thinking it looks a little clearer than before. Has Pettigrew found his master already? I dread the day I feel it burn again, but I know it's going to be sooner than later. I just hope you and I are ready.
Severus
'Χαυσε αφτερ αλλ ψου δο κνοω βεστ
August 28th, 1994
Dear Melissa,
There's no doubt that Pettigrew has reached the Dark Lord. The Dark Mark is getting clearer, which means he's getting stronger. Is it my fault? I can't help feeling that it is; if I had been willing to listen, maybe I could have helped rather than hindered. Maybe I could have made sure Pettigrew didn't get away... But even if it's my fault, no one will assign the blame to me. Lupin blames himself for forgetting his potion, and not killing Pettigrew when he had the chance. You blame your own ineffectualness at getting people to listen to you. And Dumbledore gives us the annoyance of not blaming anyone. I think that is worse than any accusation of guilt, really.
If you could read this, Melissa, you would smack me upside the head for beating myself up over something I had little control over. You spent half of the summer trying to console me, and I probably didn't let you know how grateful I was for that. Because now that I'm back here, I feel as bad as I did when I arrived in Sydney. And I won't be able to see you until next summer, because of the Triwizard Tournament. Dumbledore wants me there in case of any kind of emergency.
Not even September, and he's already ruined the year for me. On top of keeping me here, Dumbledore's hired Mad-Eye Moody as DADA professor. Moody was one of the keenest, toughest, and most paranoid Aurors ever to work for the Ministry. He's extremely wary of me, and has already searched my office, paranoid old bugger. He nearly found these letters to you, which would have been horrendous to explain.
Frankly, I have no idea how I would explain this to anyone. I write candidly to a fourteen year old girl about myself, sending only half the letters, and for those I get witty, almost flirty replies. I could easily see Moody twisting that into some sort of sordid affair that would be the perfect excuse to see me fired and in prison. The school Governors would love to see me gone too; having an ex-Death Eater on staff, whether cleared of all charges or not, is a blot upon this "fine institution" they call a school. Not to mention they scrutinize me for being the youngest teacher, and closest to the student's age.
Not that they need to worry. The students of Hogwarts will remain safe from the attentions of the Greasy Git of the Dungeons.
Severus
Τρψ το σλιπ παστ ηισ δεφενςε ωιθουτ γραντινγ ιννοςενςε
November2nd, 1994
Dear Melissa,
Always Halloween... Potter's name came out of the Goblet of Fire the night before last—and knowing you, you already know that—but I bet you don't know that Karkaroff is absolutely terrified of what it means. It means that someone attached to the Dark Lord is making plans, whether he knows of them or not, and Karkaroff isn't involved. Which means that he's on the outside, which means that he's on the chopping block. And he is; he gave up too many of his fellows to ever be welcomed back into the Death Eaters.
The problem is, I can't think of who it could possibly be besides Karkaroff that would put Potter's name in the Goblet of Fire. My first guess would be Draco acting on his father's orders, but I doubt he could manage the confundus charm that was cast on the Goblet. And after that... well logically, I would be the next one to fall under suspicion. And obviously I wouldn't want to throw Potter into three dangerous situations in one year. I don't care if Dumbledore insists it's much safer this year; someone's going to get seriously hurt in this ridiculous tournament.
If you know who did this, Melissa, do not keep it to yourself, or trust Dumbledore to tell me. He won't do anything if he knows; he'll want everything to play out for itself. But I refuse to sit by and watch Potter, or one of his friends, or any of the students from any of the schools, die when I could do something to stop it. Mind if you actually see it, I won't be able to stop it then anyways. Maybe this need to stop deaths is related to how many I saw when I was with the Death Eaters in the first war.
I remember, the first revel I went to as a spy, there was a muggle girl they'd brought there. She must have been only fourteen or fifteen, and she had the most striking blue eyes. They tortured her so badly, that vessels burst behind those eyes, and she was crying tears of blood. It was so terrible to watch... and then when it was my turn, I just put her out of her misery. I killed her because there was no way she was making it out of there alive, and it was only going to get worse. So you can see why I don't want to watch anyone else die.
Severus
Λαψ δοων α λιστ οφ ωηατ ισ ωρονγ
March 18th, 1995
Dear Melissa,
Karkaroff's becoming increasingly worried, and increasingly paranoid. And with good reason; the Mark is getting clearer, and there have been strange things going on, especially surrounding Bartimus Crouch. He's the head of International Magical Co-Operation, he organized the Triwizard Tournament, he's one of the judges, and he's missing. If it were Bagman, I'd understand (I'd think he was being held hostage by some Goblins he tried to cheat) but Crouch is a hard-arsed, methodical man.
Not that no one's heard from him; his assistant, Percy Weasley, has been getting letters from him. Of course, letters are the least reliable means of verifying someone's well-being. Someone could be forging his handwriting, or forcing him to write the letters, or had him write them all out before they killed him...
In truth though, I can't see why anyone would want him to disappear. Unless it's connected to the Dark Lord's agent who placed Harry into the Tournament. Maybe Crouch was making inquires and stumbled onto the trail of whoever's behind this. It's more likely than anything McGonagall has come up with. (She may be a brilliant witch, and a splendid fighter, but strategist and spy? Not so much.)
