He Makes His Own Fairytales
Ninth of December
Desperate fear curled in the pit of his stomach, biding it's time, but not allowing him to forget it's presence. His dark eyes raised to meet those of Albus Dumbledore, serious behind half-moon spectacles. His mouth was dry, and he wet his lips fervently, searching for words, but coming up empty-handed. What could he possibly say? How could he possibly ask what he wanted - no, needed - to ask of this man whom he had been working against for years?
He had already spoken to Dumbledore about overhearing the prophecy of Sybill Trelawney, and of taking this information back to Lord Voldemort. He had begged the Dark Lord to spare her life, to not kill Lily Potter - but Severus found that he couldn't rely on that alone. The fear for her life was so strong that he felt he had no other choice; desperate times called for desperate measures, and this… this was a desperate time.
In a spurt of courage born of this thought, he ran a hand through his oily hair, opened his mouth, and spoke. "Hide them all, then. Keep her - them - safe." His voice was low, but held conviction. She needed to be safe. She would be safe, if it was the last thing he did; even if it meant that she would remain with Potter, and not by his side, she had to be kept safe.
"And what would you give me in return, Severus?" Dumbledore murmured, peering at Snape over his spectacles, his hands clasped on the desk before him.
A brief flash of hope welled up in the sallow-skinned man, and he wet his lips again, daring to think that perhaps this hadn't been in vain. "In-in return?" Severus' voice broke slightly, "Anything." And he meant it; anything, anything at all, even if it was impossible, he would do it, or he would die trying. But Lily would be safe. Dumbledore would protect her.
Severus looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom, his hair even more dishevelled than usual, his eyes wet with grief. The sheets were scrunched where he had pulled his fingers into tightly closed fists around them in moments of indescribable fury, which collapsed into stretches of seemingly limitless mourning. He felt like an empty shell, and the only thing keeping him alive (besides the fact that he had already tried and failed to will himself to die in his sleep), was the promise he had made to Dumbledore. He had joined the Order of the Phoenix, and his life was now dedicated to the protection of Lily Potter's son, Harry.
She was dead.
It didn't matter that he knew it was true, and it didn't matter that the pain of knowing it was true felt like it was killing him… it just didn't seem real. He wished that it wasn't. He prayed.
But none of his prayers had ever come true, he thought bitterly. When he was young, he had often sat in the corner of his bedroom, listening to his parents argue and yell, and prayed that they would stop, but they never did. All through his life he had prayed that Lily would requite his feelings, but she never did. He had prayed for Sirius Black and James Potter to just leave him be, but they never did. Why should this be any different?
He prayed relentlessly nonetheless.
Severus passed in and out of troubled sleep, nightmares of her that left him shaking and weeping, and dreams of her from which he awoke feeling cold and listless, having been ripped away from the warmth of her life, if only in his sleep. He would whisper her name into the darkness of his room, feeling the precious sound rolling off his dry lips, listening even after his voice had died out, hoping beyond hope that somehow she might answer him.
A voice somewhere in his head spoke, telling him that not even magic could raise someone from the dead.
"No," He murmured in agreement to the darkness, though privately, he knew that what magic failed to do, memories could… if only temporarily.
Ooc: Well, it's a little slow, but it's a start :) The dialogue between Dumbledore and Severus is taken from the book.
