Hesitant Confessions
By Zoloft, aka ambtiondata, aka Clare Toomuch4diabolicslugs@yahoo.com
Thanks for reading! If anyone would like to beta this for me, I will be eternally grateful. I wrote this for a challenge, and didn't have a chance to get it edited before the deadline. Anyway, the premise was to take a moment from Philosopher's stone and expand it/ tell the back-story. I chose the moment when Harry walked in on Snape and Filch in the staff room.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe belong to JK Rowling and various publishers and companies. This wasn't written with the intent to make money, but solely for my own amusement and (hopefully) the enjoyment of others.
I'll return reviews if you provide a link.
***
Snape entered the staff room with unusual carelessness, the pain in his leg encouraging him to lower all barriers, as no danger seemed imminent. It was a bad idea, and Snape knew it from the beginning. He hesitated in the doorway, about to turn back to the hall and face the cold, steep, steps to the dungeons when his leg buckled, muscles rendered useless as he crumpled to the floor. Arms shot out to break the fall, only making things worse. Quidditch Through the Ages, previously clutched in his hand, slid away when he landed on it. Potter's book skidded to a stop a few feet away, and left Snape with what would no doubt grow into a horrible bruise on his elbow.
At least now he had a viable excuse. In this state, there was no way he's make it to his rooms without apparating.
Throughout the day Snape had blocked out the throbbing wound as much as possible. Before his first class he'd applied a numbing salve, and spent the rest of the day keeping too busy to think about it. Unfortunately, although the salve had considerable effect in diminishing the pain, it did nothing to help heal the wound. By the time it wore off during the late afternoon, a day spent climbing stairs, tromping around in the snow, and generally neglecting his health had actually caused the condition of his leg to deteriorate.
And now he was paying for his stupidity, sprawled halfway inside the staff room, in plain sight of any teacher or student who happened to walk by, and hoping he hadn't broken any bones, or managed to fuck up his body to the point he'd have no choice but to visit the infirmary.
So, with an audible moan he pulled himself to his feet, using the wall for support. Quidditch Through the Ages still lay on the ground, but he chose to pretend he didn't see it, and left it for the house elves to find. Potter would just have to check it out again if he wanted to read it.
A wave of dizziness hit Snape hard, and he knew if he didn't sit down he'd soon be on the floor once again. After a quick peek out into the hall, he closed the door with his wand, and looked around for a suitable place to rest. His usual chair was far too demanding for this sort of situation; there was no need to look intimidating at the moment. With some trepidation, he sank into Dumbledore's wide, inviting armchair, feeling rather silly, and more than a little disloyal, but it was by far the most comfortable seat in the room, and right then he saw no point in making a pretence at having some shred of dignity.
No honor, no dignity, so why did he feel so guilty? He had only entered the third floor corridor to make sure everything was in place - well, also to see what was in place. But what was so wrong about that? He'd only meant to assure that the defenses around the stone were adequate. After all, Snape, more than anyone at Hogwarts besides Dumbledore, knew best the consequences of Voldemort acquiring the Philosopher's Stone. If Voldemort used the Elixir of Life, Snape's promises to Dumbledore would be pointless and futile.
But Dumbledore knew that too, of course. Dumbledore knew better than anyone. Snape understood there were times when it was necessary to break a promise. That, he realized, was not what was bothering him. Over the years he had learned to deal with the trust of others, yet it seemed he had not yet managed to reciprocate that trust, and, especially where Dumbledore was concerned, it was vitally necessary that he learn to do so.
Wrapped up in so much pain, worry and contemplation, the comfortable chair nevertheless put Snape to sleep within a few minutes.
Although other worries had occupied Snape's mind once he entered the room, his initial concern had been that either another member of the faculty would already be occupying that same space, or barring that, someone would walk in on him. He didn't fancy explaining his mutilated condition to anyone at the moment, but he didn't want to pretend he was fine and cover up his limp with some lame excuse either. Yet asleep as he was, he never heard the door creek open, and barely stirred as the other man hurried inside.
