Silent Night
The icy air felt wonderful, he thought, even though he'd stepped outside without a cloak. It was fresh, for once; the factories had taken a break from belching their disgusting byproducts into the air. In addition, snow had begun to fall an hour or so ago, bringing a pristine freshness to the grimy industrial town – a freshness that could only be achieved by completely obliterating the scarred landscape.
Snape allowed himself this moment every night, this brief respite from Bellatrix' insane pronouncements and Wormtail's obsequious toadying. It was difficult enough, to put up with the lot of them, but those two in particular grated on his nerves until they were bloody and raw. Even if he hadn't seen behind Voldemort's bluster years earlier, one look at the Dark Lord's followers should have been enough to make him run for the hills.
Too bad he didn't have the good sense to do so.
Severus despised the avalanche of false sentiment that came with the Christmas holidays. If someone was despicable eleven months out of the year, what sane person would think that one brief, yearly period could change all that? What peace on earth? What good will toward men? The backstabbing, the prejudice, the hatred – they were all year-round events on Snape's calendar. Along with the absurdity of New Year's and its message of fresh starts and new beginnings, he found this period almost impossible to navigate without wanting to vomit on an ongoing basis.
The faint sound of music caught his attention then, as a group of Christmas carolers turned onto the next street and began singing of a silent and holy night. Snape smirked in the darkness, thinking that their voices were best-suited for the shower and not for public display. At least the enchantments placed on the house on Spinner's End would keep the carolers well away from his block.
"All is calm, all is bright…"
Was it calm? The hapless Muggles had no clue, of course. Should the Order fail, all hell would break loose, and Muggles up and down the length of Britain would be running for their very lives.
Was it bright? Well, yes; there was almost a full moon, and Snape decided that Lupin the Werewolf would be spending his Christmas Eve huddled into a furry ball somewhere.
More than anything since that fateful night on the Astronomy Tower, Severus had felt disorientation at a time he could least afford it. For so many years he had juggled identity and purpose, that to suddenly be relegated to one side only left him bored and tense. Before than night, he'd been able to act convincingly in front of Voldemort only because he knew that Dumbledore waited on the other end. This business of worshipping Voldemort day in and day out without a break was wearing, and had the consequences not been so fearful, Snape felt that one day as he knelt in front of the Dark Lord, he might start laughing and never stop.
"Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace."
And more than anything, he missed Albus. The man who had trusted him. The only one to ever give him second chance. The nearest thing to a loving father that Severus had ever known.
The man who'd insisted that when the worst came to the worst, Snape be the one to lift his wand and perform the dreaded spell.
And I agreed to do it.
If anyone was resting in heavenly peace, it was Albus Dumbledore – provided that he could keep from meddling by means of the office portrait, of course.
Time to go in. Severus swiped at his damp cheek and prepared to go back inside.
