Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the goddess, JKR. The second vignette...a few years after the first.
The Eyes Have It
Even now, that I am no longer a student, he still makes me feel like a frightened 11-year old. But I am not frightened of him...I have faced evil and it is not Severus Snape no matter what the others say behind his back.
Frustrating, really, that he has not yet earned any degree of respect. He has proven his loyalties a thousand times over and yet he is still regarded with suspicion and mistrust. Albus Dumbledore himself has vouched for him but when has the Ministry ever listened to him?
Pathetic, really.
I have waited for almost half an hour and I can only assume that it will be at least another half an hour before he will grace me with his presence.
Well, it is hardly his fault. One never knows how long a Death Eaters meeting will last.
I take a sip of the now-cold cocoa that Albus has so kindly given me. My memories of this former professor are confusing at best. Bitter. Cold. Harsh. Vindictive. Stubborn. Loyal. Committed. Self-Sacrificing…Brilliant.
Yes, brilliant.
What a mind...if only he had never turned to the ways of darkness. What an Auror he could have been!
Of course, if the Ministry officials actually heard me saying that they would assign me to an excellent suite of rooms in St. Mungo's. But it is they themselves who should so lock themselves away. They are the lunatics...the willfully blind, misguided bureaucrats who have yet to acknowledge the crisis that has been brewing for so long.
Fools...the lot of them.
Severus is no fool.
It took me some time to reconcile myself to calling him by his name and not by his title. It took me longer to acknowledge that there was a man, a living human being, hiding beneath the persona of the cold and distant Potions Master.
He is willing to do the Ministry's dirty work and does it without so much as a thank you...with no expectation of a reward. The Ministry thinks they have him at their beck and call but I know better. He is making up for his past. He is trying to find a way to find peace with himself. He is at no one's beck and call...he is his own taskmaster.
Yawning slightly, I decide that I will get up off this awfully uncomfortable chair and look through his many books. I envy him this...his own personal library. His own personal retreat from the trials and tribulations of the outside world. A collection that no doubt started when he was a student within these walls. Mine is only a fraction of this.
I thumb through the titles, trying to find something to relieve me of the fatigue that threatens to make me curl up and sleep on top of his desk. I can't help but grin at that thought...he would probably take points off Gryffindor for such an outrage.
But this is not a textbook ...it...it is a photo album.
I take this unexpected prize and return to my seat, curling up and opening it carefully. The outside is not dusty in the least and this surprises me...indicates that he has been looking at the photos recently.
These photos…they are from his school days. There. A younger Remus Lupin. And there. A younger Sirius Black…still rather savage. And there…dear Merlin how Harry looks so much like his father.
One photo arrests me and causes my heart to turn in sadness.
A picture of him...a youth of no more than 19. My Potions Master when he was but an apprentice.
It is easy to see the younger version of the man in whose office I sit.
Tall. Thin. Pale. Straight black hair settling on his shoulders. Black robes...simple, stark elegance. But it is the face that astonishes me...gives me pause.
He is smiling. A genuine smile that lights up his face with happiness.
His eyes, still so dark, are brimming with life.
His face, still so pale, is not so drawn in worry.
Those eyes...those beautiful eyes...like limpid pools of midnight. Warm. Dangerous.
What happened to this boy?
How did he become this tortured man?
And is the boy still living inside him?
Hearing footsteps in the hallway, I quickly return the album to its proper place and sit down. My heart is racing. I feel as if I have intruded on something private...something sacred that I should not have witnessed.
The door opens and he walks in. My heart, newly stirred with my recent revelation, goes out to him. He looks so tired...a look of defeat. I quickly get up and walk over to him. He is still wearing the accursed robe of the Death Eaters and holds the steely mask in his left hand.
"Why are you here?" He asks me. For a moment, I wonder if I have angered him...but I have waited for him before. He looks as if he is surprised to see me...he looks that way each time he returns to find me waiting.
I wonder if he realizes why I wait.
I wonder if I dare realize it myself.
"Can I get you something to drink, Severus?" I ask lightly, taking the mask from his hand and endeavouring not to flinch at its icy feel. It feels like death and I can feel the goosebumps travel up my arm. It takes all my will to not shiver.
"Something stronger than cocoa would be preferable," he mutters as he watches me place the mask on his desk. "You should not be touching that, Hermione."
"It is only a mask," I reply. "Not unlike the one you are showing me right now," I think to myself. I turn to face him with a small decanter in one hand and an empty glass in the other. He is looking at me as if I have suddenly sprouted a second head. For a moment, there is an indescribable something in his eyes...something I could define but dare not.
"Some masks are necessary," he whispers tiredly as he waits for me to pour. I do so, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of the liquor that suddenly fills the room.
"Are they?" I ask, not certain whether it is the scent of the liquor that is making me dizzy or the penetrating stare of his obsidian eyes.
"This...mask," he points to the metallic abomination on his desk, "is necessary. It keeps me alive...useful."
I approach him and hold out the glass. He takes it and downs it in one gulp, closing his eyes involuntarily. I gently touch his cheek and he starts violently, eyes flying open and seeking mine.
"And this mask?" I trace a finger along his jawline. "Is this mask also necessary, Severus?"