Snape woke with a start as Filch smashed the door shut, and after overcoming his initial panic, couldn't help a smirk of amusement as the caretaker instantly regretted his lack of consideration for school property with a few sharp lamentations.
"Do as I say, not as I do, right Argus?"
Filch turned, looking scared. At a taunt from a student he would have responded with ire, but of every professor he held an almost reverent fear; one that he tried to hide but nevertheless revealed itself from time to time, most notably when he was caught unaware.
Snape raised his eyebrow, and tossed off a feral grin to cover his vast relief. Filch he could deal with any day. The man was a pushover, "Are the Weasley twins getting on your nerves today?" he asked calmly.
Filch's fear dissipated instantly, overcome by a fierce passion as he geared up to speak on his topic of choice. "Gore and Dead don't bother me, they don't make me feel all wild and hot inside. They're annoying, sure, they're distracting, infuriating-"
Snape was amused, "And that's not annoying? Not bothersome at all? I'm afraid in that case I must misunderstand the definition."
"Oh." Filch faltered momentarily, but quickly climbed back to his original fervor "Well, yes. I suppose. Well of course they're annoying, bothersome, and they're disrespectful too. To me, can you believe it? All the time!" darkness crept across his features, "I just want to kill them sometimes. Peeves even more so, of course, though I don't know if that would be possible." He looked to Snape, almost as if he expected the potions master to offer up a solution. But Snape wasn't about to play Filch's game. As far as he was concerned, the caretaker was there to provide him with amusement, not so Snape could help solve his problems. Filch waited until the silence almost became uncomfortable, then revved up yet again. "So you see, it's not that I don't hate them, they're just not nearly so bad as some of the others."
"Ah, you mean Potter and his fan club?"
"Nah," Filch shook his head, "they're just normally intolerable, although there have been times. But no, the Boy Who Will Die hasn't tempted me much, nor have Run or little Horror O' Mine. It's the terrible innocence of the wee Hufflepuff girlies with their little pigtails and dimples and bright blue eyes. Their shrill screams as I sneak up behind to give them detention- "
Although Snape was initially amused by Filch's absurdities, he was fast becoming confused and uncomfortable, sensing that the caretaker's tirade was leading up to some revelation he would rather not hear. Argus Filch was a disturbed man, there was no doubt about that. It appeared however, that no one had previously realized just how disturbed he was, and Snape, being the first member of the staff to bother listening closely to one of his outbursts, was also about to become the first to learn the full extent of Filch's issues.
"What," asked Snape, with much apprehension, "do 'wee Hufflepuff girlies' do to deserve detention? In all my years teaching I haven't yet been able to dock a single one of them for more than five points. though they never actually earn any points either."
Snape paled, as Filch brightened, "Oh come now Severus! They're my specialty, those firstie beavers-"
"Badgers!"
"Oh. I always thought the Hufflepuff mascot was a beaver."
"It's not! It's a badger, it's always been a badger! You didn't know that?"
Filch shrugged, "Beaver just seemed more appropriate. though I suppose that would apply more to the older gels, you know. you do know what I'm talking about, right?"
"Yes, of course I know! I'm not deaf to your sick innuendo!" Snape tried to pull himself into an upright position, and was reminded again of the pain in his leg. Shit. So he was stuck here in the staff room of the school, with a pedophile and a lame leg with origins he wasn't keen to reveal. He was struggling with the thought of what to do next when the terrible implications entered his mind. "So, you like young children."
"Well of course I do!" Filch stammered, with some hesitation, "We work at a school Severus, loving children is just part of the job."
"Damnit Argus, don't play the fool on me! You know what I'm asking, now what have you done?"
