Hello! I felt like starting a second Snarry story, more serious than Papa, Who's Mama? But I hope you like it nonetheless. I'm sorry if it's a bit confusing. If you have any questions, comments or concerns feel free to message me, or if you're reviewing, place it in with your review. Nothing, except the plot, is mine. It's all property of J.K Rowling. Thank you very much for reading!
Picture Unperfect Chapter 1:
"Do you remember?" I inquire, my eyes glazed over with curiosity and…probably a tint of sadness? Yes, sadness would be there.
Your right black eyebrow arches, creating a ripple in that stern look this you always seems to be shrouded in. "Care to be more specific in your questions, Potter?"
I smirk. This you still has your voice. The voice that reminds me of winter. Pure, beautiful, white sound that is often mistaken for frozen and cold. "Do you remember?" I repeat again, my voice hiding my secret amusement with a neutral tone as I watch your mouth twitch, suppressing a hiss or snarl. Probably a snarl. This you tends not to hiss as much as you did.
"Potter, I can't answer such vague questions. It's childish to think I'd know specifically which of my memories I'm supposed to recall by simply repeating "Do you remember?" is it not?" This you fails at hiding anger, he can't have the neutrality you had strived so hard to achieve. He often reminds me of how you used to be. When our individual roads first collided and formed one. When your eyes couldn't see me clearly; fogged by old memories of someone who looked like me. I chuckle a bit. You were the one whom was in need of glasses back then, not me.
"What are you laughing at now?" He growls.
I look into the porcelain tea cup that's in my hands, idly stirring the brown tea leaves into the steaming, dyed light green water. I smile sadly, not looking at him. If I look at him my façade of neutrality will be broken, my eyes remorse would contradict my tone. And the eyes are the pathway into the soul- the pathway to truth. "He'd know." I whisper.
He paused for a minute. Thinking, probably. That's what you did whenever I said or asked something questionably small. You thought. Scanning carefully what little I said; searched the words to grasp the meaning beyond them. "I am not him." You stated clearly, almost completely matter-of-factly but with a splotch of something…sympathy?
I watch the brown tea leaves twirl, dancing in my cup. Slowly, they fall gently to the bottom. Tea leaves remind of me of my hope for this you. They started so strong, so powerful. Sympathy was not the something in his voice. It couldn't be. "I know."
"Potter, I'd prefer it if you looked at the person you're talking to." He snarled. "Have I taught you no manners over the years?"
I took in a breath and looked at him. My ivory eyes are met with a pair of onyx ones that stare me down, a snake staring down its prey, debating to leave or attack it. Your old eyes; that once haunted my nightmares.
'Slytherin to the core Severus.' I smile at the thought.
"Have I or haven't I? That was a question, in case your low functioning brain couldn't conclude that much. Questions are supposed to be answered." Your winter voice is blowing its frozen winds.
"Yes, Professor, you've taught me manners." I frown. I hate calling him 'Professor'. Your quick, sharp tongue had always made me feel young enough as it is. Regressing back to calling you 'Professor' makes me feel as though I never even graduated from the establishment in which I now am employed.
"Then please make sure they are intact before entering my domain." He stated icily before sipping his black green tea.
"Yes, Professor." I regained my neutral posture in the silence that followed. This you has a different way of approaching these meetings. They still happen once every week, like when I met with you. But the aura around the meetings has changed completely. The meetings with you were warm. Not quite kind, you wouldn't allow kind unless absolutely necessary. But warm, comforting…simple. It seems meetings with him are so complex. Nothing can ever be warm or comforting with him because you banned yourself of such emotions when you transformed.
'Why, Severus? Why can't we be warm, comforting and simple like we used to be?'
Just one of the many questions you left me to answer before you left me with this you. Often, I wonder if I'm supposed to find the answers to the questions. Like a quiz of sorts, or possibly a riddle. If I answered all of the questions correctly, I'd get an 'A'. Maybe if I get an 'A', I could receive a prize. I'd ask to have one meeting with you. One completely honest meeting with you. I'd be happy if just once you let this you subside, and let things be like it used to be. Just once, is all I ask for.
'But you wouldn't allow that would you, Severus?' I look at you as your sipping your tea, as if to ask you telepathically.
"What is it, Potter?" He looks up at me. My eyes almost widen. Almost.
I look at the right stonewall of the dungeons. In the center of two onyx and dark green tapestries lies a silver snake and in his mouth, in between the fangs, lies a timepiece.
"It's getting late, Professor. That's all." I say dismissively.
His black eyebrows arch for the second time this evening. His head turns to the timepiece and he nods before turning his head back to me.
"So it is. We have classes tomorrow yes, Potter?" I nod and he gets up from your black leather chair and crosses the room over to me. I raise an eyebrow. He stretches out his hand.
"Oh no, I've got it, Professor." I shake my head softly, grab the porcelain teacup from his hands before taking my own. He watches as I cross his domain into the small kitchen located to the left of the sitting room. I catch a peculiar look on his face from the corner of my eye. For a minute it looks like your face. Uneasy? I shrug it off and wash the teacups by hand quickly before putting them on the wooden rack.
"I'll never comprehend why a wizard like yourself insist on doing chores manually. Surely you aren't that incapable that you don't know the simple cleaning spells?" I jump and quickly turn around to the sound of your slightly amused voice. Your face holds its normal stern position, his eyes clouded. Blocked as usual. But I'm slowly getting used to his version of your playfully teasing.
I laugh, a grin plastered to my face. "Old habits die hard." I shrug, nonchalant and reach for a towel, drying my hands.
"Insist upon what you insist upon." He rolls your eyes and resumes his place in the sitting room. I smile more. Typical Severus.
I spend a few more moments cleaning up the kitchen, before stepping into the sitting room and looking at the clock once more. I look at him. He looks like you, sitting in your chair and reading a book about potions. Sometimes I can honestly fool myself into thinking this version of you is you. I allow myself one last glance before crossing the room to the large, wooden door.
I turn my head "Goodnight, Professor."
"You never told me what I was supposed to be recalling, Potter." He says neutrally from over his book.
"Harry."
He looked up from his book, and for the third time his black eyebrows were arched questioningly. "What was that, Potter?"
"Harry." I mumble. "Do you remember when you called me Harry?"
I don't wait for an answer. I open the large, wooden door with the bronze handle and cross the various stone corridors. Sometimes, I can honestly fool myself into thinking this version o you is you. But you wouldn't allow that would you, Severus?
Thank you very much for reading! :D Tell me if you have any questions or such, especially if you don't understand certain things.
- Rising Nightengale
