Now betaed! Thank you to my wonderful and the most amazing Beta thislifeisawasteland. Sending all my love and gratefulness :) Generally, camellia flowers symbolize love, affection, and admiration. ... White camellias symbolize adoration and are given to someone who is well-liked. Pink camellias symbolize a longing for someone and are given to someone who is missed. Red camellias symbolize love, passion, and deep desire.
The mist spread over the water. The evening gloom slowly crept into London, bringing autumn dampness and the smell of smoke wafted in the wind. Somewhere someone had lit their fireplace to welcome the upcoming Samhain. They were likely cozy with their family, cooking a stew, and drinking herbal tea.
A man wrapped in a light raincoat, not suitable for the current freezing weather, could not afford such a luxury. He walked in defiance of the gusts of wind, bending his head and clutching the cat closer to his chest. The cat was disheveled and frightened by the impending storm, seeking comfort in his owner's arms.
It seemed that these unfortunate travelers were alone against the whole world, fought their own battles, and pursued their own journeys. A frozen traveler and a ginger cat. They had one goal one shared determination.
Cars, always hurrying somewhere, flew past them, spraying water from puddles on unlucky passers-by. Gasoline stains on the asphalt for a moment turned the gray reality into a bright rainbow.
Snape's whole life remained over the horizon. Somewhere in the past, autumn flew by imperceptibly, mingling with the smell of leaves that smelled of smoke, the first ice that covered Black Lake, the cry of birds flying away, and, perhaps, the flame of the fire that Hermione taught him to light by evenings.
She taught Snape to love flames. The fire burned all bad thoughts and scattered the shadows of the night that descended on the world. Reddish flashes shimmered with all shades of crimson, reflecting from the water surface, warming, and giving hope.
"You know, as a child, I often wondered, was it scary for the leaves to burn?" Hermione said quietly, peering into the flames. Snape sat next to her, trying not to think about anything. Crooks was running after some nocturnal creatures, frequently pulling his attention from the silence by skittering across the floor. Snape did not want to answer her question.
"No, Hermione, it's not scary, they've already died, the dead do not feel pain," Snape replied cynically.
Hermione sighed and lowered her eyes. Firewood crackled, smoke from pine branches tickled her nostrils, dark gray clouds gathered in the sky.
"Were you afraid to die?"
Snape was silent, not knowing what to answer. When his life was leaving him with every ragged breath, he desperately wanted to grab luck by the tail and replay everything.
The leaves, twisting, burnt out in the flames. There was a smell of dampness, the stars were hiding behind clouds, the night was falling on the world.
All his regrets were in the past, next to the flames of the fire, unanswered questions, and unspoken promises. Now he confidently walked towards her house, noticing neither the rain, nor the slush squelching under his feet, nor the cars flying past. Nothing but his own determination and the cat tousled with cold.
Very soon, he would return to his chambers at Hogwarts, he would light the fireplace and try to get his life together. Severus' past and new memories blended, forming complete chaos in thoughts. He succeeded, he moved into the past a whole year and a half back, and Hermione's potion turned out to be effective: Snape remembered everything. It only made matters worse.
He wanted to see her again, and horror fettered him at the thought of it. What if she would guess about his intention to change the future? What if he had already disrupted the course of things, and this time the Ministry would not issue their stupid decree that made Hermione his wife? What if now Ron Weasley would be able to avoid death, and he would have time to become her husband instead of Snape?
Feeling that everything inside was growing cold from the realization of such a possibility, Snape lifted his collar, simultaneously wondering which gateway to look into to cast a warming charm, and confidently moved on. This was not the time to panic. Reinforcing Occlumency's shields and sending disturbing ideas to the farthest corners of his mind, Snape tested his wand and sat down wearily on a bench.
The lantern fought hard against the rain pouring down from above. Drizzle shimmered in the dim yellow light, and the trees cast tailed shadows. The wind was blowing. The weather was nowhere more disgusting. Snape breathed into his frozen palms and finally cast a warming charm. Crooks crawled under his cloak with an indignant yowl and purred, trying to keep warm.
"Now, Furball, wait a bit, we will go in a minute. I need to collect my thoughts first."
Anxiety grew, bypassing his Occlumency's shields and iron restraint. Snape was most afraid that life would again confront him with his own wrong choice, would make him see how his beloved woman chose another man, and plunge him into the loneliness of his mind. His mind where thoughts screaming in every way became deafening, and his despair became unbearable.
He was not used to the lingering, but now panic seemed to chain him to the bench, and Hermione's house was only a few feet away. Snape couldn't bring himself to take the steps. Again, all those who left him in one way or another stood before his inner gaze. A mother who could not stand the bullying of her husband. Albus, whom he somewhat hated and admired to some extent. It was the Headmaster who once accepted him as a prodigal son and gave him a home. Yes, the old man dragged him into his cunning plans and grand schemes. While, at the same time, he gave him a job, an opportunity to do research, rooms to come to in the evening, and a roof over his head. With a bitter grin, Snape recalled those he considered his friends. Narcissa, Lucius, Minerva, Poppy, Lily. All his life he dreamed of a chance to fix everything, and when fate put such an opportunity in his hands, he was hesitating on a bench under the lantern.