Filch took a small step back, "Well, not much of anything really, as far as action, is concerned." He paused, as if to recall a certain event, "The first time I felt anything was back in seventy two. I happened across a young Hufflepuff making "art" on the wall near the staircase to the Astronomy tower-"
"Enough!" roared Snape, leaping to his feet, "What in the world am I going to say to DumbledoreAAGH--! Ooooowwwwwwwwww!" his leg protested vehemently, seizing up with pain as a signal of its discontentment.
"What's the matter? Are you being cursed?"
"No you idiot, I injured my leg!"
"Ouch." Filch shuffled his feet. "Er, do you need any help?"
"No, I need you to run off and violate first years."
Filch looked confused, "But you seemed not to like the idea-"
"Silence, you fool!" Snape grated, "Of course I need your help, how else will I get out of here?"
A wild look came over Filch's face, and Snape noticed his eyes flicker toward the door.
"Oh no you don't. I'll tell Dumbledore everything if you leave me here, and you know you'll never find another job with that on your record beside everything else you have going against you. Fix my leg and I'll keep quiet about everything you told me, and all that you implied." Snape almost added a desperate "please" at the end, just because he was in so much agony he didn't know what he would do if the other man left him.
"But I can't fix that. You know I can't do much magic Severus," Filch whined, "you're asking the impossible of me."
"Grow a spine man! Can't you see I'm in pain here? All I ask for is a little bit of assistance,"
"But I don't know what to do!"
He had a point. Snape sighed, and sagged against the chair, "Why don't you grab some bandages from the supply closet down the hall. Bring some antibacterial solution and spell-o-tape, and do the best you damn well can."
Filch meekly backed out of the room, saying, "Yes, sir, I'll be back in a moment."
Apparently Snape's calm, quiet, about to explode in a rage of illegal curses voice was more intimidating than his usual snappish anger. He'd have to remember not to spoil its effect through overuse.
Two minutes later Filch returned, to Snape's immense relief, with everything he'd asked for. "Here," he said, "you can even use this old mop handle as a walking stick if you like."
"Why in Salazar's name would I want to do anything like that? Go on," with more effort than he displayed, Snape pulled up the leg of his trousers, exposing the wound, "Clean it off before you apply the bandage, I've had a busy day, it's probably got all sorts of lint and sweat and who knows what else irritating it."
Filch didn't appear to have heard. He was staring at Snape's leg with revulsion, "How the hell did you get that?"
"Just clean it up, will you? I'll tell you as you do it. If I can speak, that is."
Snape did tell Filch most of the story, albeit with interspersed winces and sharp intakes of breath. He had initially planned to tell Filch to mind his own business, but as he talked he got more into the story, the catharsis of reliving it, and was amused by the other man's gasps of surprise and admiration. It also helped keep his mind off the burning solution Filch was applying to his leg, and before he knew it, he was mingling his narrative with directions on how to correctly wrap the bandage.
"Blasted thing," Snape said, "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" He heard a slight creaking noise, and looked toward the door.
"POTTER!" He reflexively dropped his robes to hide his leg.
Harry gulped. "I just wondered if I could have my book back."
"GET OUT! OUT!"
Harry left, before Snape could strangle him, and before Filch could jump him.
"Go look, quick, and see if anyone else is out there."
Filch did, just as apprehensive as Snape, and returned shaking his head in relief. "That's pretty bad though," he stuttered, "he almost caught us. Me anyway. But I think he saw you. I think he saw your leg."
"Yes," Snape groaned, "I think he did."
"That's real bad." Filch looked up from securing the bandage, "You know, I'm really sorry about that." He gulped, "I hope you don't get fired, because, you know, Dumbledore would get really mad if he ever found out."
Snape resisted the urge to laugh, or point out Filch's misinterpretation of facts. The first thing I'll do after I get some more of that numbing potion, Snape thought, will be to go to Dumbledore and tell him exactly what happened. Then it's straight to the infirmary. He wasn't particularly looking forward to explaining why he'd thought it would be a good idea to check out the off limits corridor, but it was comforting to know that he could be in worse situations. He didn't, for instance, feel anything out of the ordinary when he looked at Hufflepuff first year girls.
