But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock… They were children of fools, yea, children of base men: they were viler than the earth. And now am I their song, yea, I am their byword.
They abhor me, they flee far from me, and spare not to spit in my face. Because he hath loosed my cord, and afflicted me, they have also let loose the bridle before me. Upon my right hand rise the youth; they push away my feet, and they raise up against me the ways of their destruction. They mar my path, they set forward my calamity, they have no helper. They came upon me as a wide breaking in of waters: in the desolation they rolled themselves upon me.
Terrors are turned upon me: they pursue my soul as the wind: and my welfare passeth away as a cloud. And now my soul is poured out upon me; the days of affliction have taken hold upon me. My bones are pierced in me in the night season: and my sinews take no rest. By the great force of my disease is my garment changed: it bindeth me about as the collar of my coat. He hath cast me into the mire, and I am become like dust and ashes.
When I looked for good, then evil came unto me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness. My bowels boiled, and rested not: the days of affliction prevented me. I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat. My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep.
Job 30: 1-2, 8-19, 26-31
* * *
The wind whipped his black hair about his pale face as he stood on the blasted heath, looking out into the distance. The moon hung in the sky, bathing the forest before him and the castle behind in its cool glow. The light was just enough to cast his lone figure in stark relief against the bare hillside.
Alone was how he found himself most often, and this was how he preferred it. He found solitude to be his best companion--calm, silent, nurturing. And no time was better for solitude than the night. Free from the sun's indecent inclination to expose all things and stir them into motion, the nighttime allowed things to settle into themselves. It soothed his spirit.
"Who's that?" a booming voice erupted from a nearby dwelling, the only structure in sight apart from the castle. The lone walker had a mind not to answer at all.
"Don't tell me it surprises you to see me here..."
"Oh, it's just you, Professor Snape. Out for another midnight walk, eh?"
"Indeed."
"Ah, carry on then."
The sound of a closing door. So much for solitude, and silence.
But he could scarcely complain. The peace he found here was more than he could have ever imagined, or wished for himself, after the life he left behind. It was certainly far more than he deserved. He could have been dead, in Azkaban, or somewhere far more horrible. He shuddered as the morbid possibilities flickered through his mind.
His current life had its indignities, but these were preferable to the indignities he had chosen for himself in the past. A search for dignity had driven some of his worst decisions, and though his pride had hardly given way to humility, he had at least grudgingly accepted that this was his fate. Joyless as it might be, this new life was free of the horror and cruelty he had once known.
He could scarcely look his great benefactor in the eye. This man, one of the most powerful wizards of all time, a man dedicated to standing against evil in the name of the good, knew every last secret of his past. And somehow he still allowed him here. Severus had little respect for any other wizard, dead or alive--or fear--but before Dumbledore he felt as humble as an ant.
Only this man knew him. That he knew him and yet had given him protection and a place to stay mystified Severus daily. This unearned beneficence often filled him with shame, and though it revulsed his pride, he could refuse it no more than a starving, beaten dog could refuse an offer of food from a gentle hand. For this man he felt gratitude, respect--and perhaps even love.
For others, loving Dumbledore was easy, but for Severus, that this man could conjure forth love from his broken spirit was a testament to how powerful a wizard he was. The only other person Severus had ever loved was long dead. And he laid the blame for her death at his own feet.
Whenever the image of her gentle doe eyes entered into his mind, he grew restless, haunted. It was as if his body believed it could walk far enough to get away from her memory. But he knew this was impossible. Even when she would leave him for a while, other memories would flood in to take her place. These were even worse: visions of a hellish life, a killer's life. A life that should damn a man to hell, to a fate worse than death.
His nighttime visitors were never benign. He was forced to relive the horrors of his past again and again. The moon's gentle caress was the only balm that could ease his tortured heart, weary from bearing witness to too much horror. But even the night's peace only reduced the pain; it did not give him rest. Peace was relative for Severus, and he knew it, and felt grateful he could know any at all. Grateful to Dumbledore for his mercies. He could not even dream of a full reprieve.
"Could you not brew a potion to aid you in finding sleep?" he had once asked Severus.
"I have tried. It is of little use. This curse resists even the most profound magic, even the most arcane potions. A soul so frayed is not so easily mended."
"Why do you not ask me for help, Severus?"
"I think you have helped me enough, Headmaster. I dare not ask for any more than what you have given, which is already too much."
"Very well. It is your choice. But you know I am here."
Severus had little doubt that Dumbledore could give him rest. But he could not let himself accept the offer. Even Dumbledore could not remove the cursed memories that haunted Severus. No wizard had that power. And what troubled his dreams, should dreams be removed from his sleep, would just trouble him more when conscious, as he knew from his past dalliance with the world's oldest potions. No, his insomnia was not some isolated disorder of digestion that a glass of milk could cure. His soul begged for a deeper solution than a mere sleeping draft or spell for dreamless sleep.
He entered into the forest. It was always good to feel the leaves crunching underneath his feet. The sound was reassuring for some reason, though the forest teemed with danger. Unafraid of death as he was, and as much as he sometimes longed for it, he knew chances were slim that death would come to meet him here, in the forest, and he did not come to court it. His business here was different.
He always walked to the same clearing. Once there, he pulled out a small red velvet bag. The golden grains inside it shimmered in the moonlight as he poured them into his hand. The first doe of the night emerged from the shadows and approached, her nose quivering tentatively as she studied him. Satisfied, she came closer and began to eat from his hand. When finished, she drew herself to her full regal stature and gazed upon him. After pausing for a moment, she gently butted her head against his chest before turning and walking away, disappearing into the night as silently as she had come.
Though he had done this countless times, it never failed to stir him. Some nights like this one, when his heart was especially unguarded, tears came. He wept not just for the love he had lost, but for all she represented, the innocence he could never know and the life he would never have. This was the one place he felt fully human. Here, the gentlest and most timid creatures would walk up to him, unafraid, and take the grain he offered. With other humans, it was not so easy.
After the last doe had left--he always knew when the last had come--he put away the nearly empty bag of grain and began his walk back. His soul had calmed somewhat, and he believed that thanks to the gift the does had given, he would be able to get a few hours of merciful sleep. Real, nourishing sleep. Not just unconsciousness. Their gentle magic would protect his sleep a while.
When he arrived back to his quarters, he knew he had been granted permission by his soul's sentry to rest. The does had convinced his mind's guard to step down its merciless sigil. Granted this reprieve, Severus relaxed into his soft bed and let the night take him.