Your last letter was rather disappointing; do you really not know what's coming? I can't imagine that you'd lie to me, so I won't accuse you of doing it in my reply, but I can't help but think it would be strange for you not to predict potentially the most important event in our lives. But maybe it's not time yet. Maybe you won't know until the last moment. I remember you telling me about real-time visions, and wouldn't it be terrible for this to be the first time you have one?
If that's the case, I hope Rhea will at least take the time to comfort you afterwards. I know I shouldn't criticize her when I've never raised a child myself, but I still think she could pay her ward a little more attention. It's like neglecting the Hope Diamond.
Severus
Θε θινγσ ψου τολδ ηιμ αλλ αλονγ
June 26th, 1995
Dear Melissa,
I'm still in shock. I responded late to the Dark Lord's call, and immediately went to see you once I was free and able, and I'm still in shock from the events of two nights ago. Barty Crouch Jr. was the Dark Lord's agent here, disguised as Moody. He confunded the Goblet of Fire, he helped Potter through the tasks, he turned the Triwizard Cup into a portkey, and he sent Potter and Cedric Diggory straight to the resurrection of the Dark Lord. Only one of them came back, and if I'd been able to detect the unnatural sheen Polyjuice Potion gives the skin and unmasked Barty sooner, Diggory would still be alive, and the Dark Lord wouldn't be.
Of course, I told you all of this when I saw you yesterday, but I didn't tell you about my meeting with the Dark Lord. After punishment for not responding immediately to his call, I was forced to reprove my loyalty by killing a young Muggle girl. Melissa she was your age, and looked so much like you it made bile rise in my throat. In fact, I almost thought she was you when she was first thrown at my feet. But I did what I had to, and felt a bit of my soul die with her, because she was such an innocent, it was almost like I'd slain a unicorn.
After preparing for this for almost fourteen years, I'm not sure if I can do this, Melissa. It was hard when I was young and fuelled by love for Lily and hatred for the Dark Lord, but now that I've been worn down by time and grief I think it'll only be worse. And what if there are other girls who remind me of you? Or Lily? The Dark Lord doesn't forget; next time it will be a green-eyed red-head at my feet. And that sadistic bastard will watch to see if I've gotten over "the Mudblood mother of the Potter brat".
I'm going to need your friendship more than ever. If there's no one I can confide in here, at least I will have you in Australia. And if worst comes to worst, and I'm forced to go into deep cover and die, at least you will know where my loyalties really lie. You are the last keeper of my truth, Melissa, and I know you'll carry it well. Despite it being more of a burden than a privilege, I think it will be one you're willing to carry. You're much too good of a friend for me, and a much stronger person than Dumbledore would give you credit.
Severus
Ανδ πραψ το γοδ ηε ηεαρσ ψου
September 9th, 1995
Dear Melissa,
Another year at Hogwarts. It seems that the discouraging and mind-numbing task of teaching is something to I can rely on, even if everything else is going to shit. I would even take teaching over the revels, and the one reprieve I have is that I don't have to attend them as much as the others, having an appearance to keep up with the Ministry. But it does mean I have to bring better information.
It's a balance, giving enough to please, but not anything crucial. For now it's enough what I give them, but it won't be forever, and Dumbledore and I are already discussing what to do then. He's suggested using your visions to distract the Dark Lord, making him think Trelawney is making more predictions. But I know him, and I know he'll see straight away that it's not Trelawney, but someone else; someone that he can use. I won't endanger you that way, Melissa. There's other ways, even if the old man doesn't see them.
Every day now, I second guess my decision to stay. Did Dumbledore ever tell you that he gave me the choice to leave before the war started, back in 1992 when the Dark Lord made his first reappearance? I could have stayed in Australia with you and Rhea, teaching potions and moving past the darkness in my life. But I refused—that wouldn't be protecting Lily's son, and if I wasn't protecting that last bit of Lily left in the world, then what did I have to live for? I didn't know then that our friendship was worth as much as Lily's was when I was ten years old.
This summer, you said to me that this would be the year that tested us, in all aspects of our lives. Maybe my faith in Lily will be tested too; maybe I'll come out of this year hating her more than I love her. Or maybe I'll only be more firmly set in this obsession of mine. Either way, I think Dumbledore will listen to you this time; he can't deny that telling Potter it's either kill or be killed will test him more emotionally than anything he's told the boy yet.
Severus
Ανδ Ι πραψ το γοδ ηε ηεαρσ ψου
December 24th, 1995
Dear Melissa,
Nearly Christmas—tomorrow in fact—and I know I will have to disappoint you again by not being there this year. Not even for Boxing Day. There is too much going on right now, and I'm being pulled in multiple directions. The attack on Arthur Weasley has the Order in a frenzy and they want answers why the snake was there that night. And the Dark Lord wants to know how they found Arthur so fast.
