For Which Soul Needed Kindness More? By WikedFae
Snapshots of four instances when a certain Severus Snape received comfort from his saviors; one when he didn't.
Beams of light shone down on the young figure, huddled and crouched in the corner of the small closet. His sniffles drowned around him, choked by the thick dust filtering through the air. Everything else was still...the same fog that kept sound in, repelled it as well. The shouts and clatter from downstairs died before they reached his delicate ears, causing an embrace of maddening silence.
His pale olive cheeks were smudged and streaked with grime and innocence. Translucent rivulets carved stark contrasts into the planes of his face. Wary eyes watched the closet door apprehensively, as he felt the floorboards bend beneath him from the force of footsteps summiting each stair. Curling into himself, he sent a silent plea that the person ascending was not the monster. With baited breath, he strained to hear where the figure would go next, and shook with terror as he felt his bedroom door bump against the doorstop directly next to his hiding place.
Seconds later, his cowering form was fully illuminated as a weakened angel nudged the closet door open. His eyes grazed her face, looking for lasting damage…some irreparable wound from her latest battle. Finding none, he launched himself into her waiting arms and let what remained of his tears splash across her blouse. His sniffled apologies fell on the deaf ears of his mother, for who would ever want their child to apologize for being born?
0-~-~-0
The forest glade resonated with the sounds of crickets in the early evening, and welcomed the remaining light from the golden sun. This midsummer's eve would have been the true picture of perfection, were it not for the lanky boy with stringy black hair, moodily throwing rocks into the trees, attempting to frighten the birds. His posture hinted at an undercurrent of anger, his face screamed of sadness and discontentment. A vicious throw too far to the left, left him fuming as he heard his last projectile splash and sink into the nearby creek. This momentary outburst quickly quelled as he turned his attention to breaking sticks. His fingers became red and blistered more with every twig and branch until a second set of hands stayed his destruction. Startled, he met the emerald gaze of the newcomer. Her entire being sparkled in the late light, from her wide, gem-like eyes, to the burnt copper strands cascading over her shoulders. Aware he could not give her what she deserved, he offered a grim smile in hopes that she would understand. Her eyes bored into him, the question, "Your father?" ever present.
His head hung in shame, he hid behind the raven black curtain swinging before his eyes. One single word slipped between his lips…"Bastard." Expecting that to be the end of this silent discussion, he defiantly tossed back his head and stared into the distance. The embrace startled him as he felt her arms strongly wrap around his torso. Regardless of his cursing the deity who had sent him this undeserved love, he allowed himself to hold her close in return, bury his face into her silky locks and give her a second gift: a tear. His darkened soul reveled in the brief glimpse of hope this love had alighted on, and his heart mourned for how brief this glimpse would be.
0-~-~-0
Cathedral ceilings loomed overhead, dwarfing the white-clad figures down below. Stillness permeated the room, seeping into every corner and every bed, including his. Blearily peering at the curtains drawn tight around his bed, he desperately tried to remember what disaster had passed the previous evening. Flashes of red eyes and fangs dripping of blood passed before his eyes, echoes of screams resounded in his ears, and the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. His stomach roiled violently, and he promptly rolled over, emptying its contents into the basin below his bed. As he shook and sweated from the effort to purge the experience from his body, his gaze landed on the white bandage, innocently covering his forearm. His eyes closed fatalistically, as the finality of the situation settled over him like a cloak of inevitability.
Hearing the curtain slide back, he scrambled upright in the bed, scooting as close to the headboard as possible before setting eyes on the unwanted company. A young matron came bustling in, her demeanor one of business, and yet also of gentle understanding. Feeling his Adam's apple lodge high in his throat, he understood the painful reality: she knew. Schooling his features into cool disregard, he slid under the covers and turned over, clearly indicating he was in no mood for talking. He was alive, and relatively unharmed, not taking into account his throbbing arm, and wanted his peace. Deciding it might be better if he completely ignored his matron, he feigned sleep while his sharp ears discerned her movement. It took half of his concentration and determination not to flinch as she sat down behind him and carefully examined the bandaged appendage. Silence reigned once she was finished and he prayed she would get up to leave. Instead, he was surprised when a cool, wet cloth was draped over his forehead and she meticulously wiped the sweat from his brow. He felt the kindness in her touch as her hand left the cloth and began a slow trace up and down his back.
