Severus Snape: Highly-Decorated Hero
Chapter 1: Fools in the Rain
Author's Note: This is just delightful fun for the summer and really a love letter to my other fics. So, I feel like a dolt and hope it doesn't sound like I am re-routing anyone to my fics but this story makes many references and ironically came out by accident when I started Miscellaneous Snape, ficlets just to drabble and not do another story. So I did one-shots and I guess without the pressure of maintaining a story I think some of it is quite entertaining, er, to me anyway. Go figure! The only thing I can say is that for some of this story, to make sense of its background, you may just have to take a gander at Miscellaneous Snape, chapter 4, How one Earns the Order of Merlin, because that ficlet was the basis for this, what is going to be a full-fledged story.
Disclaimer: I did not write, nor hope to profit from the Harry Potter books and characters, This is just for fun. All the money in the world couldn't make up for the kick I get out of coming up with this rubbish, and hoping to improve my writing skills for the hell of it. Just like all the money in the world is not going to help Snape get Vector back. What a bloody moron!
The Rehearsal Dinner – The Three Broomsticks – Hogsmeade – 3:00
The man stood out in the rain, his long, dark traveling cloak rippling out behind him in the breeze from the storm. His long curtains of black hair were blowing about as well, and there was a strained look on his pale thin face. If one looked closer they would see his eyes were wet and would have noticed beads of water dripping from his rather prominent nose as he shivered slightly in the rain. The black eyes had the deepest sadness and remorse in them if any of the people running into the pub trying to avoid the storm had bothered to look. They continued to file through the doors of the pub using cloaks, sections of the newspaper, The Daily Prophet; whatever they had to try to keep the rainwater off of them.
Lightening and thunder clapped and roared and for that he was grateful, because it broke his thoughts, thoughts that were threatening to strangle him and engulf him with more waves of misery.
He was standing outside of the pub where most of the wizarding world was gathering for the rehearsal dinner before the marriage at the end of the week of Professor Septima Emma Arabella Vector, Order of Merlin, Second class, Arithmancer, Charm inventor, novice curse breaker, and freelance advisor to Gringotts, Order of the Phoenx decorated member, and unofficial love of the latter part of his life.
A piece of the Prophet blew away and onto his chest. He rolled his eyes, knocked the paper to the ground, looked down, and saw the engagement announcement. And staring out at him was the sweet face he loved above all others.
He wanted a glimpse of her and then he would go and do….well, he had no damned clue what he would do exactly.
Wallow in self-pity, perhaps, for ever letting her slip through his grasp.
She was fairly in the palm of his hands, well, in his imagination. He had loved her for years, through much turmoil, in happy times at Hogwarts, on the eve of the possible destruction of the wizarding world, and he had ruined it all.
He was the biggest fool imaginable for not saying anything and letting her leave…because there was a moment when he had a slim chance. He knew it.
Over a year had passed…the Dark Lord was long gone, and Mia's old boyfriend, her childhood neighbor back in Wales, comes out of bloody nowhere, somehow swept her off her feet, (he detected some type of coercion, perhaps, a love potion,) and asked her to marry him.
He pondered that if it were true, it was enough for a marriage license to be denied…and then he knew that that was most likely not what occurred.
And, Septima, for Merlin-knew-whatever reason, positively gorgeous dolt that she was, Merlin, in his opinion, had never been so generous with such beauty, had foolishly accepted.
He still stood outside, traveling cloak billowing about violently in the winds that grew stronger, along with his black hair. The rain was now pouring down and thankfully mixing with his tears so nobody entering the pub noticed.
That… and he was invisible. As if, he'd desire anybody to run in and tell her he was standing outside like some lovesick daft, well, he thought of her words and how true they were, or a bloody moron!
He was sure that some people in the wizarding world knew, and was most likely talking. He had almost gotten himself killed and almost ruined the entire downfall of the Dark Lord because he could think of nothing but saving her.
But he wondered why some people didn't seem to be curious, to his knowledge, as to why he hadn't done anything about it. Probably still thought he was a cold, rotten to the core, bloody bastard that didn't love her as much as they had heard from gossip.
Actually, the stress had caused some of his hold on his magic to weaken. And his…his patronus had changed. And he hadn't wanted that because he still loved and honored Lily and cherished her memory.
Damn Vector! Damn him! And now it was too late.
If the invisibility charm broke he would have to regain his concentration, take a breath, and try again…or hide like a fool with the rest of the drunken sods in the alley.
He mostly feared anyone seeing his face. They would know…well, he could always tell them that they were tears of joy that he had finally gotten rid of his old mentoring subject. He would tell anyone that passed him in the street and asked…but his voice, raspy from the ceaseless tears…he wouldn't fool anyone and he knew it.
And what he had been experiencing back at Hogwarts. It didn't bear thinking…
Some of the professors, who knew for years or who, rather had guessed that he had loved her and never said anything had been trying to make him feel better since the engagement was announced.
Hours, upon tedious hours of having Minerva, Dumbledore, Flitwick, Hagrid, and many others looking at him with pity and feeling sorry for him, which didn't help him in the least. Slughorn had retired again yet still kept inviting him to parties and after the disastrous last party, he vowed never to go again! The stillness at meal times at the staff table was deafening. And glancing over at the empty seat next to him that Vector had once occupied was murder. His misery was complete.