I had to tell him about Potter entering his mind. We didn't want him to know so soon, but it was inevitable in the long run. What I kept from him was that we were expecting Harry to do this; you told us weeks ago. But it sucks that we didn't know what Harry would see. Not that I blame you, but if we'd known Nagini would be there, we could have ambushed it. Getting the snake out of the way would at least make my life easier.
Thankfully, they've gotten much further along in the antidote since I was able to identify the type of snake. The staff at St. Mungo's couldn't believe it when they heard the snake was over twelve feet long. But they know better than to ask questions. Frankly, I think they know by now that the less they know the better; most of the senior healers on staff were around during the first war.
Dumbledore plans for me to begin teaching Potter Occlumency after the holidays, and I can tell already this is going to be an utter disaster. His attitude towards me, his poor self-discipline and my own sour feelings towards the brat will turn this into torture for us both. And it will certainly test me, just like you said this year would. I'd bet all the money in my Gringotts' vault that you're gloating a bit as you read this, glad that you were right. Not that you're ever not. The day you're wrong is when destiny will die, and our world will probably tear apart.
Severus
Ωηερε διδ Ι γο ωρονγ Ι λοστ α φριενδ
January 18th, 1996
Dear Melissa,
I must be crazy, to come back to the castle drenched to the bone, frozen, with three broken ribs, and shoulder cut open to the joint, and rather than go to the hospital wing or my chambers, I go straight to Dumbledore. I lead the mass-breakout of Azkaban prison last night, and the thanks I got for it was Bellatrix Lestrange spitting in my face. If there was ever a good example of inbreeding insanity... Well, that mutt Black isn't much better.
I'm sure if you were here right now, you'd be fussing over me, mending my broken bones and acting like a teenage Poppy Pomfrey. (I do remember when you got all healer-like on me when I broke my toe on the beach last summer, as embarrassing as it was to survive lying to the Dark Lord, but break my toe on a beach rock.) And of course you'd be chastising me for taking such a mission. But I didn't have a choice on this one, Melissa. It was a mission of loyalty, to break out the Dark Lord's favourite, Bella the brat.
And to absolutely make my week, I have another Occlumency session with Potter today. He's useless at Occlumency, and part of it is his unwillingness to try. He thinks he'll find out more about the Prophesy if he can get inside the Dark Lord's head. But he doesn't know what it means to really be there. He's making willing contact with Dark Magic, and evil like that sinks into your soul, poisoning you. I really dislike the brat, but I don't wish that on him. Or anyone else
I feel worn down tonight, Melissa, and I'm really feeling every one of my thirty-six years. Compared to Dumbledore that's hardly old, but Dumbledore's worst physically injury so far as I know, is that twice-broken nose of his. (Though there is that scar on his knee in the shape of the London Underground he likes to hike up his robes and show everyone at Christmas.) Maybe if Potter could see the scar that runs from my right hip up to the exact center of my sternum, he would respect what I do for him—in Lily's memory—and the rest of the Order.
Severus
Σομεωηερε αλονγ ιν θε βιττερνεσσ
June 18th, 1996
Dear Melissa,
You were right—again—Black refused to listen to me. But I had to try to reason with him before he went bounding off into danger and adventure. And death. And I think the only thing none of us expected was for the Dark Lord to possess Potter the way he did. When Dumbledore described it to me later, I could see that he was shaken. I think we've come to rely on him too heavily. I know Potter has—without Dumbledore he would have died years ago, and many subsequent times since then.
What would you do without him, Melissa? Would you waste away your days in Sydney? Share your gift with someone else in another part of the world? Teach? It's hard to imagine. I know you feel indebted to Dumbledore—just like I do. He gave us lives with purpose and so we've been devoted to his cause. But when the war's over, you'll have won freedom from that obligation, and what will you do then?
I'm almost glad to be exempt from those questions. I don't have to worry about my future; on the small chance I survive, I'll most likely thrown to the Dementors for my crimes. Unless you stand up and testify my innocence, and I really hope you don't. I'd much rather you come forward and share my story after I'm gone, when I don't have to bear everyone's reactions. And I know that although you may be angry with me, when I tell you my wishes, you'll respect them. You respect me. You're probably the only one who ever has.
Yours, Severus
Ανδ Ι ωουλδ ηαξε σταψεδ ουτ ωιθ ψου αλλ νιγητ
July 21st, 1996
Dear Melissa,
I have never had a flask thrown at me, and now I understand how Potter felt when I did it to him, to a degree. But you had good reason to be angry with me and Dumbledore. For the old man's foolishness, and selfishness, and my giving in to him like I always have. If I was a stronger man—the man you deserve to know—I would have refused, and made Dumbledore face up to the fact that he's going to die slowly, painfully, and entirely by his own design. He put on that cursed ring—no one else. But he owns me—owns my soul. My soul hasn't been mine for over fifteen years. Not since I was eighteen, and just out of school.
Still... throwing objects at me? Cursing and swearing, and crying and begging me not to do it? I've never seen you get so emotional over anything, let alone me. I've seen you cry (Remember when I first told you about Lily?) but I've never seen you yelling and carrying on. It's not like you; you're the stable one. Never angry, never distraught. And you see some of the worst... Maybe I'd be unsurprised if it was a suicide mission, but I'm not the one who's dying.