"I'm sure you thought you had a good reason."
They were the only words of judgment she would ever speak to him, and he in return gave the first sign of his penance that no one would see, as the tear leaked down the crinkle in the corner of his eye and into the moist cloth.
0-~-~-0
Winds ripped mercilessly at the cragged hilltop as thunder clapped in the valley below and lightning forked across the ominous sky. The maelstrom above flashed in reflection in the wild eyes of the frantic young man darting back and forth across the small clearing. His eyes shone with madness and fear, the whites were bloodshot and the pupils were so wide, they melded seamlessly with the bistre irises. Strands of his soot black hair had adhered themselves to his pale façade, sticking in clumps, giving him a more deranged appearance. His solitude was silently disrupted with the appearance of a flamboyantly dressed man with grave features and deeply etched wrinkles. The figure peered at his former charge with distain and disappointment, but at the same time, his gaze did not eternally condemn.
"Has Tom finally driven you away? Or have you come of your own accord, Severus?"
The young man had the presence to look slightly ashamed and affronted simultaneously. "Of my own accord, Headmaster." He paused before continuing, "I…seem to have made an error of grievous proportions. I fear I have allied myself with a party whose wishes I cannot properly serve."
"And did you think I would simply allow you to cross over without evidence of a true shift of loyalty? What reason do I have to trust your statement?"
"For once in your life, will you listen to the plea of a soul not branded with a Gryffindor seal?! I am asking you to forget your blinders! This is not one of Black's "pranks" gone wrong, once again! I am demanding that you hear me out!" A spectacular roll of thunder culminated at the end of his outburst and the tension of the skies broke as the downpour finally started.
"Very well…you have my attention," the old wizard stated, glancing over his moon-shaped spectacles, his eyes filled with a century of wisdom and a spark of chastened innocence.
Hanging his head and closing his eyes, the Death Eater murmured, "I met her in battle and could not draw my wand…"
"Well, my boy, there may be hope for you, yet."
Snape's eyes snapped open in amazement as the first glimmer of hope blossomed in his heart from realization that his redeemer might find him worthy, regardless of his betrayal. My voice will finally be heard…he thought as tears pricked behind his eyes.
0-~-~-0
Moonlight bathed the Astronomy Tower with harsh light as the bells chimed midnight. The black-cloaked figure rooted at the edge of the wall emitted a diminished aura of defeat, clashing viciously in stark contrast to the scene. The hands gripping the parapets were faintly glowing in their paleness and the skin around the knuckles was taught under strain. Droplets splashed onto the stone between his fists and twinkled ingenuously against their drab background. How innocent those tears seem…he noted…when the circumstances bringing them are anything but…
Gentle breezes wafted upwards from the grounds to buffet against his stoic poise as he wept…alone. His angel had departed the world years ago, when she hadn't the strength left to fight. His healer had no balm to sooth this ache, for she was only versed in corporeal pain. His redeemer had already given him the second chance, and while it hadn't been in vain in those wrinkled eyes, he felt it had been a failure. And his love…his love was gone, torn from existence through his betrayal. He'd resigned himself to a life, watching her from afar…but now, the Dark Lord had unknowingly and cruelly destroyed the last glimmer of hope of a placated existence.
For the first time in his life, Severus Snape wept, abandoned and alone.
Fin
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Author Note: I felt that Dumbledore would never have acquiesced to listen to Snape so rapidly as was depicted in the scene in Deathly Hallows; this scene was written to take place after the prophecy was told to Voldemort, but prior to the plot to murder the Potters was revealed. At least this way, Dumbledore knew there was still good within Snape before the argument over saving Lily.