Disclaimer : I don't own anything (unless I'm JKR but have forgotten it).
I would like to thank Lady Whitehart who has accepted to beta-read this fic. Any remaining error is mine.
I wish
None of this is worth the poison that flows
From your eyes, your green eyes,
Lakes where my soul shakes and sees itself inverted…
My dreams come in mass
To quench their thirst in these bitter abysses.
Charles Baudelaire, "The Poison", in The Flowers of Evil, 1857.
Severus knew he shouldn't go there. It was silly. He knew perfectly well what his heart's desire was and he was certain it could never be real. What was the point of inflicting more pain on himself? However, an irresistible force drove him to step up to the Mirror.
It had been years since he had the opportunity to see Lily's smile. Under the influence of despite and hurt, he had gotten rid of every photo he had of her during the summer after their fifth year. At that moment, he had felt very proud of himself: his act of destruction had been proof enough that he hadn't needed the friendship of that conceited little Mudblood, that she hadn't been anything to him! The illusion hadn't lasted long.
After their departure from school, he never saw her again. He had heard she had been actively fighting against his Master and had often taken part in the frequent combats between the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix, but he hadn't encountered her. It had been a good thing: even in the days when his engagement was most ardent, he wouldn't had been able to directly strike out at her. It had eventually been made clear: Lily's life was more important to him than anything else.
He had been partially responsible for her death and couldn't bear reading the touching accounts published in the newspapers in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's fall. Seeing her happy and alive with Potter – damned be his name – on the lying pictures along the insert had revolted him. He had even not thought about keeping one of these photos.
For thirteen years, she had been a mere memory for him, and for fifteen years, he hadn't looked at her in the face. He could have described it very precisely however. Nothing was as clear in his mind as the smiling pretty face of Lily Evans.
Your memory in me shines like a monstrance.
Young Potter's arrival – damned be his name – had shattered him. The boy was a mirror image of his despicable father, except the eyes, of course. Every time this disagreeable little dunderhead directed them at his Potion's Professor, they were full of arrogance, disdain or hate. Severus believed himself taken back at a particularly difficult time of his existence. His last school years at Hogwarts had been awful: torn apart between his honour, which commanded him to forget Lily, and his heart, which broke again every time he saw her laughing with Potter – damned be his name –, he had only survived by taking refuge in his dangerous passion for the Dark Arts.
Therefore, one evening, as he passed again for the umpteenth time the room where Dumbledore was keeping the Mirror of Erised for the moment, Severus gave in to temptation. He couldn't forbid himself a last friendly look from Lily.
He stood before the Mirror without looking up, hesitating yet a bit. Taking a deep breath, he stared at the deceptive glace and let himself be swept away by an intensive stream of contrary feelings.
She was there, wearing a white summer dress, which was shining in the sun. Her hair took various shades in the changing light. Its beautiful dark colour was glowing, it seemed to dance in the wind. She was bare foot in the grass and bore a quite childish expression. Her smile was sadder and sweeter than it had been. She was graceful and elegant in her thirties. By Merlin, how stunning she was!
She had in her hand a white rose and stood near a strange monument of black marble. Kneeing, she placed the flower on it. A tear ran down her pretty pink cheek, but her smile, full of goodness and kindness, came back quickly. She gently caressed the cold stone, as she would have caressed a sick child's front. She sat up a little and finally looked through the Mirror, at the grim reality to which she didn't belong anymore.
Severus, totally still, couldn't express any emotion; it was always like that when he was moved to his deepest core. Only his tears betrayed him. For the first time in an eternity, he was crying. There wasn't any sob, of course, and he was perfectly quiet: Tobias Snape didn't like snivelling little boys and his son had learnt very young to never show what he was feeling.
He held Lily's look for a while. He would have gladly drowned in her eyes, her beautiful green eyes, which were finally again tender to him. She was smiling at him, she had forgiven him. He began to shiver, unable to bear this chimerical dream longer.
He closed his eyelids and tried to pull himself together. She was dead! Dead! He had killed her himself, it was his fault and only his if the Dark Lord had strike out at her. He should not believe they could still reconcile. It was too late.
He let slip a dull moan. What pain he was suffering from this heavenly vision!
When he opened his eyes again, he refused to look at her. He should not let himself be trapped in this sweet lying image. Naturally, he focused on the marble construction, suddenly curious: what kind of monument could belong to his heart's desire?
Said heart skipped a beat. It was completely obvious but really, he had not expected it. On the dark stone, he could read a silver lettered inscription:
Severus Snape
January 9th 1960 – October 31st 1981
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
Severus stood up brusquely and ran to the room's door. He couldn't bear it any longer. He ran at top speed along the corridors and down the stairs, never worrying about possible encounters. He went into his quarters and rushed towards a little cupboard in which he kept some strong beverage. He could barely – so much his hands were shaking – serve himself a full glass of Firewhisky and he gulped it down, before he let himself fall in one of the armchairs before the hearth.
Then, he sighed deeply.
He had prepared himself to see Lily again during the long weeks when he thought about giving in to the call of the Mirror. He had anticipated the joy and the pain that would bring to him. The reality had been harder than thought, without a doubt. But what was shocking was the fact that, even after all this years, his heart's deepest desire was still to offer his existence in exchange of the life of his only friend.
If only… if only he could have died in her place! Had he been there, he would have come between and his sacrifice would have saved Lily, just as, in reality, Lily's death had saved this stupid young Potter – damned be his name. If only…
Head in hands, prostrate, he was in an awful mood. His regrets, his remorse and his grief were obsessing him, he couldn't think anything rational.
He need hours before he had again control on himself. He had been right when he was hesitating: he shouldn't have gone there. It was silly.
The morning after, Harry Potter – damned be his name – endured one of the worst potions classes in all his school years.
The inspiration for this fic is, obviously, this quote from Snape: "I wish… I wish I were dead…" (J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, 2007).
Since I'm French, I've put some Baudelaire's verses in my fiction, because he's one of the greatest French poets and I love his work, but I'm afraid my translation isn't very worthy.
"Your memory in me shines like a monstrance": Charles Baudelaire, "Evening Harmony", in The Flowers of Evil, 1857. A monstrance is a Catholic liturgical object (often in the shape of the sun) in which the priest put the Host for prayer and adoration.
"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends": John 15, 13 (King James' version).
This is my first English fan fiction and I'd love to know what you think about it!