I think it's because you care about my soul. You care about what this will do to me, to not only kill another, but have it be someone I both hate for using me, and almost respect for giving me a way to redeem myself. And you know what it's like to be used too; to bear witness to violent and cruel acts, and be powerless to stop them. The basis of our relationship is that we understand that; we understand each other. And on that point, there is no one else. Not even Lily understood like you do.
And you're here; you forgave me for my anger when I found out you knew Potter looked like his father. You forgave my foolishness and blindness when I let Pettigrew escape trying to condemn my old enemy. And you've already forgiven me for what I must do this year. You forgive and you stay, and that's more than Lily could ever do.
I wonder, Melissa, what it would have been like, had you been our age and at Hogwarts. I suspect you would have been a Ravenclaw, or a Slytherin. But not the sort to get mixed up with the Dark Arts; you would have kept to yourself. And I think while I still had Lily, you would have stayed on the periphery, but once he had abandoned me, you would have reached out, and maybe even been enough to catch me.
Yours, Severus
Ηαδ Ι κνοων ηοω το σαξε α λιφε
September 11th, 1996
Dear Melissa,
My Gods, when it starts to go to seed, it only gets worse. Draco is insisting in not only refusing my "help", but telling me nothing of his plans. Which means he has none, and someone besides the old fool is going to get hurt or killed. Undoubtedly Harry bloody Potter. Should I mention the boy already made a complete idiot of himself, by spying in the Slytherins on the train under his bloody cloak, and winding up petrified with a broken nose. I swear that boy wants to die on some level.
The only ironic pleasantry in this sodding mess is that Dumbledore finally gave me the DADA position. Even if it's only because it's cursed and I'll be leaving Hogwarts and respectable society when I murder him. Still, I hope to teach the dunderheads something that will help them survive the war. After all, the closest they've come to a competent teacher was a werewolf, closely followed by a Death Eater.
I wonder if the old man has told you he's giving Potter "private lessons" on the Dark Lord. Undoubtedly, he's counting on your visions to keep you informed on whatever they're talking about. Because he's not telling me, which means he won't tell you because he knows you'll tell me. But you seem to have a blanket-ban on telling me whatever will happen this year. Which I understand; Dumbledore doesn't want me distracted by whatever will be, especially when knowing changes nothing.
I'm understanding better now, why he isn't planning any counter-attacks on the Death Eaters; he's counting on Potter to win this war. He has a tremendous amount of blind-faith in the boy, who has as much or more blind faith in him. But I can't have that kind of faith in them; I know them both too well. Do you think Potter would still have faith if he knew Dumbledore's dying?
Yours, Severus
Ασ ηε βεγινσ το ραισε ηισ ξοιςε
April 3rd, 1997
Dear Melissa,
Did you know? Dumbledore's only telling me now, what he seems to have known for months, maybe over a year. Ever since Potter ventured into the Dark Lord's mind and through to Nagini. Ever since the Dark Lord possessed him so easily. Dumbledore believes Potter is an accidental Horcrux, and if that's the case, he will have to die. After all that I've done to protect him; all the hard work and emotions I've invested into keeping him alive...
I feel cheated, and deceived, and used. Worse than when I learned Harry Potter was nothing more than Lily's eyes in James' face. Everything I did and went through these past sixteen years is destined to die. And if those are his plans for Potter, whom he seems to love beyond reason, what are his plans for you? Have you killed to keep your gift and curse away from the Dark Lord?
I won't let that happen to you, Melissa. As long as Dumbledore is alive, I will protect you from whatever he might plan to do. And when he's gone, I will protect you from the Dark Lord too. There is nothing I won't do, because you deserve it. You are my reason to keep fighting now, not Potter. I want to save this world for you, Melissa, and that's how it should have been all along—Lily's dead, and her son despises me. But you are my god-given solace.
I don't think I will see you before Dumbledore dies, so I will just have to rely on the strength you send me in your letters to get me through it. In my life, I have killed more people than I have ever managed to individually save, and this will be by far the worst. Because no matter how much I may hate him, he was the first person to see something good in me. Even if it was just something he could use.
It will be strange to have Dumbledore gone. He was always trying to focus me on Lily, all these years—talking about her, and mentioning "how Harry was doing". I realize now he was strengthening my obsession with Lily. But it was a strange sort of comfort too. It's rather like believing he really did give a damn.
Yours, Severus
Υου λοωερ ψουρσ, ανδ γραντ ηιμ ονε λαστ χοιςε
July 2nd, 1997
Dear Melissa,
I'm not sure exactly how I feel, even a month after it's happened. Shocked, sure, and saddened, but also relieved. Probably because I'm cut off, and have less to hide—though it may be due to it being over. But beyond my shock and sadness, there is a feeling of being hollow. And I think that may be where Lily sat like a lead weight in my chest all these years.
I think Dumbledore used my strong grief for Lily to forge a bond to hold my loyalty and devotion. My love for her was sustained and used and perverted for sixteen years, and now the bond is broken. If what I think is correct... I'm free. It's a foreign and unnerving thought, but better than what I've been living.
