Hi, guys, thanks for reading! I really appreciate it.
Also, a HUGE thank you to Qoheleth, who pointed out that the quote in the previous chapter was not legitimate. That will be fixed shortly.
So…Enjoy!
*I have edited this chapter due to the fact that is is too rushed and contains a number of cringe-worthy errors. :(
I have also accidentally deleted and then reposted this chapter, which makes it (sadly) not an update.
BUT IT IS FIXED! HUZZAH! :D
A new chapter is in the works, so...yep. Stay tuned!
Chapter Two
Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.
-Bernard M. Baruch
August 1996
Severus
My face is impassive as I stare at Dumbledore. He looks back at me, eyes betraying his good mood. I, however, have no time for mind games today.
"What is it, Albus?" I snap.
"We have—ah—found a new teacher." He grins, almost arrogantly.
"For Defense, I assume." It is not surprising. Every year, the same meeting, every year, the same disappointment, dulled with time and experience.
He does not answer, choosing to simply smile back at me. I have had this conversation countless times. I know how it begins. I certainly know how it ends. He does not have to rub it in.
"No," he murmurs, pausing, hesitant, almost. "Potions."
My bowed head snaps up. "I don't believe I have heard you clearly."
"I have hired a new Potions Professor."
"Really? Then what will become of me?"
"I had thought that you would not ask," Dumbledore raises his eyebrows. "What do you think, Severus?"
"Seriously, Albus? After all these years? Why?" The last word is close to a snarl, a hard ball of anger and confusion. There is simply no reason, none at all, for so many rejects followed finally by this one...what would you call it? Acceptance?
Unsurprisingly, he remains calm. "Isn't this what you wanted?" He has a way of directing questions back at you, a way of leaving you stuttering and tongue-tied.
"Yes. Thank you." But I am not much more thankful than I am confused. This is simply...weird, no doubt about it.
"But I must ask a favor of you, Severus..."
Of course. No gift comes without a price. "Anything," I say, because it is the only way to respond.
I shouldn't have agreed.
My next hour is spent listening, and regretting.
I am required to kill him. But I do not know if I really can.
Promises are really made to be broken, after all.
At the end, I stand up to leave, but when I reach the door, I turn back.
"The new teacher. Who?" I am not expecting anyone important, or that I know of.
"Wilder. Roth Wilder." Dumbledore says. I gaze dumbly at him. Then, finding no words, I nod and rush out the door.
Walking down the spiral staircase, I can hardly feel my body. Roth Wilder…she was my best friend…but also something more. I thought that we, of all people, would get a happily ever after, but I was a coward. I ran away. Joined the Death Eaters. She had no words when I told her. We haven't spoken since. Even now, I don't know what to say to her. I doubt she has anything to say to me.
For the first time, I don't know where I'm going. I wander the castle for hours, meandering into dusty hallways and forgotten classrooms. My feet lead me up and down staircases hidden deep in the bowels of the castle. Here, the walls are grimy with neglect, and the ceiling drips, creating gloomy black puddles on the dirty grey floor. Soon my shoes are as wet as the ground beneath me, but the hall goes on. I find myself thinking about Roth—someone who I believed I'd never see again. I'm not sure if that is good or bad.
We met on the first day of school. I had boarded that huge scarlet engine hopeful, but yet unsure. Lily was with me, flushed with an excitement only eleven-year-olds could ever possess, talking nervously about her hopes for the coming seven years. We settled down in a relatively quiet area of the train, unaware of any other passengers. It had been only two minutes before Roth untucked herself from the corner she was hiding in and introduced herself. And just like that, the three of us clicked. We were friends, best mates. And although we all belonged to relatively different groups—mine being nonexistent, we had still found time for each other.
Then fifth year came. Lily and I…we…you know what happened. Nothing Roth or I could do helped, and that was the beginning of the end. I recall thinking that I was lucky to still have her, to still have Roth as a friend. She never judgmental, and I was so, so thankful for that. For two years, she was my best friend, my only friend. And I loved her. Maybe too much. Maybe in all the wrong ways. She was so good to me. Me, a dark, moody, dissatisfied teenager. Roth made me happy, kept me alive even when I was being bullied every day.