She had left after the war…
If somebody sent tea and chicken soup to the dungeons one more time he would scream…and then cry.
She had been his friend, his dearest friend, when no one else was, had taken his merciless remarks, teasing, and general nastiness and bore it with fortitude, had posed as his fiancée when an old sort of girlfriend came back. Had defended him when others thought he was still a Death Eater, had kissed him, usually against her will or by accident…and he valued it now after much time had passed. And realized it for what it was…that he was fearful of falling in love with her and had pushed her away emotionally and now, in reality, forever.
He didn't think it possible to ever love after Lily…how wrong he had been.
And then to make matters worse, Lockhart pitied him and kept trying to come to his rescue, that and he wanted to establish a close friendship with Snape, highly decorated hero, the co-savior of the wizarding world, to further his own floundering career. Lockhart realized to late that whatever amazing things he had accomplished, it was nothing compared to the trio of Dumbledore, Snape, and Potter. And he had to admit that even Granger deserved some more credit as well, oh, fine, even Ronald Weasley, too. He even stopped telling people that Snape was his assistant in the dueling club.
Lockhart had sent him for free…a complete set of all his published works and his very latest…Getting over the love of your life: Gilderoy Style!
Severus Snape thought he would vomit when he opened the lavender wrapped parcel, lifted his wand, and evanescoed the lot of it. Well, perhaps he kept the one book.
And then he heard a carriage roll up. And he saw two ladies with dark hair emerge and knew, Damn it, it was Vector and Sinistra.
Sinistra emerged on the arm of her fiancé Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic
First lady of the wizarding world…who would have thought? Snape sneered nastily. And Septima's closest friend, much more like the sister she didn't have. Vector had saved her during the Battle of Hogwarts, pulled her out of the way of the killing curse which almost hit her as well. He shuddered, pondering thoughts he tried to stop from seeping out on a daily basis. Vector had also with a gently nudge, helped push her and Kingsley together. Kingsley would do anything for Vector; he was mad for Aurora. Snape had seen those two all lovey-dovey and it had made him sick. It really was nauseating their carrying on.
Kingsley turned and grabbed a hold of Aurora's rather unremarkable mousy brown hair, tugged at a lock of it, and kissed her. The fool blushed, and Snape, rolling his eyes, still suspected amortentia.
Kingsley, had had the girls lining up before Aurora Sinsitra, kind of like Sirius Black back at school, he grimaced at the thought.
The invisibility charm broke and he dove behind a dustbin near the entrance. He pulled in his black robes that were sticking out.
An older but still handsome witch emerged with dark blue robes and very familiar long, wavy, jet hair with a few strands of gray, and called to those in the carriage to hurry up As she appeared to use very similar gestures, he knew it was Annabelle Langley Vector, from the famous Scottish wizarding family, the Langley's, and more importantly, Vector's mum. He then saw an older man emerge with the same, the very same face as his beloved, and the same very dark blue, almost purple eyes. Leslie Vector. It stabbed him in the gut; it was far too painful for him, as he took in his breath and bit his lip.
And then another man emerged, tall, handsome with the same face, hair and eyes as Vector and knew it was her brother, Geoffrey.
And then… Doctor Dolt, the, er,…fiancé. A mediwizard with a residency at St. Mungo's and his own private practice in London as well. He involuntarily grabbed at his wand and then slapped his hand away. He was losing his grip…and her.
The party went inside talking and laughing, and Snape closed his eyes and counted to ten upon preparing to move and leave.
It was then that a force pulled him from the bin and into the alleyway. Powerful magic, he drew his wand swiftly and silently, preparing to defend himself when realization hit that it could only be…
"Why, my dear boy, are you doing this to yourself? Have you not tormented yourself enough?" It was the kindly face of Albus Dumbledore, his light blue eyes boring into Severus'.
"Headmaster I was just going," he replied and put his wand back in his robes.
"You should come in and wish them well," he teased. "I know she invited you, Severus." He tried to joke but Snape only sneered.
"Oh, no, I will not. I can't," his voice was drenched with pain.
"I would expect you should," the voice was cheerful and calm but sounded like a command.
Then he looked at Snape with concern and pity which was what changed Snape's mind.
"Come in… take all the time you need, or you will never forgive yourself. You must face it and accept it. The only way to feel better…you know I was in love once…sheer, agonizing torture, but time heals all."
Dumbledore clapped him on the shoulder, looked at Snape like he was assessing his appearance, straightened Snape's black cravat for him, turned, waved and walked in the door of the pub.
Snape knew Dumbledore was foolish enough to come looking for him and it hung in the air that if he didn't go in…he may very well hint to the party that Snape was outside.
Well, he would go in…when he was ready, and not before…
He, Severus Snape, was a highly decorated hero. Professor, Head of Slytherin House, former Headmaster, ok, for just a few months, part-time Quidditch referee, double agent, former mentor to Professor Septima Vector, a lovely female professor who had received the Order of Merlin, second class, gobstones coordinator, ok, he had to fill in for Sprout once for perhaps an hour, School Governor by invitation, and now Co-Deputy Headmaster with Minerva McGonagall, Order of Merlin, third class.
Yes, he would give himself, perhaps… five minutes to compose himself and then he would go in.
Damn it, he loved so much…it hurt.