How is it the death of someone who stood for so much good, can be better than anything he did for me in life? I should be mourning and hating myself all over again, but I find I'm much more "pissed off" as you would put it, that he made me his Angel of Death. (I'm not sure how appropriate that description is, but you seemed to like it enough.) And I am glad Draco did not have to go through the trauma of murdering someone. He's a terrible brat, but he's also my god son.
In other news, there's word that if the Ministry falls before the start of term, I will be named Headmaster of Hogwarts. It's a logical choice for the Dark Lord; I've been a teacher there for almost eighteen years, and I know the school better than any Death Eater. And it's the best choice that could be made for our side; I'll be in a position to protect the students as best I can. I may not be able to keep them from all harm, but I can stop deaths. No child shall die within Hogwarts while it is under my Headmastership. If they force me out (and I know Minerva will want to) then it won't be on me that anyone dies.
Yours, Snape
Δριξε υντιλλ ψου ωιλλ λοσε θε ροαδ
September 20th, 1997
Dear Melissa,
Being back at Hogwarts has become a living Hell. Minerva will not speak to me, nor will any of the other staff. The Death Eaters' children have the run of the halls during the day, and what's left of Dumbledore's Army wreak havoc at night. The Carrows have their eyes on me all the time, waiting to call me out for treachery to the Dark Lord. And sitting in Dumbledore's office (it's really never going to feel like mine) I remember every meeting I ever had in that office. Every report I made, every time I raged, every time I actually felt guilty for dripping blood on the carpet.
And now more than ever I miss you, Melissa. Because you somehow have a way of taking me away from my memories, without the singular focus of Occlumency, or the hollowness left by withdrawing memories to a pensive. You are such a strong force of light magic—exactly what Hogwarts needs right now. But to have you here would be to have you in the middle of the conflict, and I can't do that to you... or let you do it to yourself, as I know you'd consider for my sake.
Your letter back in August expressed such a strong desire to go join Potter on the run., I'm almost afraid you'll do it. You're a little impulsive at times, and I think that may be the one Gryffindor trait you have. It worries me, because Potter's impulsiveness has nearly gotten him killed time and again. What if it was you? Melissa if you died... I'd probably just give up and die too, and what a waste that would be. Two lives gone for nothing.
Just rereading that last paragraph makes me think that maybe this relationship dynamic of ours isn't quite right. I write to you for comfort from my struggles and fears, and you give me strength. It's the opposite of what it should be. I'm the adult; I should be the one supporting you. But then again, you and I are not like other people.
Yours, Snape
Ορ βρεακ ωιθ θε ονεσ ψου φολλοωεδ
January 3rd, 1998
Dear Melissa,
You would be proud of me tonight. I put the Sword of Gryffindor into the hands of Potter, and then watched Weasley use it to destroy a Horcrux. The magic that came out of that thing...it was terrifying. Psychological torture for whoever attempted to destroy it. I can see how it's almost as effective as a deadly curse at killing someone. I thought for a moment Weasley would use the sword to kill himself.
And even with magic like that at his control, the Dark Lord doubts himself. He's looking for the Elder Wand to make himself invincible. Yes; the Dark Lord is looking for protection against Potter. It's a strange turning of events that doesn't inspire much confidence from his followers. Though the abuse the Malfoys have taken makes me believe he's lost them already.
Melissa do you know where the Elder Wand is? Buried in Dumbledore's tomb. He had it, and the legends say that it's passed down through murder... And I killed Albus Dumbledore. So the Dark Lord will think I'm the Elder Wand's master and kill me to inherit its power. But he'll never master it; Draco disarmed Dumbledore, and he's probably been disarmed by gods know who... I just hope it's Potter.
So, I have no date yet, but I know who will kill me, and why, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. I feel it's almost comforting. I won't die in vain; I'll die protecting my god son, and maybe Potter too. Maybe that's why Dumbledore was so accepting of his own death. But overall, Melissa, there is some hope. Not for me, but for victory. Twenty-three years ago, it seemed the war would never end, and then it did in October. This time, it will be sooner, bigger, and permanent. The Dark Lord will not rise again.
Yours, Severus
Ηε ωιλλ δο ονε οφ τωο θινγσ; ηε ωιλλ αδμιτ το εξερψθινγ
May 1st, 1998
Dear Melissa,
This will be the last letter I write, and I write it by the last sunset I shall ever see. The entire castle is tensed, waiting for the battle to start. I don't know how we all know it's tonight, but it has to be. The teachers are on edge, the students are jumpy, and the castle walls hum with anticipation. And I just miss you.
That sounds crazy, that my life's about to end, and I miss you. But maybe there's a better way to phrase it; I wish I could see you one last time before I die. An impossible wish, but probably the only one worth having at the end of my life. After all, knowing you has been the greatest gift I've ever received.