By Zoloft, aka ambtiondata, aka Clare Toomuch4diabolicslugs@yahoo.com
Thanks for reading! If anyone would like to beta this for me, I will be eternally grateful. I wrote this for a challenge, and didn't have a chance to get it edited before the deadline. Anyway, the premise was to take a moment from Philosopher's stone and expand it/ tell the back-story. I chose the moment when Harry walked in on Snape and Filch in the staff room.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe belong to JK Rowling and various publishers and companies. This wasn't written with the intent to make money, but solely for my own amusement and (hopefully) the enjoyment of others.
I'll return reviews if you provide a link.
***
Snape entered the staff room with unusual carelessness, the pain in his leg encouraging him to lower all barriers, as no danger seemed imminent. It was a bad idea, and Snape knew it from the beginning. He hesitated in the doorway, about to turn back to the hall and face the cold, steep, steps to the dungeons when his leg buckled, muscles rendered useless as he crumpled to the floor. Arms shot out to break the fall, only making things worse. Quidditch Through the Ages, previously clutched in his hand, slid away when he landed on it. Potter's book skidded to a stop a few feet away, and left Snape with what would no doubt grow into a horrible bruise on his elbow.
At least now he had a viable excuse. In this state, there was no way he's make it to his rooms without apparating.
Throughout the day Snape had blocked out the throbbing wound as much as possible. Before his first class he'd applied a numbing salve, and spent the rest of the day keeping too busy to think about it. Unfortunately, although the salve had considerable effect in diminishing the pain, it did nothing to help heal the wound. By the time it wore off during the late afternoon, a day spent climbing stairs, tromping around in the snow, and generally neglecting his health had actually caused the condition of his leg to deteriorate.
And now he was paying for his stupidity, sprawled halfway inside the staff room, in plain sight of any teacher or student who happened to walk by, and hoping he hadn't broken any bones, or managed to fuck up his body to the point he'd have no choice but to visit the infirmary.
So, with an audible moan he pulled himself to his feet, using the wall for support. Quidditch Through the Ages still lay on the ground, but he chose to pretend he didn't see it, and left it for the house elves to find. Potter would just have to check it out again if he wanted to read it.
A wave of dizziness hit Snape hard, and he knew if he didn't sit down he'd soon be on the floor once again. After a quick peek out into the hall, he closed the door with his wand, and looked around for a suitable place to rest. His usual chair was far too demanding for this sort of situation; there was no need to look intimidating at the moment. With some trepidation, he sank into Dumbledore's wide, inviting armchair, feeling rather silly, and more than a little disloyal, but it was by far the most comfortable seat in the room, and right then he saw no point in making a pretence at having some shred of dignity.
No honor, no dignity, so why did he feel so guilty? He had only entered the third floor corridor to make sure everything was in place - well, also to see what was in place. But what was so wrong about that? He'd only meant to assure that the defenses around the stone were adequate. After all, Snape, more than anyone at Hogwarts besides Dumbledore, knew best the consequences of Voldemort acquiring the Philosopher's Stone. If Voldemort used the Elixir of Life, Snape's promises to Dumbledore would be pointless and futile.
But Dumbledore knew that too, of course. Dumbledore knew better than anyone. Snape understood there were times when it was necessary to break a promise. That, he realized, was not what was bothering him. Over the years he had learned to deal with the trust of others, yet it seemed he had not yet managed to reciprocate that trust, and, especially where Dumbledore was concerned, it was vitally necessary that he learn to do so.
Wrapped up in so much pain, worry and contemplation, the comfortable chair nevertheless put Snape to sleep within a few minutes.
Although other worries had occupied Snape's mind once he entered the room, his initial concern had been that either another member of the faculty would already be occupying that same space, or barring that, someone would walk in on him. He didn't fancy explaining his mutilated condition to anyone at the moment, but he didn't want to pretend he was fine and cover up his limp with some lame excuse either. Yet asleep as he was, he never heard the door creek open, and barely stirred as the other man hurried inside.
