With the exception of Dumbledore, no one on the campus had the faintest
idea where Snape's room was. Not even the house elves, not even Filch.
Deep in the dungeons of the castle, not too far from the potions lab was
Snape's room. It was far larger than the other teachers' rooms; of course,
none of the other teachers would have stayed in a room with no windows.
There walls were lined with book shelves from floor to ceiling. Nothing
could have looked more organized.
One whole case was filled with magazines. "Perfect Potions Monthly," it was Snape's favorite. In fact, he even had the pin up calendar above his bed. Another case was devoted to books about the dark arts, books that weren't even allowed in the restriction section of the library. Another case was filled with books about vampires and half vampires, some filled with newspaper or book clippings that were too short to warrant the entire book, and several books that had obviously been handwritten by Snape himself. Another case was devoted to all the books that Hogwarts students could be required to bring. Yet another case was devoted to language books. An entire shelf of Art books, and quite a lot from Renaissance and Pre-Raphaelite movements. A shelf full of music which he obviously played on the piano in the room. Many of the remaining shelves were devoted to Muggle fiction. Poetry, plays, novels. Shakespeare, Byron, Dickens even American literature like Edgar Allen Poe.
He had read every single book in his room-some more than once. He had nearly memorized over half of them. He had to have something to occupy his nights, he didn't usually sleep.
The rest of the room was nice if a little cluttered. He had a medium sized bed that was made up nicely in one corner-his favorite books within reach. He had a desk with several journals on it-one was full of experiments, one with sketches, one with poetry and stories, and several others. His wardrobe (The only place there weren't books) was full of neat, black clothes. He had cast a spell on it so that anything put in it would become clean and never would fade. He found nothing more detestable than imperfect clothing,
He took of his robes and stepped through a hidden doorway in the books. He was in his personal bathroom. Quickly he showered and brushed his shoulder length black hair. Then he stepped back into his room and removed an outfit from the wardrobe. It was a soft black sweater and a pair of comfortable black pants, the closest he had to a nightgown. He had just sat on his bed with a Russian book when there was a knock on his door. Dumbledore never knocked on his door. Pulling his wet hair out of his face, he went to the door, which was hidden behind another bookcase.
Professor Dumbledore stood alone in the dark hallway outside Snape's room. "Ah, Severus, not asleep yet I see. I was wondering if I might borrow a book from you. It doesn't seem to be in the library, and I thought it might be in your collection."
"Yes, of course," Snape said, a little sharper than he intended. "Come in."
Dumbledore looked around. "My, you keep this room cold and dark." He cast a short spell which illuminated the room. Snape winced at the sharp light. "Sorry, but my eyes aren't as strong as yours." The light reflected of his spectacles as if to reinforce the veracity of his statement.
"What is it that you are looking for?" Snape asked softly.
"A book on vampire prophecy. I think it's called vampire prophecy actually."
Snape's eyebrows lowered and he looked deeply suspicious. "My books on vampires are right here, Headmaster. They are very precious to me; I trust that you'll take good care of them."
Dumbledore looked up at him with a slightly sad look in his eye, "You know I will take very good care of the book." Snape knew he wasn't talking about the book at all.
"I'm sorry, Albus. I am perhaps a little overly sensitive on the subject. Ah, here it is The Vampire Prophecies, and if you would like there is my companion here Interpreting the Vampire Prophecies." He held the two books out to Dumbledore. "I do hope this hasn't anything to do with me."
Dumbledore just smiled and took the books. "How is your Russian?"
Snape smirked cruelly, "Alas, my lack of companionship has made it rather difficult for me to learn to speak languages. But I can read and write quite fluently in nearly all of them."
Dumbledore yawned slightly, "I wish I didn't need sleep. It's amazing what you have done with your extra time. I'll return these soon." Dumbledore left the room and the bright light softened.
Snape wondered whether he looked as worried as he felt, but of course, there were no mirrors in his room. He sat down at the piano (a black Steinway that fit in nicely with the dark décor of the room) and began to play a slow mournful song that he sang with in his deep, rich tenor. It was haunting and appealing.