I realize now that everything I never quite said, or simply couldn't dream of saying, I wrote in these letters. So I'm leaving them, and everything else, to you. I sold my house in Spinner's End, and the Goblins know to let you have my Gringotts' vault. The gold, and my collections, should keep you living comfortably for a very long time. Everything is yours, Melissa, to keep, or sell, or destroy...
And the reason I'm leaving it all to you, is because you were everything to me. You were my light, my joy, my hope, my comfort, my very best friend... and I love you. I'm not sure how it came to pass, but I love you Melissa Libra. And I'm a sick old man for it, to love a girl just barely over-age. But this is the end, and in the end it doesn't matter at all. You remain my god-given solace, and my reason to see this through to the end. Lily was my beginning, but you are my ending—and I'm glad I didn't waste my entire life.
I've set you up for the best, Melissa, and regardless of how you see me now that you know of my misguided love, I only want you to be happy. So go live your life—freely.
Always and forever yours,
Severus Snape
Ορ ηε'λλ σαψ ηε'σ ζυστ νοτ θε σαμε
Limply, the last page fell from Melissa's hand as she stared at everything surrounding her, tears sliding down her cheeks. So that was the answer? Because she'd been his god-given solace and he'd loved her? It was too much... he'd loved her...
It was an emotional overload like she hadn't had since the Ministry had contacted her in the days after she'd moved to Godric's Hollow, saying she was his sole beneficiary. He'd often said in the letters he'd sent over the years that she was an incredible friend, but his god-given solace? His reason? His final love? How had she never noticed, when she was the one who claimed to know him best..?
And Melissa didn't even know how she felt. So much of her life had been wrapped up in Dumbledore, and Severus, and the war that it didn't seem anything but normal that she wanted so badly to be there with them, and protect him. That watching his pain crippled her, and watching his death in that terrifying four hour real-time vision had shattered her. But was that the same kind of love he'd felt?
She didn't know. All she knew was that the only place she's wanted to be that night was by his side when he died, because Harry and the others had left him there; she knew because her vision had followed them. And maybe then, she would have known which bastard had taken his body...
"...Holy shit..." Melissa swore under her breath. She hadn't seen what happened after Potter and his friends left, and no one else knew... so that time between Potter leaving and going back for Severus' body was blank; unknown. And if she had a way back in time...
Getting up, she raced to the box she'd noticed them bring in earlier, marked Oddities. If there was any chance he had a time turner, it would be in there. Pulling out animals in jars, shrunken heads, a pensive, a foe glass, and a cracked sneakoscope, Melissa could feel her panic mounting. No way; there was no way there could be such a perfect opening for her to go back, and save him, and find out for sure what she really felt...
And then her fingers closed on a fine gold chain. "Jackpot."
She could go over the memory again, and figure out what kind f healing potions she'd need. Then she could go back to the night of the battle, and save him. And anything that happened after that... she'd figure it out then.
Ανδ ψου'λλ βεγιν το ωονδερ ωηψ ψου ςαμε
Standing on the front step of 12 Grimmauld Place, Melissa waited for someone to answer the goddamn door. She couldn't believe that she was here, waiting to see Potter, to ask for his help. After going over the memory, she'd realized she would need more than a blood replenishing potion to save Severus. She wasn't a healer, and she definitely wasn't an emergency mediwitch, but she could tell when a snakebite had venom involved, and Nagini's bite was powerfully dangerous.
But there was no way St. Mungo's was going to give her the antidote they'd used on Arthur Weasley. Why would they; she was nobody to them. But maybe they'd give it to their Saviour. Their Chosen One. At least, that was what she was counting on when she came here.
The door opened, and there was the famous Harry James Potter, in scruffy jeans, a faded Beastie Boys t-shirt, and holey socks. "Um... can I help you?"
"Maybe. I don't know. My name is Melissa Libra; I inherited Severus Snape's estate—"
"Oh! You're the one who got Snape's stuff. 'Mione told me his estate was going to some girl from Australia, and I didn't really know..." He trailed off, seeming to remember this probably wasn't a social visit. "Sorry. It must've been hard for you; you were probably close to him."
"As close as anyone, I guess." Melissa agreed. He didn't need to know. "This is gonna sound crazy, but I think there's a chance Severus might be alive. See, in Severus' things, I found these letters—like almost thirty of them—that he'd been writing to me since we met seven years ago, and didn't send me. And he told me in the last letter that he loved me, and my mind started going... No one knows what happened after you left the Shrieking Shack, and Severus left me a time turner. All I need to save him is the antidote to Nagini's venom, and St. Mungo's would never give it to me, but maybe they would if you asked."
The words had come out in a rush she hadn't been expecting, and Potter's famous face was frozen in shock. "... He said he loved you? But my mum—"
"He loved her too, for a very long time. But either something changed after Dumbledore died, or he just didn't know what he was feeling. But I'll never know if he really loved me, or if I ever could have loved him, unless I save Severus."
"...Do you have the letter with you?"
Withdrawing the last letter from her pocket, Melissa handed it to Potter, who stood there in the doorway reading Severus Snape's last confession to her. And then he was staring at her over the tops of his glasses with those intense green eyes, the same way Dumbledore used to look at her with those brilliant blues. "You've got a point; St. Mungo's wouldn't give you the antidote if you came in with only this story. But being the Chosen One's gotta be good for something. And I owe Snape a couple of Life Debts anyways."
