House: Slytherin
Category: Theme
Prompt: [Speech] "H-how long have you been standing there?"
Word Count: 2264
A/N: My love to Lorax and Dark Lady Kristina for beta-ing :)
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He strides through the corridor, his black robes billowing around him. Severus Snape wants nothing more than to return to his rooms; however, Dumbledore's demands are incessant: follow Quirinus Quirrell, protect the Philosopher's Stone, watch over Harry Potter, and continue teaching his various Potions classes. At the thought of his tasks, Severus sighs. He is tired of Dumbledore's games, of Quirrell's suspicious behaviour, and most of all, he is tired of seeing Harry James Potter, a constant reminder of his failure. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World… Severus continues angrily down the corridor, focused on only how irritating Harry Potter is... until he hears footsteps. Heavy footsteps. This is no child approaching; in fact, Severus recognizes this particular gait. It is nervous, stuttering — it is Quirinus Quirrell.
Ducking into an abandoned classroom, Severus presses himself against the wall. Through the crack in the door, he spies a turbaned man heading towards the third floor. After Quirinus turns the corner, Severus grabs the door handle and begins to follow, ready to see what mischief his fellow Professor is getting into tonight; however, just as he is leaving, the dull glint of gold catches his eye.
Lying against the far wall, covered in a faded cloth, there sits an old mirror. The word ERISED is written in flowing script across the top, and in spite of himself, his curiosity is piqued. Severus softly shuts the door and walks across the abandoned classroom until he is standing before the mirror. It is as tall as him, and a good deal wider; after a second's hesitation, Severus pulls away the cloth covering it.
What he sees within defies all his expectations.
He sees himself standing in the mirror, his stance confident and proud. His left arm is unmarked, his normally greasy hair clean and pushed back, and his eyes are soft, not hard with rage, bitterness, or jealousy.
And he isn't alone. Lily stands beside him, her emerald green eyes sparkling as she laughs at something he said. Her hand rests on his shoulder, and she smiles down at a small boy with wavy black hair, a hooked nose, and green eyes. The boy wears Hogwarts robes and stands between the two of them — he is so small that he must be a first year — and then the boy looks up and mouths, "Dad."
With trembling fingers, Severus reaches out for the images, willing for them to be real, only for his fingers to collide with cold smooth glass. This is an illusion. It could never happen, and at the thought, anger begins to bubble within him. He knows what the mirror shows. It shows what could have been, had Lily only chosen him. They could have married, had a son, and been happy. But instead, she chose James Potter; James Potter, who had had everything Severus had ever wanted in life. Even Lily.
Closing his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool, unyielding glass, Severus sighs, losing himself in memories of the past, of what was, and remembering once again what can never be.
. . . . . . . . . .
A boy strides into their compartment, his messy black hair unkempt and his hazel eyes alight with excitement. "Look what I can do!" he cries in lieu of greeting, plopping down beside Lily and drawing his wand. "Lumos."
The tip of his wand begins to glow, and Severus watches as Lily's eyes widen with surprise, then admiration. "Who are you and how did you do that?" she asks.
"I'm James Potter," the boy replies with an easy grin. "My parents taught me that. They were so excited when I got my letter — here, I'll show you how to do it too, take your wand and repeat after me…"
Severus watches as the boy — James — teaches Lily how to cast her first spell, trying to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth. James's parents taught him that spell. They had been happy for him to go to Hogwarts. His own father's drunken, angry face flashes before his eyes, and Severus's hands tighten around his wand.
It is the first time Severus Snape is jealous of James Potter.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
He sees them joking, laughing, the undisputed center of attention. They may only be third years, but they are the Marauders.
It has only taken two years, Severus thinks, but already James Potter has amassed legions of fans and a multitude of friends. He looks at his own table, to Avery, Mulciber, and Rodolphus, those that he calls "friends". He knows they see him as nothing more than a tool, a dirty halfblood suited for unsavoury tasks. Of all the people at Hogwarts, only Lily is his true friend, and even she tolerates Potter.
If only he had friends like Potter did. Friends he could trust with his life, with his secrets; friends he could be seen in public with without the jeers and taunts of his House. If only.
But he is Severus Snape, not James Potter.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
"And Rosier reaches for the Snitch… and Potter scores again! It's amazing— it's stupendous— GRYFFINDOR WINS, 320-310!"
The section opposite his breaks into cheers, becoming an explosion of red and gold, and Severus scowls. Of course Potter scored again at the last second, bringing Gryffindor back from the brink of defeat. Of course. Potter is nothing less than perfect.
He watches the Gryffindors swarm Potter as he lands, a flash of familiar red hair among the mob. Potter struts about, no doubt glorying in his fame, and Severus turns away, unable to look at Potter any longer. He is everything Severus is not. He is the Quidditch star, the pride of his House, the popular, athletic, handsome "celebrity". Meanwhile, Severus is a sallow-skinned Slytherin halfblood whose only saving grace is that he's good at Potions.
His scowl deepens.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
James and Severus stand inside the Headmaster's office, like two sides of a coin. Severus is still shaking from his brush with death; however, he still snarls, "Remus Lupin is a werewolf!" Stalking to the window, he pulls back the curtain in a single, angry gesture, filling the room with a silvery light. "Headmaster, there is a full moon and he almost killed me! Lock him up! Send him away! Ki—"
"No. Don't." It is James who interrupts, tired and world-weary. He runs his fingers through his hair, a conflicted expression on his face, then says, "It's not Remus's fault, Headmaster. He has been safely transforming in the Shrieking Shack for years. It's— it's Sirius'."
