Title: L' Estate di Suicidio
Author: Clynn
Rating: PG-13 for dark themes and some cursing. Rating may, but probably won't, go up.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, and I'm not making any money off of them.
Author's Notes: Well, you finally get your Snape background story. I am sorry it took so long, but I thought Snape and Harry needed to build up a little trust before Snape told his life story. Umm, once again, thanks to my reviewers. Bill Weasley- I don't publish chapters based on how many reviews I get, they are published when I finish them. Nor is the story difficult to write. The problem is simply finding the time to sit down and finish a chapter. Again, I apologize for making people wait between chapters, but I have to put school first.
The streets of Hogsmeade are crowded with small children and gangs of teenagers stand on the street corners, occasionally yelling out to their younger siblings not to get in trouble, not to get dirty, not to do anything they might end up getting blamed for. A few of the children I've seen around school, but I am grateful to find that none of my friends are there, no one I would feel obligated to talk to. Snape leads us around the animated games of hopscotch and jump rope, glaring so ferociously at the young girls and boys that they practically leap out of our path. I manage a reassuring smile or two, and mouth to one particularly frightened girl that Snape is "sweet as a kitten." She giggles a bit, and Snape looks at me suspiciously. I like small children. They don't make the kind of snap judgments I'm so used to seeing adults make, and they look up to me only because I'm older, and theoretically wiser. They have no understanding of Voldemort and they don't characterize me by the scar on my forehead. Little children have a simplistic, black-and-white view of the world. They know what is right and they know what is wrong. For them, there is no area in between. I envy them that.
Snape leads us to the door of the local potions shop. He pulls the door open and motions me inside. The shop is cool, and there are less people there. I'm not surprised. I can't imagine that many of the children I saw outside enjoy making potions over the break. In fact, the only person I can imagine enjoying making potions at all is Professor Snape. He leads me down an aisle filled completely with jars of eyes. Salamander eyes, rabbit eyes, I even note jars of cat eyes, divided by breed. I am beginning to feel more than a little nauseated, and Snape is, quite plainly, laughing at my reaction. I swear he intentionally took me down that aisle just to see if it would make me sick.
Finally, Snape pauses in front of a row of powdered ingredients. He reaches forward almost automatically, pulling out jars with barely a glimpse at their label. "Sir?" I ask timidly. It still makes me uncomfortable, to speak to Snape as if he cares what I have to say. "What do you need all that stuff for?" Snape smiles, that smile that he gets right before he takes fifty points away from Gryffindor.
"I'm going to tutor you, Mr. Potter. You and I both need something to do for the remainder of the summer, and while this little foray proved an excellent distraction, we need something a bit more regular to occupy our time." I very nearly groaned out loud. Being tutored by Snape was not the best way I could think of to spend my time. Still, it was better than sitting around waiting for Snape to begin another one of our heart-to-heart chats. Besides, Professor Snape was volunteering to spend his summer teaching me skills I would very likely need to pass his class when the new term began. It would be foolish of me to whine.
"Well... I umm... I am very grateful that you... That you'll give up your time... To, you know, help me." I struggle to get out my thanks, and I see Snape's eyes crinkle in an expression of obvious amusement.
"Relax, Harry, you will still have time to yourself. I just don't want you to sit around and mope all summer. Having nothing to occupy your time allows you to think, and over-thinking anything is bound to cause problems." I smile back at Snape, his complete reversal in attitude still kind of a shock to me. "Come on, Harry, lets get out of here. We can go get a drink at a little pub around the corner. Not nearly as nice as the Three Broomsticks, but far more quiet." I tacitly agree, and Snape walks to the front to hand his purchases over to an eccentric little man, with the instruction to deliver them to Hogwarts and charge them to his account. I feel a twinge of guilt upon realizing that Snape has taken money from his own account to pay for potions ingredients that I will need, but I have no time to focus on the matter, as Snape is nudging me out of the shop and back onto the bustling streets.
Approaching the small pub that Snape described simply as "not nearly as nice as the Three Broomsticks," I am amazed at the man's talent for understatement. The pub, whose name I cannot decipher from the rotten and filthy sign, looks like it has been deserted for quite some time. The windows are cracked and covered in dust, and the front door is hanging off of its hinges. There are rats crawling about unashamedly outside of the building, and the path to the door is overgrown with weeds. Snape does not appear at all disturbed by the appearance, however, and leads me inside.
As soon as we walk in, the atmosphere changes. Dim lighting illuminates cushioned chairs and deep mahogany tables. At the bar, a plump woman is having an animated conversation with the stately-looking bartender. Snape leads me to a table in the corner, and the bartender immediately detaches himself from the overzealous woman and comes to take our order. Snape orders butterbeers for both of us, and the bartender leaves us with a curt, "Very well, sir." As we sit back to await our drinks, I turn to Professor Snape.
"This place is really very nice, sir. I can't imagine why they don't clean up the outside a bit, they must not get very many customers with it looking that way." I am speaking just for the sake of conversation, but Snape doesn't seem to mind.