Melissa took back the letter, folded it, and tucked it back into her coat pocket, just over her heart. "Then let's go."
Ωηερε διδ Ι γο ωρονγ Ι λοστ α φριενδ
They by-passed the front desk on arriving at St. Mungo's, and headed straight for the Healer's desk on the first floor—Creature-Induced Injuries. Melissa was very aware at the stares she and Potter drew, but shook it off as best she could. "We need to see the Healer-In-Charge." She informed the Trainee Healer sitting there.
"That would be me." Came a strong, even reply from behind them. Coming down the hall was a tall blonde wizard in lime green robes. "I'm Healer Smethwyck. I already know who you are, Mr. Potter, but you Miss—?"
"Libra. Melissa Libra. We're here about a case that came in about two and a half years ago, around Christmas time. Arthur Weasley, admitted with bites from an unidentified crossbreed of snake. You found an antidote to the venom?"
He nodded. "Yes, that was actually my case. Unfortunately you won't be able to look at the file; Arthur's still alive and well, as I'm sure you know, Mr. Potter, being best friends with his son."
"Oh, we don't want the file." Potter explained. "Just the antidote."
"The antidote? I thought the snake was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts."
"It was." Melissa confirmed. "But there's a chance its last victim might still need it."
The Healer looked alarmed at the prospect. "Then bring them here, and we'll get started on treatment—"
Potter cut him off. "We can't. But if you'll trust us on this, we can save the man's life. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
Smethwyck looked from Melissa, to Potter, and back again. "Fine. Abercrombie, pull Arthur Weasley's file and copy the antivenin potion recipe." He ordered the trainee. "It was a tricky one to brew—took twelve hours. But when our Potions Department sent it to Snape—" Melissa felt her heart skip a beat. He'd brewed it once? "—He polished it off in six."
"Then I'm sure I can manage it in eight." She replied tightly, as Trainee Abercrombie handed her the recipe. "I trained under the man, after all."
"...You're the one he left everything to." It wasn't a question.
"I am."
Recognition of what it all meant shone in the Healer's eyes. "Then I wish you good luck in your endeavour, Miss Libra."
She nodded her thanks, then Potter was steering her out of St. Mungo's. They had a potion to brew, and time travel to do, and a friend to save.
Σομεωηερε αλονγ ιν θε βιττερνεσσ
Potter insisted on helping with the brewing process, so now he was seated in Melissa's home lab she'd set up in what had been the dining room, torn between watching her finish, and eying the box-filled living room. "Snape really did leave everything to you. Who knew someone who gave his everything to the war would have time to collect so much stuff."
"Hmm." Melissa made a non-committal noise as she dropped Arumilla leaves into the cauldron. He'd managed to be quiet for a little while, but...
"So explain to me how you got involved with Snape and the war."
"Is it any of your business?"
"You came knocking on my door looking for my help." He pointed out. "I think that makes it my business."
Melissa glared at him though the steam rising from the potion, but relented. "My parents were Death Eaters during the first war, and apparently they weren't like fanatical like the Lestranges, more idealistic like Regulus Black. Point is, they died, and Dumbledore heard about my "gift" for having visions of the future because apparently my first word was 'Harry' and I said it on the night you survived Riddle's attack. But I've been having visions as long as I can remember, and Dumbledore thought they were useful, so he settled me down as a ward of the Headmistress of the Sydney Institute of Magic School, and pumped me for information on the war. I informed for both him and Severus, but Severus came to see me more. He knew what it felt like to have no life of your own, and be used like I was."
Harry frowned, not quite able to meet her eyes. "You shouldn't have let Dumbledore use you like that. Did he ever give you a chance to get out?"
"He did, just after Sirius Black died, but I couldn't take it. I couldn't leave Severus alone to face the war like that. You got some of the worst of it, but at least you had your best friends. Severus only had me."
"Maybe that's why he loved you; you stayed with him even if it hurt you. That's a lot more than my mum did for him."
Melissa shrugged, taking the cauldron off the flames, and bottling the silvery liquid once it had cooled. "It's done. I just need to grab some other healing potions, and then I'll be set to go. How long did it actually take?"
Potter glanced at his watch. "Six hours. Better than you thought it would be."
Ανδ Ι ωουλδ ηαξε σταψεδ ουτ ωιθ ψου αλλ νιγητ
Standing in the old house infamously dubbed the Shrieking Shack, Melissa felt hyper-aware. This was it. This was her chance to go back and save the one man who'd ever meant anything to her, whatever it was. The man who'd loved her, and died loving her, and maybe she could change that. Turning to Potter, she saw understanding in those green eyes. "There's a lot of people you wish you could go back and save." She noted.
"There are. But if there'd been any chance of saving them, I would have seen it then. There wasn't the right kind of opening to save my parents, or Cedric, or Sirius, or Dumbledore, or a lot of others."
"Then why Severus?"