But I turned my back on her and joined Voldemort. I felt like I belonged. After all, what seemed like my whole House was going. I should've known better. She was a Slytherin, too.
The night before I revealed my crooked path to her, I took her innocence and stole her heart. To be honest, she captured mine as well. I had thought that it would all work out. But I was young, naïve. How could I have been so blind? It was never meant to be. I had gotten in too deep with the Death Eaters, a group she was so firmly against. There is no happy ending. I wish there was.
A week later, we graduated. My two…friends…did not even say goodbye. Lily, I never spoke with again. And Roth? Perhaps, if I'm lucky, sometime in the future.
But true to my house, I'm afraid. Afraid of the words we do not have, of the sentences and paragraphs that have since become empty, awkward silences. I'd much rather keep away from Roth if it means not ever realizing that our friendship is irreparable. It probably is.
Warm. The air is warm. So different from the iciness I had been breathing just moments before. I look around, curious as to where my seemingly brief flashback has taken me. I'm walking up a flight of too-steep stairs, but yet it all feels familiar. I reach out to glide my hands over the smooth cool stones making up the wall, and that's when it hits me. The Astronomy Tower. My—no, our favourite spot years and years ago. I have not returned since graduation. Delving in the past has brought me here, a place of what I had thought were good memories, but now are too painful to even think of. It's a broken, hollow place for me.
Still, I trudge on. Maybe revisiting my figurative past will…I don't know. What could this do for me? This is stupid, I am stupid. Nothing will ever come from this place.
But I can't stop. I keep walking up, up, up. When I see a small spot of light ahead of me, it is all I can do to keep from running.
And then I'm out, fresh air swirling around me. It hasn't changed in the slightest since I was a student. The top of the tower is nothing more than a circular platform with stations for the pupils and their brassy bronze telescopes. It's windy up here. It always is. My hair whips around, obscuring my vision. I brush it aside, but it returns, stray strands getting into my mouth, poking into my eyes. I make my way to the edge, climb up on one of the ledges, content to enjoy the sunset on my own, just this once. The wind has stopped blowing.
"Severus Snape." The melodic voice that calls out is not mine. It's hers. I have not heard that voice in nearly two decades. I've missed it.
"I've been looking for you, you know." Roth is calm, quiet, even when there should have been so much rage and anger. I know that I deserve it.
"You—you have?" I don't know what I could possibly say after our history together. My head snaps to my right, and seeing nothing, I turn to my left. I don't know how I could've missed her before. I look at her, and she stares right back at me. Roth has aged incredibly well. I could've been convinced that time has stood still for eighteen years, clocks frozen in between seconds, weeks never ending. Her big Caribbean-blue eyes sparkle in the fading light, and a faint frosting of freckles still dust the bridge of her straight nose. There are no wrinkles, no worry lines. Her cheeks are pink even though it isn't cold. Those pink, pink lips almost curve in a smile. Instead, they flatten themselves into a thin line. A waterfall of wavy black hair frames her high cheekbones, her pointed chin. This is the only indication that anything has happened. The last time I had seen her, those raven locks had been chopped short and feathery, brushing against her chin, a gentle caress.
And then I notice the scars. Several fading on her neck, some fresh, new, and pink on what I can see of her chest. She holds too many in her hands, unwanted prizes from innumerable battles. There are probably more. It hurts, no, burns, to think of her pain.
I realize that I must still love her.
They say that you can feel a lover's wounds.
But we, we are not lovers. We never were.
One-night stands don't count.
Wish they did.
I do not hear what she says next, and respond with a, "Huh?"
"Lesson plans, you dunderhead," She hisses. "And that's not half the reason why I must talk with you."
She remembers. Who would forget? "Of course."
