Disclaimer: Severus Snape, Lord Voldemort and Dumbledore belong to JK Rowling. 'The Snake' belongs to the great poet D.H Lawrence. And Professor Asclepius belongs to me (wow....I actually have owned a character for once...)
A/N: This one of two stories based on choices and memories from two of our favourite Slytherins, Snape and Draco. This first story is Snape's. It's set when he was still a Death Eater. He's on holiday in Sicily for the summer, and Dumbledore has just offered him a chance to redeem himself. I think I made him a bit OOC in this, forgive me. Depending on reviews, I might revise it. For an excellent analysis of 'The Snake' and its underlying meanings, visit this website: http://home.earthlink.net/~rudedog2/snake.htm and don't forget to review my story!
'The Snake'
It was 9:00 in the morning when Severus Snape awoke to the stifling heat. It was not like him to be up so late, but it being mid-July in Sicily, Severus felt no need to be up and about earlier than eight. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, slipped on a dressing robe, and ventured outside.
He was currently renting a villa in the Sicilian countryside, in the shadow of a smoking Mount Etna. Despite the picturesque environment, he found it hard to think about relaxing. He had inadvertantly walked into the crossroads of his life. Currently, he was Severus Snape, Death Eater and loyal supporter or Lord Voldemort, perhaps the most powerful wizard of the age. But his guilt was growing. At 25, not only was he feeling severe guilt for the terror that his master wrecked across Europe, but also felt he was wasting his life away. His late father had always suggested that his son should follow his interests, but ambition always overruled them. At school, he was the finest Potions student there ever was. That was what his teacher and house head, Professor Asclepius had said. Unfortunately, he was dead now. A Death Eater like Severus, he'd poisoned himself that year, his guilt and sins killing him.
Severus found out through the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, that Professor Asclepius had wanted him to take over the job as the Head of Slytherin and Potions Master, also well aware of his excellent ability.
That was a week ago. He had until the end of July to think it out. It was a harder decision than most thought. In asking Severus to teach at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had also asked him to leave Voldemort and join forces with the good side. But, as Professor Asclepius had said, once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. The mark on his arm would always burn whenever the Dark Lord required him, no matter what. How would this affect his work?
But no matter, all he needed now was a drink of water. And the only place to get it was from the water trough at the side of the villa. He stepped outside, squinting against the bright sunlight in his eyes and made his way over to it, a porcelain jug in hand.
Upon reaching it, he found he was beaten to it. Slithering elegantly around it was a snake, with black scales and a gold underbelly. At first, Severus wondered whether the Dark Lord had sent a spy to ensure that his servant was not doing anything disloyal. But two facts dispelled this. It was common fact that Voldemort sent only black and green snakes as his spies. Secondly, it was now drinking from the trough, obviously only in need of revitalisation for the warm day ahead. He put his jug down and watched with interest as it drank, its scales shining in the sun. It lifted its head and turned to look at Severus. The way it looked at him made him shudder. There was no way it could be an animagus, he thought, as it flickered its tongue at him, trying to gain some sort of inkling of who this stranger was. It then returned to its silent drinking. Perhaps it was a sign. The Snake, being partly black was not only a symbol of Voldemort, but also of the light side, being gold on the other. His mind told him to kill the creature, say goodbye to dark side of his past, to begin a new life. But he found himself honoured too. A snake, the symbol of Slytherin house, a house with a history of producing outstandingly ambitious and powerful wizards. A house that he could head with pride.
The snake continued to drink at the trough another minute, then, as if sensing the tension in the air, moved away from the trough, to the Ivy covered stone wall that surrounded the whole villa. It was heading for a small crevice in the wall that was just big enough for it to go through. As it moved quickly, Severus fretted over what to do.
Kill it or leave it?
It began to slither into the wall. Finally, on impulse, Severus seized his porcelain jug and hurled it at the reptile as it went through. The jug shattered and one shard on porcelain suceeded in cutting off the end of the snakes tail, leaving bloodstains and a short, writhing line of scales. Guilt and regret immediately crossed his mind. How dare he. Trying to kill an innocent creature? He wished it would come back, grant his forgiveness. What was he thinking?
Severus forgot about the water and shakily sat down on the stairs of the villa. Hot tears stung his eyes and for the first time in many years, he began to cry. Cry for his losses, cry for his sins. His tears exhausted him to the point where he ended up asleep on the steps. It was midday when he woke up. Opening his tired eyes, he spied something on bottom of the stairs. Still groggy, he stumbled down and picked it up. It was a snake skin, recently shedded by the looks of it. But it was a most peculiar one. Unlike other skins, which were normally sheer, this one was black. Then, he heard a slight hiss. It was the snake he'd seen before, except now, it had turned the most wonderful, pure shade of gold in colour. It hissed at Severus and slunk away.Severus was astonished And it was then what he knew what he must do. Returning to the water trough, he cleaned his face, then returned inside, took a quill and parchment and began to write.
Dear Professor.....
*************************
'The Snake' By D.H Lawrence
A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
* * *
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before me.
* * *
He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough*
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.
* * *
Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second-comer, waiting.
* * *
He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
* * *
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.
* * *
And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.
* * *
But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?
* * *
Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?
Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?
Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.
* * *
And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would kill him!
* * *
And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,
But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.
* * *
He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.
* * *
And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.
* * *
I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.
* * *
I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste,
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.
* * *
And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.