He shrugged. "Maybe he wasn't meant to die, or maybe you're unfinished business with him is really powerful destiny. I don't know—I'm not a destiny and fate expert—but you have to take it when you can."
Melissa nodded. "Thank you, Potter, for helping me. You definitely didn't have to; you've done enough for the wizarding world—"
"Snape did a lot more than I did." Potter cut her off. "A lot of people did a lot more than I did to end the war. I was just the one who cast the last spell."
Up at Hogwarts, the great clock clanged out the hour; two in the morning. "Today's July 2nd." Melissa said, thinking aloud. "So if I set the time turner back two months, it should take me back..."
"...To when Snape was bit, almost exactly." He finished for her, and pulling his invisibility cloak out of his pocket, he handed it to her. "Stay under this until we leave the shack, and then use it to get away. I don't know what you'll do for two months but... I expect my cloak back later today."
"We'll be there...Harry." She promised. "And thank you. For everything."
Throwing the cloak over herself, Melissa pulled the time turner from inside her robes. Clicking the tiny hourglass pendant into the 'months' position, she took a steadying breath, and turned it twice. The dark shack dissolved, and Melissa felt the strange sensation of flying backwards in one place, intervals of dark and light, night and day blurring around her. She was watching time go by! And then she felt solid ground beneath her feet as the world came back into focus, and she was back in the scene of her worst vision again.
Ηαδ Ι κνοων ηοω το σαξε α λιφε
"It'll be alright." Granger—past-Granger—was saying rather wildly. "Let's—let's get back to the castle, if he's gone to the Forest, we'll need to think of a new plan—"
It was surreal to watch them, Melissa thought, completely unnoticed. It was so much like her real-time vision, she had to wonder if it had slipped into prophesy for that moment. Even her perspective was the same, as the Golden Trio left through the tunnel. Only this time she didn't follow them—she had work to do.
Throwing off the cloak, Melissa dropped to her knees beside Severus and uncorked the antidote. Pouring some on the wound, some down his throat. Gods, there was so much blood... Next was Essence of Dittany and a Blood-Replenishing Potion, and then a Reviving Potion used more on unconscious patients than near-dead ones. Melissa wasn't a Healer, or a mediwitch, but she was trying...
Laying a hand on Severus' chest, Melissa prayed she'd feel a heartbeat. "Don't die on me Severus." She ordered under her breath. "You don't get to tell me you love me and leave me like this..." And then she felt it; the slightest thumping beneath her fingertips. And then it grew stronger as she gave him another Blood-Replenishing Potion, and finally he drew a rattling breath just as she closed up the puncture marks from the snakes fangs with her wand. He was breathing; she'd done it.
Slowly, Severus cracked open is eyes. "...Mel..?" He rasped weakly.
"Don't try to talk yet, Severus. You're still healing." She said gently.
'What are you doing here?' He asked soundlessly.
"I came back for you. I inherited your stuff two months from now, read the letters, brewed the antidote, and took the time turner back."
Severus frowned. 'You didn't have to—'
"I couldn't let you go! Not without putting up a fight—not without trying." Melissa grasped his hand, and held it tightly. "Not after what I read; that you might love me. I don't really know if that's really how either of us feel, but this was the only way to find out, and I do know I couldn't live without my best friend regardless. It's always been you and me, Sev."
With his free hand, he reached up and wiped away her tears. "I'm glad you came back."
Ηαδ Ι κνοων ηοω το σαξε α λιφε
They stood on the front step of Grimmauld Place, waiting for Potter to answer the door. It was July 2nd, 1998 at about noon, and Melissa had the Invisibility Cloak draped over her arm, her other hand holding Severus' tightly. They'd spent the last two months sight-seeing across Canada, and figuring out where they stood and what they were feeling. Conclusions weren't definite, but they weren't in a rush to find out.
"Had to wake me up..." They heard Potter mumble before he opened the door, but then his look of irritation was replaced by delight. "It worked."
"Of course it worked, Potter. Not only is Melissa a skilled potions-maker, but the evidence is right in front of you." Severus sneered.
"Well, he did just send me off a few hours ago." Melissa reminded him. "We came to return the cloak, as promised. Then it's off to the Ministry."
"Going to shock everyone by walking in as if you were never thought dead?"
"Rather."
Potter grinned. "I'd come with you, but I'm expected at the Burrow in an hour, so..."
Melissa handed over the cloak, then surprised herself by hugging the Chosen One. "Thank you, for all your help. I'll never be able to repay you; you gave us both a chance."
"That was all you, Melissa. You made it happen."
Pulling away, she dabbed at her eyes. "We'll see you around. And pick up a Daily Prophet tomorrow. Ten Galleons says we make the front page."
Harry was still laughing as they walked down the steps, and out onto the street. "Now that that's been taken care of..." Severus sighed. "Ready to go face the masses?"
"So long as I've got you, and you've got me, the rest will fall into place."
He nodded, eyes betraying the warmth and affection he felt for her as Melissa spun them off to Apparate into the Ministry. They'd rock the wizarding world with their return, and then... well, who knew?
The End.
I mean really, I'm not planning on anything more. You decide how they turn out