.and deep beneath lived the Phantom. A tortured soul who played his haunting melodies at night, waiting for when he could be accepted by day.
A bittersweet smile wandered across Snape's face, he stopped playing and rubbed his eyes. Yes, perhaps he was tired.
One whole case was filled with magazines. "Perfect Potions Monthly," it was Snape's favorite. In fact, he even had the pin up calendar above his bed. Another case was devoted to books about the dark arts, books that weren't even allowed in the restriction section of the library. Another case was filled with books about vampires and half vampires, some filled with newspaper or book clippings that were too short to warrant the entire book, and several books that had obviously been handwritten by Snape himself. Another case was devoted to all the books that Hogwarts students could be required to bring. Yet another case was devoted to language books. An entire shelf of Art books, and quite a lot from Renaissance and Pre-Raphaelite movements. A shelf full of music which he obviously played on the piano in the room. Many of the remaining shelves were devoted to Muggle fiction. Poetry, plays, novels. Shakespeare, Byron, Dickens even American literature like Edgar Allen Poe.
He had read every single book in his room-some more than once. He had nearly memorized over half of them. He had to have something to occupy his nights, he didn't usually sleep.
The rest of the room was nice if a little cluttered. He had a medium sized bed that was made up nicely in one corner-his favorite books within reach. He had a desk with several journals on it-one was full of experiments, one with sketches, one with poetry and stories, and several others. His wardrobe (The only place there weren't books) was full of neat, black clothes. He had cast a spell on it so that anything put in it would become clean and never would fade. He found nothing more detestable than imperfect clothing,
He took of his robes and stepped through a hidden doorway in the books. He was in his personal bathroom. Quickly he showered and brushed his shoulder length black hair. Then he stepped back into his room and removed an outfit from the wardrobe. It was a soft black sweater and a pair of comfortable black pants, the closest he had to a nightgown. He had just sat on his bed with a Russian book when there was a knock on his door. Dumbledore never knocked on his door. Pulling his wet hair out of his face, he went to the door, which was hidden behind another bookcase.
Professor Dumbledore stood alone in the dark hallway outside Snape's room. "Ah, Severus, not asleep yet I see. I was wondering if I might borrow a book from you. It doesn't seem to be in the library, and I thought it might be in your collection."
"Yes, of course," Snape said, a little sharper than he intended. "Come in."
Dumbledore looked around. "My, you keep this room cold and dark." He cast a short spell which illuminated the room. Snape winced at the sharp light. "Sorry, but my eyes aren't as strong as yours." The light reflected of his spectacles as if to reinforce the veracity of his statement.
"What is it that you are looking for?" Snape asked softly.
"A book on vampire prophecy. I think it's called vampire prophecy actually."
Snape's eyebrows lowered and he looked deeply suspicious. "My books on vampires are right here, Headmaster. They are very precious to me; I trust that you'll take good care of them."
Dumbledore looked up at him with a slightly sad look in his eye, "You know I will take very good care of the book." Snape knew he wasn't talking about the book at all.
"I'm sorry, Albus. I am perhaps a little overly sensitive on the subject. Ah, here it is The Vampire Prophecies, and if you would like there is my companion here Interpreting the Vampire Prophecies." He held the two books out to Dumbledore. "I do hope this hasn't anything to do with me."
Dumbledore just smiled and took the books. "How is your Russian?"
Snape smirked cruelly, "Alas, my lack of companionship has made it rather difficult for me to learn to speak languages. But I can read and write quite fluently in nearly all of them."
Dumbledore yawned slightly, "I wish I didn't need sleep. It's amazing what you have done with your extra time. I'll return these soon." Dumbledore left the room and the bright light softened.
Snape wondered whether he looked as worried as he felt, but of course, there were no mirrors in his room. He sat down at the piano (a black Steinway that fit in nicely with the dark décor of the room) and began to play a slow mournful song that he sang with in his deep, rich tenor. It was haunting and appealing.
.and deep beneath lived the Phantom. A tortured soul who played his haunting melodies at night, waiting for when he could be accepted by day.
A bittersweet smile wandered across Snape's face, he stopped playing and rubbed his eyes. Yes, perhaps he was tired.