Snape woke with a start as Filch smashed the door shut, and after overcoming his initial panic, couldn't help a smirk of amusement as the caretaker instantly regretted his lack of consideration for school property with a few sharp lamentations.
"Do as I say, not as I do, right Argus?"
Filch turned, looking scared. At a taunt from a student he would have responded with ire, but of every professor he held an almost reverent fear; one that he tried to hide but nevertheless revealed itself from time to time, most notably when he was caught unaware.
Snape raised his eyebrow, and tossed off a feral grin to cover his vast relief. Filch he could deal with any day. The man was a pushover, "Are the Weasley twins getting on your nerves today?" he asked calmly.
Filch's fear dissipated instantly, overcome by a fierce passion as he geared up to speak on his topic of choice. "Gore and Dead don't bother me, they don't make me feel all wild and hot inside. They're annoying, sure, they're distracting, infuriating-"
Snape was amused, "And that's not annoying? Not bothersome at all? I'm afraid in that case I must misunderstand the definition."
"Oh." Filch faltered momentarily, but quickly climbed back to his original fervor "Well, yes. I suppose. Well of course they're annoying, bothersome, and they're disrespectful too. To me, can you believe it? All the time!" darkness crept across his features, "I just want to kill them sometimes. Peeves even more so, of course, though I don't know if that would be possible." He looked to Snape, almost as if he expected the potions master to offer up a solution. But Snape wasn't about to play Filch's game. As far as he was concerned, the caretaker was there to provide him with amusement, not so Snape could help solve his problems. Filch waited until the silence almost became uncomfortable, then revved up yet again. "So you see, it's not that I don't hate them, they're just not nearly so bad as some of the others."
"Ah, you mean Potter and his fan club?"
"Nah," Filch shook his head, "they're just normally intolerable, although there have been times. But no, the Boy Who Will Die hasn't tempted me much, nor have Run or little Horror O' Mine. It's the terrible innocence of the wee Hufflepuff girlies with their little pigtails and dimples and bright blue eyes. Their shrill screams as I sneak up behind to give them detention- "
Although Snape was initially amused by Filch's absurdities, he was fast becoming confused and uncomfortable, sensing that the caretaker's tirade was leading up to some revelation he would rather not hear. Argus Filch was a disturbed man, there was no doubt about that. It appeared however, that no one had previously realized just how disturbed he was, and Snape, being the first member of the staff to bother listening closely to one of his outbursts, was also about to become the first to learn the full extent of Filch's issues.
"What," asked Snape, with much apprehension, "do 'wee Hufflepuff girlies' do to deserve detention? In all my years teaching I haven't yet been able to dock a single one of them for more than five points. though they never actually earn any points either."
Snape paled, as Filch brightened, "Oh come now Severus! They're my specialty, those firstie beavers-"
"Badgers!"
"Oh. I always thought the Hufflepuff mascot was a beaver."
"It's not! It's a badger, it's always been a badger! You didn't know that?"
Filch shrugged, "Beaver just seemed more appropriate. though I suppose that would apply more to the older gels, you know. you do know what I'm talking about, right?"
"Yes, of course I know! I'm not deaf to your sick innuendo!" Snape tried to pull himself into an upright position, and was reminded again of the pain in his leg. Shit. So he was stuck here in the staff room of the school, with a pedophile and a lame leg with origins he wasn't keen to reveal. He was struggling with the thought of what to do next when the terrible implications entered his mind. "So, you like young children."
"Well of course I do!" Filch stammered, with some hesitation, "We work at a school Severus, loving children is just part of the job."
"Damnit Argus, don't play the fool on me! You know what I'm asking, now what have you done?"
Filch took a small step back, "Well, not much of anything really, as far as action, is concerned." He paused, as if to recall a certain event, "The first time I felt anything was back in seventy two. I happened across a young Hufflepuff making "art" on the wall near the staircase to the Astronomy tower-"
"Enough!" roared Snape, leaping to his feet, "What in the world am I going to say to DumbledoreAAGH--! Ooooowwwwwwwwww!" his leg protested vehemently, seizing up with pain as a signal of its discontentment.