Roth starts to lead the way to her rooms, but halfway there, she stops short. "Shit" She exclaims, grabbing at her arm.
She frowns, closing her eyes in an attempt to block out the pain.
"What is it?" I ask, but by now I can see the crimson seeping out of her sleeve and staining her fingers bright red.
"Nothing, just a cursed knife wound, it'll heal."
"A cursed knife wound?! How? Wait, never mind. Here—look, let me see."
"No, no, it's fine."
She runs down the stairs and into the hall, trying to get away from me.
I chase after her, knowing that I need to make sure that she's okay.
"Hey—wait! I can help you!"
She ignores me, choosing to shout over my voice. "Our meeting will have to be rescheduled, how about tomorrow at five, is that okay with you? If it isn't we can change the time, it's just that I've really got to go, kind of in a situation— "
"A situation I can help you with." God, I love how she rambles. I've nearly forgotten how delightfully funny she was when she started talking and never stopped, only when she was in a hurry, or when she was happy, or when she really, really felt comfortable with you.
Why am I thinking about her rambling? It's not important.
Fine. It sort of is. To me.
Her voice is tight. "I'll just reapply the ointment and wrap fresh bandages around it, I'm fine."
I reach out to touch her shoulder. "Roth, I've got a potion." I smile, something that I've forgotten how to do. "It'll get better in half the time."
She stops, slim shoulders almost sagging. "I don't…you won't give up, will you?"
I quickly shake my head no, hoping she'll understand that this is the least I can do, given out history.
"I don't know why I am doing this, but fine."
She gets it. I know.
This time, I laugh. "You're infamous for being killer stubborn, but now…"
"You are a git. Bring your potion and your old lesson plans. My rooms are on the third floor. You will see a painting of a snowy landscape. Talk to the penguin. I will let you in."
I nod once and sprint off, genuinely worried about my friend. But what amazes me is that she doesn't seem very angry. Sure, she was a bit hostile, but at the end, Roth and I—it was almost, almost like we never were broken. Or maybe, time has fixed us. Either way, I am grateful.
I arrive at Roth's quarters not five minutes later, gasping for breath, holding two glass vials and a pile of parchment to my chest. I'm not an athlete.
I stare at the silvery painting that hangs on the wall before me. Snow is blowing around, making it difficult to see inside. But I can make out the outline of a penguin waddling its way to me through the storm.
"Roth. Is Roth there?" The penguin nods once, and the wooden frame of the composition melts away, leaving a plain, wooden door in its place. I turn the knob and push the door open.
Inside, it is dark. The sun has set not too long ago, and only a faint glow spills inside from the windows. I see the silhouette of a woman in the corner, and head that way.
"Roth?" I crouch down next to her, and wave my wand, causing light to fill the room.
"I—I meant to do that." She gives a small smile, but her face is bloodless, paler than the moon hanging just outside.
"Oh, Roth, don't you ever take care of yourself?" I sigh. Even when we were children, Lily and I had seemed to care more about Roth than she did herself. She was all too reckless, unafraid. I had often teased her that she should've gotten sorted into Gryffindor instead.
"Not usually." She smiles. I can tell that she remembers, too.
"Here. Drink this. It's a blood replenishing potion." Her hand trembles as she tries to take it from me, so I hold it to her lips instead.
"Thanks, Severus."
"Mhm-hm."
Then, I take the roll of bandages from her hands and push up her sleeve. Her arm is a mess of sticky blood. Using my wand, I conjure a wet cloth and start cleaning her up. Then, I wrap the wound up tightly, the closest I'll ever get to gripping her hand. She's now strong enough to hold things on her own, so I hand her the second potion. While she drinks it, I magic up a cup of water. The taste won't be pleasant.
As expected she makes a face, and grabs at the water. Finishing, she asks, "What was that?"
"A potion of my own devising. It is designed to counteract most curses."
"It was horrible, but thank you. I'll go get my lesson plans, and maybe we could review them?"
She gets up, mostly steady, and I'm left staring at her as she leaves.
