From Snape POV, as usual. This is after 'When the Lines Blur.' Set sometime during Harry's fifth year.
I stalked through the corridors, glaring at the rest of the staff, not really mad at them, but unable to face what was really bothering me. That is, until I almost literally ran into Harry Potter.
He was alone, which surprised me. Granger and Weasley were always with him, always there when he needed them. But looking more closely at him, I could see a haunted sort of look in his eyes, and I understood instantly why Granger and Weasley weren't with him.
He hadn't wanted them there. I wouldn't have either, because I knew from the look in his eyes what he'd been thinking about. Cedric.
It hadn't been Harry's fault, even I admitted it. But Potter couldn't let go of the guilt for what he could never change, and it would haunt him for the rest of life. I knew. The same thoughts now haunted me, the same regrets that maybe I could have done something, even when the people you trust the most, even when reason itself says that there was nothing you could do.
"Professor Snape." He said it timidly, obviously ashamed at being seen like this.
"Potter, what are you doing?" I demanded, but my voice lacked the anger he expected, particularly as he wasn't even supposed to be out of his dormitory this late.
"Just walking around," he said, almost defensively. I nodded knowingly, and he winced, almost as though he knew what I was thinking.
I started to tell him just to leave, just to go back to his common room, but a sudden wave of agony through my left arm was enough to drive the thought from my mind. I let out an involuntary gasp of pain and closed my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the thought that it would be over soon. This had happened before, many times, each all the more painful than the last.
"Professor!" Harry yelped, and I thought I heard genuine concern in his voice.
"I'm....okay," I panted, as the pain slowly faded. It still hurt like never before, however, and I gingerly pushed up my left sleeve to look at the skull-shaped scar there. It was almost black, the color my permanent reminder that, with Voldemort on the rise again, I was in danger once more.
"Professor?" Harry repeated, and it was a question this time. Realizing with a start that he was still standing there, I straightened swiftly, ignoring the last twinges of pain in my arm.
"What, Potter?" I barked.
"What's wrong with you?"
"It's nothing," I snapped viciously.
"Oh, so a great lot of nothing could make you flinch like that?" He sounded almost surprised by his own boldness, but too curious to stop himself from asking the question. I hesitated, then sighed.
"It's Voldemort," I said shortly, almost afraid to say the name, but determined not to show fear in front of Potter, of all people.
"Is he calling you?" The question was so matter-of-fact, nonchalant, that I was startled. I knew Albus had told Harry what I had been, but I hadn't expected him to be so calm about it.
"No. Not exactly. He's threatening me. He always does, to all of them. He wants to assure himself of our loyalty, and he tests us. Like now." I snorted decisively. "Lot of good it did him in my case."
"No, it certainly didn't do him much good," Potter agreed, and before I could say more he'd gone, disappearing into the shadows of the castle. I headed back to my office, wondering why I'd told one of the people I hated beyond all others one of my painful secrets.
But in my heart, I already knew. Harry hadn't let Hermione and Ron help him deal with this situation because he feared for them. Not so much for their safety- Hogwarts was about the safest place there was- but for their childish innocence. Harry had grown up too fast, and he didn't want his friends to face the fears he did; he didn't want them to lose that innocence, that trust, as early as he had. That would come in time, it was inevitable, but not now, not yet.
I considered the fact that of our entire graduating class, only Remus, Sirius, and me were still alive, and still free. There were a few of my old friends left, but they were in Azkaban, and would remain there until Voldemort came for them, as I knew he would.
I wondered why the look in Harry's eyes had affected me the way it had, but again, I knew the answer even before I asked myself the question. That hunted, frightened, yet somehow defiant expression had perfectly reflected the look I saw every day when I looked in the mirror.
Because we were the fallen, the ones doomed to fight the Dark Side until we either won or died trying. We were the ones who knew exactly what we were fighting against, and would have preferred not to know. We were the haunted heroes of a battle that had not yet been fought, but that was as inevitable as the rising sun.
Most of us- McGonagall, Flitwick, Dumbledore, Harry, and I- had learned to ignore the fear of that battle to come, but the tension, the outright fear, showed in our eyes, and it would always be there, because even if we won the coming battle there would always be another. Always.
We were haunted by a knowledge we didn't want, haunted by a future we could never escape.