It seemed to Snape that he was falling into the abyss and still could not reach the bottom. In the pitch darkness, faces flashed, briefly able to give him light.
He remembered his past once again.
Darkness hung over his childhood house. The wind howled through the cracks of the impoverished mansion, and glass shattering in the frames. Trees left their freakish shadows on the walls, and their long tails drove a boy of six years into a silent horror. The boy looked out of the window in the attic. His mother, a quiet and inconspicuous woman, used to tell her son when her husband wasn't listening, that darkness meant only the absence of light and there was no need to be afraid. At night, however, the father who had lost his job came back home from dusty bars and screams echoed around the house. And the little boy sent himself to the attic. In the attic, he looked into the night and the darkness that hung above the house.
The Muggle and the Witch, the heiress of an ancient House of Prince, who dared to go against the age-old foundations of her family, by chasing after a ghostly love. Eileen Prince had never been outstanding, she used to hide in the shadow of her father, and as a result, she became a ghost of her own self by marrying a Muggle. At first, she tried to fight for her son, but the shadows were loomed above her head all that time, threatening to swallow her alive. And in the end, they succeeded. The son became an orphan with living parents. The father, unable to bear responsibility for the family, was broken by poverty and misery, the mother was carried off by some incurable illness. Only the night remained in the boy's life. And the light of the stars could no longer drive the long-tailed shadows away.
When he was nine, and the night no longer frightened him with its inevitable darkness. In the back yard of a beautiful house where a happy family lived, there was a swing. A girl sat on that swing. Her ginger hair glowed in the sun and she was fascinated by the daisy growing in the palm of her hand. It seemed that the whole world could submit to her warmth and smiles. Her laughter was heard even from the stars. The boy gleamed with pride. This girl considered him her friend. For the first time, someone cared about him and his existence. For the first time, he was next to a friend who chose to stay by his side. For the first time in his life, the sun rose, and this new personal sun of his had a smile of Lily Evans.
The Hogwarts letter was supposed to mean happiness. His mother smiled for the first time in years, the father joyfully said that "this house would be calmer without this freak," and everything spun, swirled, rushed. The night receded, giving way to an animated fairy tale from those few stories that Eileen Prince used to tell him before bed. He did not believe in fairy tales, but there was the letter, and it promised him a miracle.
The train set off into the world of light. Unfamiliar boys joined him and Lily in the compartment. They proudly proclaimed they did not want to have anything to do with the freak with greasy hair and a large nose. They scoffed at his ill-fitted clothes and mocked his silence. He looked over to his friend who became red and said nothing. The sun disappeared behind the clouds. The battle, of seven years long, began.
There was too much darkness in his life, but he was not used to keeping his fears close to his chest. The impoverished life of a practically homeless boy, the eternal abuse and beatings from his father. He has the desperate desire to learn how to write, read, and do magic and just to be better than the others from his poor town. He wanted to prove to himself that he was capable of more than aimless existence, which taught him to rely solely on himself without waiting for help. For a while, however, a spark named Lily overshadowed everything else, and the shadows hid in the corners for a while.
There were too many differences between him and Lily: a bright friendly girl too quickly gained the fame of a universal favorite. He, on the other hand, was a gloomy and insecure boy who only seemed to gain enemies. Severus never cared about the consequences of his actions. Which was why, perhaps, he ruined everything he touched and pushed away the only friend who cared about him. The memory of that humiliating incident near the lake, his chagrin, and the agony of taunts from those who bullied him simply because they were bored. There was too much darkness in his life for light to break through, it was ingrained in his very soul.
When he became a Death Eater, he often wondered what was the exact moment when everything went wrong. It took him a long while before he finally understood that the darkness began creeping into his actions well before he pushed Lily away from him. Even before the time when the doors of his childhood home slammed behind his back and the gates of Hogwarts, a fairytale castle, were opened. Nobody cared for a poor half-blood with the cold exterior. Peers despised the tattered boy who, by a stupid accident, was sorted into Slytherin. A girl with a sunny smile made too many friends, and the Marauders continued their bullying. Humiliation and open threats were perceived by the good Headmaster in the yellow mantle as innocent tricks. The werewolf left without a leash was just a funny pet dog, "my boy, do not think to tell anyone about Remus." He recalled how he sat on a bed in the Infirmary wing and looked at the foggy ghost of the moon. That was when he firmly decided to join the Death Eaters to find someone who cared among the same outcasts.