* * *
And I thought of the albatross,
And I wished he would come back, my snake.
* * *
For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.
* * *
And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.
A/N: This one of two stories based on choices and memories from two of our favourite Slytherins, Snape and Draco. This first story is Snape's. It's set when he was still a Death Eater. He's on holiday in Sicily for the summer, and Dumbledore has just offered him a chance to redeem himself. I think I made him a bit OOC in this, forgive me. Depending on reviews, I might revise it. For an excellent analysis of 'The Snake' and its underlying meanings, visit this website: http://home.earthlink.net/~rudedog2/snake.htm and don't forget to review my story!
'The Snake'
It was 9:00 in the morning when Severus Snape awoke to the stifling heat. It was not like him to be up so late, but it being mid-July in Sicily, Severus felt no need to be up and about earlier than eight. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, slipped on a dressing robe, and ventured outside.
He was currently renting a villa in the Sicilian countryside, in the shadow of a smoking Mount Etna. Despite the picturesque environment, he found it hard to think about relaxing. He had inadvertantly walked into the crossroads of his life. Currently, he was Severus Snape, Death Eater and loyal supporter or Lord Voldemort, perhaps the most powerful wizard of the age. But his guilt was growing. At 25, not only was he feeling severe guilt for the terror that his master wrecked across Europe, but also felt he was wasting his life away. His late father had always suggested that his son should follow his interests, but ambition always overruled them. At school, he was the finest Potions student there ever was. That was what his teacher and house head, Professor Asclepius had said. Unfortunately, he was dead now. A Death Eater like Severus, he'd poisoned himself that year, his guilt and sins killing him.
Severus found out through the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, that Professor Asclepius had wanted him to take over the job as the Head of Slytherin and Potions Master, also well aware of his excellent ability.
That was a week ago. He had until the end of July to think it out. It was a harder decision than most thought. In asking Severus to teach at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had also asked him to leave Voldemort and join forces with the good side. But, as Professor Asclepius had said, once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. The mark on his arm would always burn whenever the Dark Lord required him, no matter what. How would this affect his work?
But no matter, all he needed now was a drink of water. And the only place to get it was from the water trough at the side of the villa. He stepped outside, squinting against the bright sunlight in his eyes and made his way over to it, a porcelain jug in hand.
Upon reaching it, he found he was beaten to it. Slithering elegantly around it was a snake, with black scales and a gold underbelly. At first, Severus wondered whether the Dark Lord had sent a spy to ensure that his servant was not doing anything disloyal. But two facts dispelled this. It was common fact that Voldemort sent only black and green snakes as his spies. Secondly, it was now drinking from the trough, obviously only in need of revitalisation for the warm day ahead. He put his jug down and watched with interest as it drank, its scales shining in the sun. It lifted its head and turned to look at Severus. The way it looked at him made him shudder. There was no way it could be an animagus, he thought, as it flickered its tongue at him, trying to gain some sort of inkling of who this stranger was. It then returned to its silent drinking. Perhaps it was a sign. The Snake, being partly black was not only a symbol of Voldemort, but also of the light side, being gold on the other. His mind told him to kill the creature, say goodbye to dark side of his past, to begin a new life. But he found himself honoured too. A snake, the symbol of Slytherin house, a house with a history of producing outstandingly ambitious and powerful wizards. A house that he could head with pride.
The snake continued to drink at the trough another minute, then, as if sensing the tension in the air, moved away from the trough, to the Ivy covered stone wall that surrounded the whole villa. It was heading for a small crevice in the wall that was just big enough for it to go through. As it moved quickly, Severus fretted over what to do.
Kill it or leave it?
It began to slither into the wall. Finally, on impulse, Severus seized his porcelain jug and hurled it at the reptile as it went through. The jug shattered and one shard on porcelain suceeded in cutting off the end of the snakes tail, leaving bloodstains and a short, writhing line of scales. Guilt and regret immediately crossed his mind. How dare he. Trying to kill an innocent creature? He wished it would come back, grant his forgiveness. What was he thinking?
Severus forgot about the water and shakily sat down on the stairs of the villa. Hot tears stung his eyes and for the first time in many years, he began to cry. Cry for his losses, cry for his sins. His tears exhausted him to the point where he ended up asleep on the steps. It was midday when he woke up. Opening his tired eyes, he spied something on bottom of the stairs. Still groggy, he stumbled down and picked it up. It was a snake skin, recently shedded by the looks of it. But it was a most peculiar one. Unlike other skins, which were normally sheer, this one was black. Then, he heard a slight hiss. It was the snake he'd seen before, except now, it had turned the most wonderful, pure shade of gold in colour. It hissed at Severus and slunk away.Severus was astonished And it was then what he knew what he must do. Returning to the water trough, he cleaned his face, then returned inside, took a quill and parchment and began to write.
Dear Professor.....
*************************
'The Snake' By D.H Lawrence
A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
* * *
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before me.
* * *
He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough*
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.
* * *
Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second-comer, waiting.
* * *
He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
* * *
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.
* * *
And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.
* * *
But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?
* * *
Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?
Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?
Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.
* * *
And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would kill him!
* * *
And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,
But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.
* * *
He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.
* * *
And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.
* * *
I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.
* * *
I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste,
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.
* * *
And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.
* * *
And I thought of the albatross,
And I wished he would come back, my snake.
* * *
For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.
* * *
And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.