It's easy for you to say "fight!"
But if you were me . . .
Severus Snape glanced bitterly at the class full of fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins. There they were, Dumbledore's golden children. And among them, the most golden of all. Harry Potter.
Severus had tried, the only way he knew how, to prepare the foolish boy for the life ahead of him, the pain and the loss, the enemies disguised as friends. He had tried to make the boy see that sometimes the most dangerous foes came from your own assumptions. And, above all, he had tried to protect the child as best he could.
The boy never saw it. All he saw was a sneering man, cruel and cold. He saw the mask that Severus was so good at projecting He never saw what was behind the mask, never saw that amid all the ice, Severus Snape was as human as he was, as scared as he was. But Severus was old, and he couldn't afford the time it would take to make these fools learn from him if he were soft.
With time rushing by,
What would you do?
With the clock running down,
What would you do?
Of course the young idiots thought they had all the answers. They thought they were invulnerable, and that they would never die. Severus had never been like that. He had always been cold and hard. His illusions had been shattered long before he entered school.
They thought they would win this war by being brave. They didn't know that a war was more than bravery. It took cunning, strategy, ruthlessness. It took those like Severus, those who knew the worst life could throw out and planned for it. But they thought they knew what it took.
The young always have the cure,
Being brave, being sure
And free.
But imagine if you were me,
Severus knew that he was alone. Sometimes he reveled in his solitude. If he had no one, he had no weaknesses, no one it would hurt him to lose. Of course, he sometimes wished for someone who would mourn him, who would miss him if - when - he died. Nevertheless, he kept going on. He knew it was useless to wish for more. He had skills to offer, and he offered everything he had. It was a good thing, or so he convinced himself, that he had no one else to give to.
Alone like me
And this is the only world I know.
Some rooms to let,
The sum of a lifetime, even so,
Sometimes he felt like asking the brave young fools preparing to go get themselves killed, 'What should I do? What would you do, in my position?' He knew it would be useless, they would never understand what it was like to live a double life. But sometimes, just sometimes, he knew he would take the suggestions and use them.
I'll take your advice.
What would you do?
Would you pay the price?
What would you do?
He knew he was stuck in a rut, that he could always refuse to carry on with what he was doing, that he could offer to do more. He didn't have to just stay where he was. But he didn't have to move, either. He didn't have to change anything. The way he was living would keep him until he died, and that would be easiest.
Suppose simply keeping still
Means you manage until the end?
What would you do,
My brave, young friend?
He knew he was getting old and worn down. Some days it seemed that he didn't have the strength to get out of bed in the morning. He didn't want to change, not really. He wanted to do things the way that would be easiest. His life was full of so many demands, he wanted to use the least amount of energy possible and still get them done. He knew he would be caught at his spying one day, Voldemort was very intelligent. What was the point of trying so hard if it was for nothing? It felt as if he wasn't at war with anyone anymore, as if he were just playing a part.
Grown old like me,
With neither the will nor wish to run.
Grown tired like me,
Who hurries for bed when day is done.
Grown wise like me,
Who isn't at war with anyone,
Not anymore!
His time was running out. He would die soon, he knew it. He was frightened, of course, any sane person would be, but he knew that was how it had to be. There was a meeting of the Death Eaters that very night. He was too tired to make it convincing, too tired to carry out his act. He would make sure that what he found out would be broadcast to Dumbledore, perhaps through some kind of recording spell . . . yes, that would do. Then, he knew the game would be up. He would be gone.
He could have been wrong. He had been sure he was going to die before. But it was a sensible precaution. Just in case he was right, and he would be dying before he got back to his bed, he would say his farewells in his own, silent way. Not that he would be missed.
With a storm in the wind,
What would you do?
Suppose you're one frightened voice
Being told what the choice must be,
Still, he looked at Harry Potter, eyes full of malice. How was it possible for the boy to have so much? Handsome, popular, a good wizard, a good person, and so very much a hero. This was a boy who would be famous until the world ended, and probably even after that. His praises would be sung from the rooftops, and no one would doubt that he was a great boy, soon-to-be man.
Severus, of course, would be one of the unsung heroes, known only to those closest to the cause he died for, and admired not even among them. His death might even be met with some joy and he really couldn't blame them.
Still, he wanted to scream at Potter, to ask why the boy was such a brave idiot, such a waste of potential. 'What would you do if you were in my spot? How would you pull it off, how would you save the day?'
He would never ask.
Go on, tell me,
I will listen,
What would you do if you were me?
Characters are J. K. Rowling's. Lyrics are 'What Would You Do?" from the musical Cabaret, words by Fred Ebb, music by John Kander.