"Sirius Black?" Dumbledore speaks for the first time, peering over his half-moon spectacles to take a closer look at James, and Snape feels the familiar flash of anger. Dumbledore always protects his precious lions...
"Sirius told Snape to go to the Shrieking Shack. He knew Snape would meet a werewolf — he wanted him to die — but I managed to get there in time and save him."
"You confronted a werewolf." Snape knows he isn't imagining the surprise in Dumbledore's eyes.
James looks at the ground. "I did."
"To save Mister Snape."
"I did," James answers, his voice surer now, his eyes now firmly on Dumbledore's. "And I would do it again."
Admiration shines in Dumbledore's eyes. "You are dismissed, Mr Potter. Go to the Hospital Wing and have Madam Pomfrey check on you."
"Of course, Headmaster." James begins to walk away, but as he's pulling the door closed behind him, he nods at Severus. "Take care." Then he leaves.
Severus watches the door swing shut, a sinking feeling in his chest. James risked his life to save him; if he were in such a position, Severus doesn't know what he would do. Perhaps he would fight, but more likely, he would fly.
"Mr. Snape, I am sure you will not speak of tonight's happenings with anybody."
"Yes," Severus answers mechanically, his despair increasing ten-fold. Of course James Potter has Dumbledore's favor. After all, James Potter is a paragon of the Light; he has qualities that Severus can only dream of.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
"I don't need help from mudbloods like you."
The words come easy, casual in their cruelty, and on Lily's trusting, open face, he sees pain, hurt, betrayal.
"What did you just call her?" James bellows, whipping his wand out. "You take that back, Snape!"
"I called her a mudblood," Severus repeats, "because that is what she is." Every word destroys him, but he can feel rather than see his fellow Slytherins gathering around him, and knows that they, too, are drawing their wands. "She is a filthy mudblood."
"You take that back!" James yells, brandishing his wand, but then Lily shrieks, "Stop!"
He quiets, looking to her. Severus does as well, and at the sight of the tears running down her cheeks, something cracks within him.
"I— I don't need you to fight my battles, Potter," she sniffles. James moves towards her, trying to envelop her in a hug, but she bats him away. Instead, she glares at Severus, her normally soft, laughing green eyes hard with bitterness and rage. "Goodbye, Snivellus," she spits, and before Severus can try to apologize, she is gone, running back towards the castle.
James turns back to face him. "This isn't over," he warns. Then he, too, is gone, chasing after Lily, the rest of the Marauders with him.
Severus watches them go, knowing that he has just made his choice. He has chosen his House over Lily; he has chosen the Darkness over the Light. If only he had it as easy as James. James was born to the Light. He has never had to choose — will never have to choose — between his friends and his life. But Severus has, and just as he feared, he has chosen to survive.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
When Lily starts going out with Potter, Severus can only stare, the taste of ash on his tongue. This is his fault — all his fault — but he knows Potter still doesn't deserve her. Not that he deserves her, either.
He watches her with Potter, watches her hold his hand, and something within him begins to crumble.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
When he isn't invited to their wedding, he isn't surprised. But it still stings, and in a fit of jealous rage he brings the prophecy to the Dark Lord. He never imagined it would cause her death, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't hoped it would kill her husband. Then, maybe just once, he would have more than James Potter.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Oh, his jealousy of James Potter has led him to do many terrible things...
Severus begins to turn away from the mirror, a mixture of sorrow and guilt lying heavy in his stomach. But as he does so, he catches a glimpse of the child in the mirror, the child who has his features and Lily's eyes.
That child is a lie.
Harry Potter is the truth, though, and at the thought, anger flashes through Severus. Of course James spoiled the last piece of Lily that survived the Dark Lord. Of course the last bit of Lily — her son — looks almost exactly like James. James has always had everything Severus has ever wanted; Severus has spent a lifetime jealous of James Potter. To see what could have been standing in the mirror — Lily, him, their child — and to know what really was…
Severus draws his wand in one slow, deliberate movement. The phrase Bombarda Maxima is on the tip of his tongue… but before he can utter a word he sees the child in the mirror — his son in the mirror — standing alone, a tear rolling down his cheek as he waves goodbye and mouths, "I love you, Dad."
Severus stills, something within him breaking.
"I am sorry," he whispers, reaching out to the boy, trying to comfort him, only to feel cool glass meet his fingertips. "You never had a chance, my son."
The boy smiles sadly up at him, and then Severus sees himself in the mirror, doing what he cannot: his mirror-self kneels beside the boy, then embraces him. At the sight, tears begin to well up in Severus's own eyes, and then he is crying at the foot of the mirror, crying for what he has lost, and for what he shall never regain.
Then he hears a quiet cough.
Severus spins to find Dumbledore behind him. "H-how long have you been standing there?" he chokes out, angrily scrubbing away the tears with the long sleeve of his robe.
"Not long," Dumbledore answers, his blue eyes dark. "But be careful, Severus. Many have wasted their lives staring into the mirror's depths."
"I— I understand," Severus replies. "It won't happen again."
"Then I shall leave you to it." As silently as he have entered, Dumbledore leaves, and after the door shuts behind him with a click, Severus turns back to the mirror and the figures contained within. They smile sadly at him, as if they already know what he is going to do, and after one last apology — "I wish it didn't have to be this way " — Severus draws the faded cloth over the mirror and walks out of the room, never once looking back.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
He never visits the Mirror of Erised again, but when he dies for Harry's sake, his blood running down Harry's arms, staining Harry's robes a deep, dark red, he knows he has finally done something right with his life. Harry could have been the son he never had, had he only given the boy half a chance.