Hello hello lovelies!
This is the second last chapter in part II, and just writing those words is BIZARRE. I remember coming up with the idea (YEARS go) to skip over the eighteen/nineteen years between when Hermione and Draco left with different POV's, mainly because I didn't want it to drag on forever, but also because I couldn't choose whose perspective the chapters would follow?
ALSO, I'm really glad everyone liked both Sirius and Peter's chapters! *hearts*
I've rambled enough, and I think the chapter's title is pretty indicative of who this chapter is about! I am probably going to post the last chapter of part II sometime later today, or tomorrow? It's all written and edited, it just needs another once over. Not sure, but we'll see!
Please, please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)
My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
"I think hell is something you carry around with you.
Not somewhere you go."
- Neil Gaiman
A reoccurring, disembodied voice oft whispered in his ear. "I forgive you, Severus." Again, and again, and again.
Truthfully, the voice is what kept him sane whilst serving under the Dark Lord, especially on the more difficult days; Severus had witnessed countless atrocities. However, he would never admit that some unknown voice in his head had some part to play in him maintaining his sanity. Severus would rather cut off his own tongue with a dull, rusty blade than willingly admit that aloud.
The voice was his salvation, yet he detested it. It was filled with such gumption, such bright and bold feeling that it sickened him. He could never place the female's voice. It was so familiar, yet maddeningly foreign.
Severus was sitting at his kitchen table in his modest cottage on Prince's Corner. The pale, bluish grey light of the dawn cast across him through the window above the kitchen sink. The news of Voldemort's fall had just reached him. Dumbledore's phoenix patronus had soared through his wall and informed him of the prior night's events.
Severus roared in agony. He stood up abruptly, and tried to breathe, but his air was trapped in his throat. His body was vibrating with grief, but he didn't know what to do, so he flipped the kitchen table in front of him.
The vase, the placemats, his cup of tea, the silverware, a black quill with an elaborate silver tip, and a thin, leather-bound notebook where he jotted down comments whilst brewing all went flying. The sound of the vase and cup shattering upon impact rang out sharply in the modest kitchen.
"I need you to know that I forgive you, Severus."
These days it was far harder to goad Severus into showing his emotions, having developed a mastery over what he projected outwardly as it was crucial for his survival under Voldemort. He erected his Occlumency walls, and hid himself within their protective hold.
The last time he'd dropped his walls and lost it was when he begged Dumbledore to save Lily and James. Unbeknownst to him, the man already had plans for the Potters due to his knowledge of the future.
Severus had begged for Dumbledore to hide them, to protect Lily. Yet, he didn't. He didn't.
The Dark Lord was dead, and the boy had been the only one to survive. And his Lily, his precious Lily was dead. With a great roar he fell to his knees, and a burst of accidental magic shattered all of the nearby glass. He curled in on himself, and rocked back and forth, surrounded by destruction.
Dumbledore vouched for Severus—through his power and influence—and thus Severus managed to take over as Potions Professor at Hogwarts. Slughorn wished to retire, and spend the next seventy or so odd years relaxing somewhere tropical and exotic.
And thus the years passed. Severus's life found a steady rhythm, and he accepted his circumstances. He inspired a healthy level of deference in his pupils, perhaps even a small dose of fear, and he preferred it like that. He didn't wish to have any students getting too familiar, or using any cheek in his presence.
Severus strived for excellence in his students, and his high standard for accepting NEWT students meant that they were excellent brewers by the time they graduated. Soon, employers began to hire his students if they went into related fields simply because they knew that the quality of their work would be extraordinary.
Occasionally, Severus engaged in intimate matters of the flesh with witches whose names he rarely recalled, but he'd long since dismissed the notion of finding someone to settle down with. As a branded Death Eater—even if Dumbledore had endorsed him—he wasn't exactly an eligible bachelor, and regardless, he'd lost interest in finding a partner.
The years passed, and then it was time. The boy came to Hogwarts. Severus was rooted to the spot in shock at how closely he resembled James—Potter. There were several noticeable differences, including his bright green, almond-shaped eyes, but it was an undeniable fact that he was James Potter's son.
Shame burned in Severus's throat. It's his fault that Harry Potter grew up without Lily and Potter. He'd murdered James. Voldemort may have been the one to do the deed, but he wouldn't have been a target without Severus's unintentional direction.
Over the course of Harry's first year, Severus realises that he thought the worst part was Lily's loss, however, it turned out that he acutely feels James's as well.
The boy was arrogant, full of cheek, and there was so much of James in him it was jarring. If he'd looked a little harder, Severus would have noticed the aspects of Lily's the boy had inherited as well, but he hadn't. However, there was something entirely his own as well, something strong and unwavering. Severus would have to be a fool not to recognise it as the boy grew and he spent more time teaching him.
Severus wished he could be strong like the boy, resolute in his convictions, but alas, he was broken, so broken, and he couldn't bear to properly see the boy for who he was.
It doesn't help that two perplexing individuals were also in Potter's year. Whilst Severus had known Draco his entire life, there was always this nagging sensation at the back of his mind telling him he was forgetting something important. And then there was the Muggleborn, Hermione Granger.
At meals, he would often sneak peeks at Potter and his friends, and he'd look at the girl, and an overwhelming sense of déjà vu would wash over him. As if he'd sat across the Great Hall and stared at the bushy haired girl before.
The feminine voice became substantially louder and grew more frequent as time passed. The voice kept insisting that he was forgiven.
I don't deserve your forgiveness, Severus thought as he fed Longbottom's possibly fatal potion down his familiar's throat. The world was cruel, and the boy ought to learn that sooner than later, although, perhaps he already knew just how cruel it could be. Perhaps he knew too well.