Darkness loomed over him, swallowing all the possible light and hope. Death followed death; one defeat gave rise to another. Nobody needed what he had to offer - neither the Dark Lord, master of Death Eaters, nor the good Headmaster who moved the Order like puppets in a play. What could Snape offer them? A life of servitude in exchange for Lily's safety? Who cared about the sullen ragged man? He was begging at the feet of both his Masters, of both Light and Darkness, hoping for something, anything resembling recognition.
He later asked himself if he loved Lily the way he thought he did, and with terrifying clarity, he came to the conclusion that everything bright in his life was somehow connected with her, and this light entailed inevitable darkness. So he continued to fight for one goal he knew, for a blind desire to prove to everyone that he was more than a spy, better than a traitor, and worth much more than a tattered man from a working quarter.
She crept into his life like light creeps into the cracks of a house as the sun rises. An insufferable know-it-all with hair sticking out in different directions and a million questions about everything at once and about nothing specifically. She was too far from Lily to even try to compare them. Different than any other witch or wizard he had ever met. She seemed to be the only one who was not afraid of the terrifying Professor Snape and his bad temper. She just looked into his eyes and saw something there. She wrote him ridiculous notes expressing her gratitude for saving her life after that incident with a basilisk in her second year or apologized for accidentally, though he knew it was deliberate, setting his robe on fire in her first year. She would continuously thank him for the help after her failure with the Polyjuice potion.
He had dismissed her interest as nothing more than a teenage crush, multiplied by a lack of common sense. He did not value his life. He was not afraid to die. How could anyone else care if he did not?
"I suppose you do not consider yourself a hero, but you are better than them. All of them, on both sides of the barricades."
Snape transfigured his light raincoat into a warmer one more suitable for the current weather, tucked the cat under his arm, and confidently walked towards her house. In the small kitchenette, lights were on, dispelling the evening shadows. She always lit a light around her, be it candles, lamps, or Muggle electricity, she liked to say that there could never be too much light.
Snape stepped closer and, casting an invisibility charm, cautiously approached the window. Hermione was sitting at the kitchen table and enthusiastically scribbled something in her diary. Her hair was gathered in a kind of hairstyle, whisps tickling her face. She wore a bright orange sweater which emphasized the tan that had been preserved since summer and a tangle of bracelets on her wrist. Her house was cozy and light, pain splashed in his soul.
She was so close. It seemed that he needed to take only a step, and Hermione would be in his arms, but it was too early. A long time would pass before his timid daring could come true.
Someone knocked on the door and Hermione ran to open it. Sensing something bad, Snape looked closer and almost swore. Of course, who else could it be if not Ron Weasley? Once again, his past stood before him, hurling the bitter truth in his face: his love was with another man.
Hermione pulled Ron into the kitchen and, stepping out of his embrace, began to quietly explain something to him. "You have to understand, Ron, I love you and all that, but tell me, why should we rush things?"
Weasley frowned, not ceasing to pester her with his affection. "Mum wants grandchildren, and I thought that we would get married immediately after the battle ended. Why are you hesitant, 'mione?"
"You just joined the Auror's Department, I'm trying to complete my own education, we're still so young. We hardly enjoyed life."
"So? Why can't we have both at the same time? Family and career?"
"And why can't we just wait a few years?"
"You are obsessed with your career!"
"I didn't take my NEWTS to knit booties by the hearth. You must understand, Ron! I want to visit my parents and restore their memories. I need the time to dedicate to my potions, I want to be successful. Ron, understand, I love you, but I'm not ready to become a housewife running around children all day."
"Are you saying you don't want to be like my mother? Are you saying she's not successful?"
"Ron, why are you twisting my words?"
Snape clenched his fists: couldn't she see that he didn't suit her at all? Didn't he understand that they had completely different goals in life? Like a scream from the past, the same scene flashed through Snape's thoughts: Black Lake, the seventh year, Lily and Potter, arguing with each other.
"We have to leave, Jamie! We have to go into hiding. Now is such a dangerous time, why would you leave your family to serve in the Aurory?"
"I have to, Lils, Dumbledore believes in me, how can I fail him?"
"So, what about me? We have a child to take care of, I quit my job for this family! You're choosing Dumbledore over me, again!"
"Lily, why are you twisting my words?"
A year and a half later, the Potters were gone.
And just like that, in three weeks, the Dark Curse would take the life of Ron Weasley.
Snape closed his eyes, exhausted from the struggle to hold himself back. He wanted to jump in and rescue her, help her see how wrong the boy was for her. His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from Hermione.
"Crooks has gone missing, you don't even try to look for him! You only care about your Quidditch and Auror's Department!"
As the Weasley mumbled something encouraging in return, Crookshanks twisted out of Snape's arms and leaped onto the windowsill with an indignant meow.
"Crooksy! My dear boy, you are here!" Hermione gasped.
She threw open the window, her fingers almost grazing Snape as she wrapped her arms around her cat. Snape who stood frozen a couple of centimeters from her and watched as she slinked back into her home.
Apricots and heather. Snape took a deep breath as her scent engulfed him.
"You are here. You are here, my dear heart."