"I quite imagine that is the idea, Mr. Potter. This pub has a small, but very dedicated clientele. They make enough money to stay in business, but have few enough customers that they can offer privacy. People come here to conduct business in quiet, or simply to escape the noise of the outside world. I often come in here when I need a break from playing babysitter." I nod briefly. It makes sense, I suppose, and I'm grateful that Snape showed me this place. It would be good to have somewhere to go and be by myself on Hogsmeade weekends. It wouldn't be hard, to make up some excuse for Ron and Hermione, and sneak away. I shouldn't think so lightly about lying to my friends, but I can't really see them understanding the truth. Ron, especially, would think I was trying to escape him, and would be horribly offended.
"Professor? Can I ask you something?" Snape nods, though a bit hesitantly. "Why... I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but why... Why did become so nice? I mean... Sorry..." I break off, embarrassed. Snape leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table nervously. He does not look surprised at my question.
"Look, Harry, I've been expecting you to ask me that, and to tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure how to answer unless... Well, unless I tell you a lot of things that I'd rather not remember. I'm willing, though, to make the effort, if you are prepared to listen. The things I'm going to say aren't pretty, though, and if you would rather not hear it, you had better tell me now." I motion for him to continue, barely noticing when my butterbeer is placed in front of me.
"My family was... well, not the nicest," Snape begins, "and they didn't care for me very much. My parents were young, and I was a mistake. They never failed to remind me of that. They were both wizards, pure blood. They taught me to have pride in my heritage, though they were not extremists, by any means. My parents resented me for ending their life as teenagers, and they resented me for introducing them to the world of responsibility. They often left me at home alone, and I was expected, from the time I was three, to pull my own weight in the family. At first, it was simple things, doing the dishes, sweeping the floor. As I grew, the tasks got harder, and I was terrified of failure. I feared my parents reaction to my obvious imperfections. They never beat me, nothing so drastic as that. But they often told me that I was to blame, for everything that was wrong in their lives. Hearing that, so often, it has an effect on a child. Which I'm sure you know. I began to believe everything they told me, that I was worthless, a burden on the world. When I began at Hogwarts, it seemed like I was in heaven. My teachers were nothing but encouraging, and my housemates did not reject me, as I had feared. I found a talent in potions, and for the first time in my life, I had no responsibilities. My parents owled me frequently, their letters full of the same things I heard at home. The distance, however, made them easier to forget. One day, one of my friends in Slytherin found a letter from my mother. He told me about a place where I would be accepted, my achievements celebrated, rather than mocked. I was desperate. At Hogwarts, I had found friendship, but never love, not really. I needed to feel loved, can you understand that?" I nod. I understand Snape's words all too well. Its almost painful to here this account of his childhood, so similar to my own.
"Anyway, I was asked to attend a few meetings of the deatheaters, and I agreed. I loved being in that circle, being accepted without question. Voldemort told me everything I wanted to hear. A few short hours with him, and he was embracing me like a son. I was thrilled. I agreed to become a full-fledged deatheater, had the mark burned into my arm. It hurt like hell, but I told myself that my pain was a small price to pay to please my new master. I listened to the hatred Voldemort spewed, and I loved his words. I loved that he offered me a chance to be in control, to be superior. He told me I would have respect." Snape pauses to look at me, clearly expecting to see revulsion on my face. But I understand his words, just as he so clearly understands me. We are cut from the same cloth, I think, and it is only chance that I did not end up in the situation he is describing to me. Snape sees the encouragement on my face, takes a long drink of his butterbeer, and begins to speak again.
"The first night, that we went out together, we went to a small muggle village. Voldemort blasted open a home and called me over to his side. His wand was pointed at a little girl, no more than five. He told me to have fun with her, said he wanted to watch me getting my first taste of his life. I let it all build up inside of me, the hatred I felt to my parents, the anger I felt at my own inadequacy. I tortured that child as if she were the sole cause of all pain in the world, and Voldemort looked on and laughed. Later, when I had returned to Hogwarts and the hatred had bled out of me, I realized what I had done. The loathing I had felt for myself before that night was nothing compared to what I felt in the face of my sins. I walked up to the astronomy tower, only planning to sit and think. But the call of the air, the promise of release, it was just too much for me. I jumped."
"It should have occurred to me, I suppose that Dumbledore would have put some sort of barrier in place to stop children from doing just what I did. The moment I jumped, some sort of levitation spell hit me, and I bounced back into the tower. Professor Dumbledore was there in an instant. To this day, I don't know how he got there so quickly. In any case, he took me back to his office and kept me there until I broke down and told him the whole story. He didn't judge me, as I expected. Instead, he took me into his arms, and told me that everything would be alright. He told me I could come and talk to him whenever I wanted to. And then, he asked me to become a spy. And I did, because I can never do enough to erase the pain I caused that little girl. Albus tried desperately to understand me, and even when he failed, he was willing to listen and do what he thought I needed. When I saw you, well... I saw myself. And I wanted to help you. I wanted you to have what I had in Albus." Snape pauses and rakes a hand through his hair. I look at him, stunned that he was so willing to tell me all of this. I have far too much to think about, and I can see that Snape is emotionally drained.
"Lets go back to Hogwarts." I say gently, and Snape nods briefly. He pays for our drinks and we begin a very silent journey back to the castle.