I stand, too, and clean up the puddle of blood she has left behind. Then, I walk around, casually surveying Roth's quarters.
The room is blue and brown, and very neat. The thing about Roth is that she's put-together, but forgetful. No matter how well she has organized her planner, she still manages to neglect assignments. It really doesn't help that she procrastinates. There's a bowl of fruit on a dark wooden table, and a kitchen. A sofa faces a fireplace. The coffee table she has chosen is glass and is piled with various magazines and academic journals. Her windows are stunning compared to what we've got in the dungeons, but my eyes are pulled to the mantelpiece, which is full of picture frames.
I look closer, and realize that many of the snapshots are of a little boy with wavy blond hair. How foolish was I to think that Roth hadn't moved on, married, started a family. But as I further inspect the photos, I realize the boy really doesn't look like Roth at all. They both may have curly hair, but Roth's is more on the wavy side while the kid's is more bouncy. The boy also had a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks, but the shape of the nose and face didn't seem right. The eyebrows were arched, the ears and chin different. His smile was an exact copy of Roth's own mischievous smirk, but the mouth was not the same. And the eyes. Roth's blue was definitely not in them. They were bright, bright green, greener than the healthiest of grass, so green they reminded me of radiation. Gamma green. Still. It hurt. A couple of photos show Roth, her son, and a muscular guy with hair of burnt gold. Her husband. Most likely.
A long time ago, I used to imagine. Imagine Roth and I getting married, living together, having children. I'd stay awake at night, thinking of a future, sketching what our kids would look like. A son would have dark wavy hair, her nose, my mouth. A daughter who was a carbon copy of her. But it was so long ago. I had thought I could fix things then. Now I do not even have a chance.
Unbeknownst to me, she has held my heart for all these years. And now it is broken, smashed beyond repair, a victim of the war called life.
She catches me looking at her pictures.
"Who's that?" I whisper, afraid to hear her answer.
"My son, Peter." She says it with a proud smile, one that all mothers possessed for their children.
My heart is broken for the second time in two minutes.
"He must look like you husband."
She pauses before she answers. "I'm not married."
Relief. That's all I feel. Then, I think of the only other way someone could have a biological child. So I gape.
Maybe she's gotten divorced...
"Adopted," she tells me. "He was abandoned outside of St. Mungo's."
Oh.
"So he's magical, then?"
"Yes. I doubted it at first, thinking maybe he was a Squib, but he's really proved himself." There's that smile again.
I love, love, love that smile.
"That's my best mate Steve," she points at one of the pictures, at the one with Mister Muscles.
"I had thought that he was your husband." Verbal vomit. I let out an internal groan.
She chuckles. "Nah, he's gay. Moved to the States a while back to live with his boyfriend, Tony. Walked in on them snogging, once."
"Wow. How old is he? Peter, I mean."
"Five."
"He lives here?"
"Boarding school in the States. I'd thought that Britain's too dangerous, with You-Know-Who and all, but now, I worry that he's too far away for me to protect."
She's upset, it's clearly visible.
"It's a good choice."
"I don't know…"
"Don't think about it. I'm sure someone will be there for him if he needs it."
"Steve said…"
"So Steve will keep him safe."
I quickly change the subject after that. I don't like the thought of Steve.
"Why don't we discuss teaching for a change?"
"Guess we should…" Her voice trails off, and I lead the way to the kitchen table.
I can't really tell what she's feeling, but inside, I'm bursting with joy. I still have a chance, after all.
Wow. That was really long. I never can really write quite so much, so I guess I have something to be proud of.
If you spot any mistakes with the wording of things (I need help with my 'British') or if the quote is again inaccurate, please notify me.
Also, I'm in need of a beta, so if anyone's interested…
Any suggestions, flames, comments? Don't hesitate to review! Follows and favorites are much appreciated as well!
Lastly, can anyone spot the Easter Egg from another fandom? The first few people who get it right will be rewarded with a sneak preview of the next chapter!
Thanks for reading!