One-way Wall
Hermione's love for a man who is only living for death
I could reach out to touch him, call his name, and even run my fingers through his hair. But it's as if he were behind a wall, for in all these things he would never take notice. The wall is only one-way, for each breath he breathes and each tear he refuses to shed, each lonely thought and each painful step, these affect me as strongly as the waves affect the shoreline, slowly tearing away my defenses until I am nothing.
This man is one I barely know, for his existence I've had to guess at from his shadow. He's long ago given up living life for himself, and so his qualities are memories of what they once were. His wit is in the sarcastic comments he so often makes, which would be funny if his voice had any mirth. His mind is second, in his ability to solve puzzles, and to somehow have survived, even after all his years as a spy. But finally is his passion, the very reason he has now forgotten himself and lives for her. Her, she who had ignored his pleas for forgiveness, who had both raised him out of his dark existence and then thrust him back, deeper. I've learned to hate her, because she stole this man by refusing the friendship that had been keeping him alive, and then taunted him by marrying his torturer.
But enough of her, because she is not worth any more words, except to say that she stole the very man I've come to love. For yes, I have come to love him through the years, even as I know so little about him. The first time I considered him as more than a malevolent force in the castle was when I escorted a student to his office and beheld the sheer amount of books kept therein. To my friends, the importance of this revelation would be obvious, and indeed to any who have so much as made my acquaintance. When I laid eyes on the dusty tomes, I could scarcely recall the reason I'd come. The poor student was left in the doorway as I gravitated toward the shelves and began looking through the titles. What an amazing collection!
When I heard a door shut I turned about quickly, the guilty child caught reaching for the cookie jar. He, who now has my heart, simply raised an eyebrow at me before turning to the student. I tore myself from the books, giving the poor child an apologetic glance, and then waited at the side of the room while my fellow professor spoke. Although I'm sure my outward expression was perfectly calm, inwardly I was reeling. How had I never noticed the presence of a fellow knowledge lover within the same castle? Afterwards, I returned the student to his common room and returned to my quarters still slightly dazed. Before I fell asleep, I resolved to hereafter pay more attention to the potions professor who I'd only recently recognized as human.
Pay attention I did, and that was how I recognized his wit. If one were to actually listen to what he said it would have been obvious, but no one really ever listened to him, because his words generally boiled down to some insult. I listened, and would have laughed many times had he any humor in his tone. Instead, I nearly found myself in tears because words which should have been comical were said with such a tone of uncaring, as if they were only observations of a world to which he had no belonging. These were words that tore my heart, because they were from a man who had given up on life.
Once I tried to pull him into conversation, bringing up a potions article that had been under heated dispute since its publishing. From my school days when Harry had found the Half-blood Prince's potions book, I knew that Severus had a passion for potions that was completed by a natural understanding of the subject. I sat down and pulled the article from my bag, fully intending to ask him his opinion. However, the moment I opened my mouth to speak he gathered the papers he'd been grading and left without a word.
I left the article on the table thinking that perhaps he might at least look at it. The next day when I returned, I saw Severus sitting over it with a quill, face only inches from the page. A huge grin grew across my face. Gotcha! He began to scribble in the margin, certainly some acerbic comment on the opening line, but then paused for a moment before covering his eyes with his hand. Eventually, he shook his head and returned to marking. I nearly cried out at the wrongness of it! Here was someone who obviously loved potions, and yet wouldn't even allow himself the pleasure of reading a thought-provoking article. I waited a little before walking in, and then sat to mark papers of my own. The time was passed in silence, and he eventually left. When he had gone, I looked over at the article to see what he had written. As I had thought, it was some insult toward the author. However, within the insult was a perspective on the article that I hadn't even considered, and all this from less than a minute of reading. Who was this man I professed to know?
The first and only insight I've had into his past was from the night Voldemort died, when Harry saw Severus's memories. Harry had quickly explained all he knew of our former professor, believing that Severus had died and wouldn't be around to want to keep his secrets. What neither of the boys knew at the time was that I had used the last of my dittany on Severus's wound before we left. I wasn't sure why I did it, except that I'd thought no person should have to die alone in such a horrible way. But once Harry revealed the man's past, I realized my mistake. Severus had wanted to die, and I had denied him that.
Afterwards, he had accepted the position of potions professor without much argument. It seemed as if he was waiting for his life to end, and everything between then and now was just filler. As for me, I took on the position of transfiguration as a favor after Minerva became headmistress, and eventually took on head of Gryffindor house. The boys went on to auror training. Ron and I stopped dating, finding that a long distance relationship with no end in sight wouldn't work. Meanwhile, Harry married Ginny. It's been almost ten years since the battle; ten years that have both gone by quickly and seem to have made up an entire lifetime.
And ten years in which I've had time to study him. You see, I had no intention of this unrequited love, which it most certainly is. At first, it was just an attempt to figure out Severus Snape, an attempt triggered by the sighting of his book collection. With thought and time I worked out what I knew of him, which I explained above as his three main traits. As I made the attempt to understand him, I grew to admire him, and that admiration turned into love.
I hope you realize that I have no delusions. I can be no heroine, destined to save the day and give him the love he's so long been without. Oh, I have dreams and imaginings, but I recognize their futility. I will never be able to run my hands through his hair, to sit with him by the fire as we read, to have intellectual debates about recent articles, to hold him close, to tell him I love him, to kiss him softly and tell him that he is a good person, that he is worth loving. You see how low I set my sights! I don't even wish for his love in return, only that he might allow me to love him.
But, he is on the other side of that one-way wall that he has constructed for himself. He is a man waiting for death, with his eyes set only on someone who isn't worthy of his love. There is nothing left in him to accept love, let alone to offer any. He has been broken by this world, and no longer trusts any chance at happiness it might offer.
And so I do what I can: I offer whatever comfort I can give him, be it the comfier chair or a small smile. And even with his wall, I hope these kindnesses get through and offer some consolation to his soul. I'm alright with this arrangement, however dismal it is. For the simple fact is, I love him. Perhaps, even if it doesn't make him want to live, it will make his life bearable.
A/N: This is based on a dream I had last night, wherein Snape had taken a potion to petrify himself beside Lily's grave. The sad part for us S.S. fans is that we want to make him happy and often do so within fics, whether through HGSS or others, but the reality is that he didn't want to be saved. I think this is something we all have to accept at some point: that Severus, in his last moments, was happy because he had fulfilled his vow to Lily and was about to see her in his afterlife. It seems wrong to us that Severus could be so happy when dying in such a horrible way, after living a miserable life with no concrete redemption. But he never was an easy character to understand, was he?