The guilt burned, but he deserved their hatred, their fear, it was his repentance. He was the worst sort after all.
Years later, Severus would relent and admit that he was blinded by how much he detested Sirius Black, but based on the information he had available to him, he thought Remus Lupin was a traitor and aided the man who'd betrayed the Potters. They'd gone on with a fantastical tale about Pettigrew being alive, and the true culprit, but without any evidence, it was just that, a tale.
Dumbledore stopped him from sharing Lupin's dirty secret in their Sixth year, but Severus had no such reservations this time around. Lupin was a danger to the students, to himself, and besides, the mutt would be fine, he always was.
Conveniently, Severus pushed the images of Remus's shabby, patched robes into the far recesses of his mind. And thus, he did something he would one day regret, he told the Hogwarts Board of Governors about the man's condition. News hastily spread to the parents, and that was that. Lupini resigned before he could be sacked.
Voldemort's return was Severus's worst fear, but then it was revealed that Pettigrew was alive, and he'd been the one to aid the Dark Lord in his resurrection. Severus cursed any deities he could think of, and dreaded the times to come.
Somehow, he managed to convince the Dark Lord that he was spying on Dumbledore, and had earned his trust over the years. That he was a double agent and that the old coot didn't suspect a thing. He told Voldemort that he was lying in wait for his inevitable return. The words tasted of ash, but they were spun with a hint of honey and seemingly the Dark Lord believed him.
The boy and the Dark Lord were connected somehow, which was a terrifying enough thought, but it appeared as though Voldemort was not aware of it. Severus was tasked with teaching the boy Occlumency, and it was horrid. Severus became aware of just how despicable Harry's childhood had been at the hands of the Dursleys.
I forgive you, Severus, the voice would say as Severus pushed the boy harder than he should. He'd gone this many years treating him unfairly, why should he stop now?
I don't deserve your forgiveness, Severus would always reply.
One day, the boy had been pushed too far, and in his boldness dared to dive into Severus's pensieve memories. Harry Potter saw his worst memory. A memory that bothered him on multiple fronts: the embarrassment at the Marauders hands, the end of his friendship with Lily, and the distinct impression that there were holes in the memory itself.
(Severus couldn't remember that he'd tampered with the memory so the brief exchange where he threatened to expose Lupin's secret was permanently absent. And of course, ancient magic had wiped the existence of a specific witch and wizard from the events.)
The profound anger that consumed him when he returned to find the boy's face plunged in the pensieve drove him to end their Occlumency lessons indefinitely. It wasn't the wisest course of action, and the boy needed the lessons otherwise they would all be inevitably vulnerable, but he did it regardless. His pride was wounded.
Severus thought to go to Dumbledore, and have the man intervene. Perhaps subtly ask the boy how his lessons were, and thus they would continue them once more, but he eventually decided against it. If their lessons were to resume, the boy would have to come to him.
Severus was exhausted, the war was stressful beyond compare, and his every waking moment was punctuated with surviving and accomplishing the tasks Dumbledore had set out for him. He doubted he would survive past the conclusion of the war, but he knew he had to last long enough to secure triumph over Voldemort. Voldemort couldn't be allowed to win.
Severus was desperately attempting to make amends for his wrongs and his sins. It was the only thing that mattered anymore. It was devastating when Dumbledore told him that Harry needed to die in order for Voldemort to perish, because why had he suffered through everything he had if Harry Potter was going to die anyway?
Why had Lily died, if her son was going to be raised like a pig for slaughter, only to die at the correct moment?
"Don't fret, Severus. I have it on good authority that the boy will most likely survive a second time, although, I doubt either of us will be there to see it." Dumbledore's words haunted Severus's thoughts as he endured his servitude under the Dark Lord in the year after the man's passing. The words haunted him as Severus took his place as Headmaster, and had to watch as the Carrows cruelly punished the students for minor infractions, or for sport; especially the Muggleborns and Half-bloods.
Then, it was almost over. Severus knows it's almost over. Severus was dying, and the boy had his memories. Knowing Potter's bleeding heart, he'll find merit in Severu's selfish actions; where there is none. Harry stoppered the phial with Severus's silvery memories inside, and the sound was like a bold announcement that rang in his ears and proclaimed his time was running out.
As the life drained out of Severus, he came to several conclusions.
Severus had wanted to keep the Potter's son alive, not just for Lily like he once thought, but for James. For the boy he'd once hated with every fibre in his body. For the wizard who'd saved him in their Sixth Year—and he realised had no part in Black's plan—after Severus had almost killed him. For the man who died wandless, protecting his wife and child.
That was it. He'd never thought Potter good enough for Lily. The wizard always had everything handed to him; he'd never had to work for anything. At least, that's what he thought, he had been wrong, so, so wrong.
Potter died, sacrificing himself for those he loved, and as much as Severus hated it, was he not doing the same thing now? He was emulating his rival, following directly in his footsteps; both dying at the hands of the same monster.
In Severus's last, precious moments: staring up into Harry's eyes, so like his Mother's, so like the young girl that had once been his best friend—the voice returned.
I forgive you, Severus.
And he remembered. He remembered everything, and it didn't take more than half a second to connect the dots.
Fuck you, Potter, Severus thought weakly, how positively sickening that she would be the last thing he thought of.
She knew everything, and she'd seen fit to forgive him regardless. Hermione Potter had been the voice in his head for years, how fucking grand was that? Suddenly he didn't feel as bad about picking on Granger throughout her schooling.
The last bit of life faded out of him, and Severus Snape died with a smile on his face.