But only our eyes told the tale.
I stalked through the corridors, glaring at the rest of the staff, not really mad at them, but unable to face what was really bothering me. That is, until I almost literally ran into Harry Potter.
He was alone, which surprised me. Granger and Weasley were always with him, always there when he needed them. But looking more closely at him, I could see a haunted sort of look in his eyes, and I understood instantly why Granger and Weasley weren't with him.
He hadn't wanted them there. I wouldn't have either, because I knew from the look in his eyes what he'd been thinking about. Cedric.
It hadn't been Harry's fault, even I admitted it. But Potter couldn't let go of the guilt for what he could never change, and it would haunt him for the rest of life. I knew. The same thoughts now haunted me, the same regrets that maybe I could have done something, even when the people you trust the most, even when reason itself says that there was nothing you could do.
"Professor Snape." He said it timidly, obviously ashamed at being seen like this.
"Potter, what are you doing?" I demanded, but my voice lacked the anger he expected, particularly as he wasn't even supposed to be out of his dormitory this late.
"Just walking around," he said, almost defensively. I nodded knowingly, and he winced, almost as though he knew what I was thinking.
I started to tell him just to leave, just to go back to his common room, but a sudden wave of agony through my left arm was enough to drive the thought from my mind. I let out an involuntary gasp of pain and closed my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the thought that it would be over soon. This had happened before, many times, each all the more painful than the last.
"Professor!" Harry yelped, and I thought I heard genuine concern in his voice.
"I'm....okay," I panted, as the pain slowly faded. It still hurt like never before, however, and I gingerly pushed up my left sleeve to look at the skull-shaped scar there. It was almost black, the color my permanent reminder that, with Voldemort on the rise again, I was in danger once more.
"Professor?" Harry repeated, and it was a question this time. Realizing with a start that he was still standing there, I straightened swiftly, ignoring the last twinges of pain in my arm.
"What, Potter?" I barked.
"What's wrong with you?"
"It's nothing," I snapped viciously.
"Oh, so a great lot of nothing could make you flinch like that?" He sounded almost surprised by his own boldness, but too curious to stop himself from asking the question. I hesitated, then sighed.
"It's Voldemort," I said shortly, almost afraid to say the name, but determined not to show fear in front of Potter, of all people.
"Is he calling you?" The question was so matter-of-fact, nonchalant, that I was startled. I knew Albus had told Harry what I had been, but I hadn't expected him to be so calm about it.
"No. Not exactly. He's threatening me. He always does, to all of them. He wants to assure himself of our loyalty, and he tests us. Like now." I snorted decisively. "Lot of good it did him in my case."
"No, it certainly didn't do him much good," Potter agreed, and before I could say more he'd gone, disappearing into the shadows of the castle. I headed back to my office, wondering why I'd told one of the people I hated beyond all others one of my painful secrets.
But in my heart, I already knew. Harry hadn't let Hermione and Ron help him deal with this situation because he feared for them. Not so much for their safety- Hogwarts was about the safest place there was- but for their childish innocence. Harry had grown up too fast, and he didn't want his friends to face the fears he did; he didn't want them to lose that innocence, that trust, as early as he had. That would come in time, it was inevitable, but not now, not yet.
I considered the fact that of our entire graduating class, only Remus, Sirius, and me were still alive, and still free. There were a few of my old friends left, but they were in Azkaban, and would remain there until Voldemort came for them, as I knew he would.
I wondered why the look in Harry's eyes had affected me the way it had, but again, I knew the answer even before I asked myself the question. That hunted, frightened, yet somehow defiant expression had perfectly reflected the look I saw every day when I looked in the mirror.
Because we were the fallen, the ones doomed to fight the Dark Side until we either won or died trying. We were the ones who knew exactly what we were fighting against, and would have preferred not to know. We were the haunted heroes of a battle that had not yet been fought, but that was as inevitable as the rising sun.
Most of us- McGonagall, Flitwick, Dumbledore, Harry, and I- had learned to ignore the fear of that battle to come, but the tension, the outright fear, showed in our eyes, and it would always be there, because even if we won the coming battle there would always be another. Always.
We were haunted by a knowledge we didn't want, haunted by a future we could never escape.
But only our eyes told the tale.