"What's the matter? Are you being cursed?"
"No you idiot, I injured my leg!"
"Ouch." Filch shuffled his feet. "Er, do you need any help?"
"No, I need you to run off and violate first years."
Filch looked confused, "But you seemed not to like the idea-"
"Silence, you fool!" Snape grated, "Of course I need your help, how else will I get out of here?"
A wild look came over Filch's face, and Snape noticed his eyes flicker toward the door.
"Oh no you don't. I'll tell Dumbledore everything if you leave me here, and you know you'll never find another job with that on your record beside everything else you have going against you. Fix my leg and I'll keep quiet about everything you told me, and all that you implied." Snape almost added a desperate "please" at the end, just because he was in so much agony he didn't know what he would do if the other man left him.
"But I can't fix that. You know I can't do much magic Severus," Filch whined, "you're asking the impossible of me."
"Grow a spine man! Can't you see I'm in pain here? All I ask for is a little bit of assistance,"
"But I don't know what to do!"
He had a point. Snape sighed, and sagged against the chair, "Why don't you grab some bandages from the supply closet down the hall. Bring some antibacterial solution and spell-o-tape, and do the best you damn well can."
Filch meekly backed out of the room, saying, "Yes, sir, I'll be back in a moment."
Apparently Snape's calm, quiet, about to explode in a rage of illegal curses voice was more intimidating than his usual snappish anger. He'd have to remember not to spoil its effect through overuse.
Two minutes later Filch returned, to Snape's immense relief, with everything he'd asked for. "Here," he said, "you can even use this old mop handle as a walking stick if you like."
"Why in Salazar's name would I want to do anything like that? Go on," with more effort than he displayed, Snape pulled up the leg of his trousers, exposing the wound, "Clean it off before you apply the bandage, I've had a busy day, it's probably got all sorts of lint and sweat and who knows what else irritating it."
Filch didn't appear to have heard. He was staring at Snape's leg with revulsion, "How the hell did you get that?"
"Just clean it up, will you? I'll tell you as you do it. If I can speak, that is."
Snape did tell Filch most of the story, albeit with interspersed winces and sharp intakes of breath. He had initially planned to tell Filch to mind his own business, but as he talked he got more into the story, the catharsis of reliving it, and was amused by the other man's gasps of surprise and admiration. It also helped keep his mind off the burning solution Filch was applying to his leg, and before he knew it, he was mingling his narrative with directions on how to correctly wrap the bandage.
"Blasted thing," Snape said, "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" He heard a slight creaking noise, and looked toward the door.
"POTTER!" He reflexively dropped his robes to hide his leg.
Harry gulped. "I just wondered if I could have my book back."
"GET OUT! OUT!"
Harry left, before Snape could strangle him, and before Filch could jump him.
"Go look, quick, and see if anyone else is out there."
Filch did, just as apprehensive as Snape, and returned shaking his head in relief. "That's pretty bad though," he stuttered, "he almost caught us. Me anyway. But I think he saw you. I think he saw your leg."
"Yes," Snape groaned, "I think he did."
"That's real bad." Filch looked up from securing the bandage, "You know, I'm really sorry about that." He gulped, "I hope you don't get fired, because, you know, Dumbledore would get really mad if he ever found out."
Snape resisted the urge to laugh, or point out Filch's misinterpretation of facts. The first thing I'll do after I get some more of that numbing potion, Snape thought, will be to go to Dumbledore and tell him exactly what happened. Then it's straight to the infirmary. He wasn't particularly looking forward to explaining why he'd thought it would be a good idea to check out the off limits corridor, but it was comforting to know that he could be in worse situations. He didn't, for instance, feel anything out of the ordinary when he looked at Hufflepuff first year girls.