The Flight of the Patronus
By
Snivellus aka Heather Granger
A/N: I wrote this a month or so ago, and have been making minor changes here and there. I hope you enjoy it. I have always imagined a dementor having the same effect on Snape as it does Harry Potter, so I wanted to write a little story on it. It is written from Snape's perspective, so I hope it flows all right.
SSS
I remember well the lesson on the patronus. I was in my Seventh year, preparing to take my NEWT's. Professor Norwell had decided that two weeks before our exam that it would be beneficial to study the art of ridding a Dementor. I myself had only read about Dementors and was thankful for it. The effects were said to leave you with only your worse memories, not that I had many happy memories to begin with, but I enjoyed them all the same, and would not them taken from me.
Professor Norwell went on about how to form a corpus patronus was rare for junior wizards, and it required a great deal of magic. To my seventeen year old self this sounded quite like a challenge. My hand shot up when he asked for a volunteer, something which I regret to this day. Norwell had no intention of bringing in a real Dementor, so we were stuck with a boggart as our teaching aid.
I steadied myself for the attack, while the professor stated that it would take a happy thought to produce the patronus. I squinted my eyes, searching for a happy memory. A few seconds later I had it, I had passed all my OWLs save one, who needed transfiguration anyway.
"Steady, Master Snape, ready? One, two, three." The wardrobe door flew open, and took the shape of the darkest dementor I had ever seen, all right so it was the only dementor I had ever seen.
I stood, not feeling anything for a moment. My mind had gone blank, all I could do was stare into the faceless creature fearing its attack.
"Master Snape, you must act soon." I hear Professor Norwell in the background.
I grasped my wand tighter in my hand. I suddenly felt cold, I desperately held on to the memory that Professor Norwell said would banish the horrid creature. I hear screaming, I knew that scream and it sent chills down my spine, it was my mother's. The dementor advanced.
"Expecto Patronum." I hiss, growing weaker.
"Expecto.. expecto…expecto." I remember waking in the hospital wing. Pomfrey tutted over me, and as usual I pushed her away saying I was fine. The truth was I was not fine. I had never felt so cold, so alone.
"Mr. Snape, here eat this, you will feel better." Pomfrey said as she shoved a bar of chocolate in my face.
"How humiliating was it this time?" I asked, without a hint of sarcasm.
"Oh, now Mr. Snape Dementors are horrible creatures, even adult wizards and witches have a difficult time." She said not looking me in the eye.
"So others, they fainted as well?" I asked.
"Well, no but you were the closest, so you were the most impacted." She quickly tried to explain.
"And I suppose Potter and company had a good laugh at my expense?"
"Now Severus, do not bother yourself with those boys."
"Ah, wonderful." I said in distain.
Potter had sufficient material to now mock my well through my graduation at Hogwarts. No one had bothered to explain to me that a stupid memory like passing the OWLs was not going to get you anything but a cloud of white vapor.
As I lay in the infirmary, waiting for Madame Pomfrey to release me, I thought about the screams in my head, I thought of my mother. To say that I had a hard childhood is like saying Leonardo Da Vinci could paint. It was an understatement to say the least. My father, while not entirely evil, was just bad enough to make you feel like the guilty one, like you were the one who got him fired, or you were the one who spent the family savings on a flightless broom. No, my father was a master manipulator and a tongue as thick as leather. I suppose that is where I learned most of my comebacks and cheeky comments. My father never laid a hand on me, but some times I wished he would have, just to feel another's touch.
My mother was always ill, from the day I was born she was too weak to hold me to really care for me. I had a handful of House elves, and magical contraptions to keep me happy, but the one thing I longed for was my mother's touch.
When I got older, I learned quickly that if I wanted my mother's attention, then I would have to do all of her chores that she was too sick to do. She would praise me and tell me what a nice boy I was, but never touch me, never really hold me. I hated that. Did my own mother find me repulsive as well? I thought that for the longest time, that is until the day she died. The day I touched her, the day I held her.
My mother had a fever, and I had called the mediwizard as quickly as I could. She was soaked with her own sweat, and I was frightened. My mother told me not to worry, and that everything would be fine. She had asked me to come next to her, and so I did. I walked over to her bed and sat on a chair that the mediwizard had left there. I felt tears form in the corners of my eyes, and I looked away. I was taught that wizards do not cry, so I began to brush them away. As I did this, my mother took my hand, and held it. She said that everything was going to be all right. I fell crying into her chest. She screamed, and then everything went quiet. I had killed my mother. She was too weak to bear the impact of my embrace, and so there, she died, as I held her.
Funny how one dementor, no a boggart pretending to be a dementor can bring up so many painful memories.
SSS
Now having spent my entire life avoiding Dementors, here I stand with thirty fully cloaked Dementors hovering over myself and the rest of the Order. Others are producing patronus with the flick of the wrist, as I stand in utter fear.
"Snape do something!" I hear Potter yell from my right.
"Mind your manners Potter, I think I know what I am doing, just because we weren't all born with a scar on our foreheads doesn't mean that we are half the wizard you are." I hiss back, masking my fear.
I shut my eyes frantically searching for a happy memory, and at last I think I have found one, I was twenty three and I had found the courage to forge my own path. I found my inner strength, and I walked away. It was the day I turned my back on the Dark Lord, and I have never once regretted it. It was at that moment I knew that no matter what other people thought of me, it meant nothing as long as I believed in myself.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" I shout. I fight not for Potter, not for Dumbledore, but for myself, for the life my mother gave to me. I stand there in that dark field believing in the one thing that matters above all else, myself.
Suddenly a large plume of white dust begins forming in front of me, but unlike the white stream that is protecting my comrades, mine takes shape into the form of the mightiest of all animals, the dragon.
From my wand the animal takes off running towards the haunted creatures. Slowly the dragon beats its silvery wings and takes to the sky, sending pulsating rays of hope, shielding those around me. Taken in utter shock, I stand watching the scene unfold.
'So this is what excitement and joy feels like.' I think to myself.
"My gods Severus, where did that come from?" I hear Moody shout. I shake my head in disbelief.
"Quickly, let's head for cover!" Tonks shouts.
"Snape, come on Snape, the patronus doesn't last forever!" Potter calls out, still I do not move.
"Professor, we have to get out of here, now!" Granger says as she pulls on my sleeve, breaking my eye contact with my splendid dragon.
"Yes, all right." I say numbly, as I follow the Order to the Portkey. I grabbed hold of the smelly old shoe, and caught one last glimpse of the greatest sight I had ever laid eyes on.
I knew the next time I had to face a dementor I knew that that scene was enough to produce a patronus large enough to drive away a thousand Dementors. Even a sarcastic bitter man needs to believe in himself every now and then.
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