Chapter Two
The 5th year Creevy brother was straying in the hallways as I made my way to Dumbledore's office. He looked positively terrified as I wordlessly swept up to him, and towered overhead, fiercely intimidating and valiant (if I do say so myself).
I was in the mood to torment. I had just displayed enough compassion to suit me for the next ten years.
"And what, Mr. Creevy, are you doing out of class?" I asked chillingly.
The words tasted good on my tongue. The seventy five percent of my conscience that remained malicious cheered and chimed mugs of butterbeer together, chanting, "All hail, Severus!"
In my mind, I'm the king. I have the feeling that this psychological disorder came from the neglect I sheltered throughout school, but I really don't care now. At least I think I'm great.
"P-Professor McGonagall, sir," Creevy spluttered. "S-she sent me to run an errand."
I sneered. "Did you complete this so-called errand, Creevy?" The boy nodded his head vigorously. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your needless loitering."
"B-but-"
"Five more points from Gryffindor for your inane stammer. Now go back to class before I lose my temper."
The boy turned around and walked away at a fast pace. Blast, he knew I'd deduct even more points if he ran. Oh well, Gryffindors are a ridiculous lot; I'll be able to take off more points within the next hour, I'm sure.
I was relieved when I finally reached the headmaster's office without anymore crying, insane Harry Potters who tugged at my heartstrings and nagged my evil intent. Although, another Creevy incident would be tolerable, as Creevy was small and in comparison, I was very, very big.
"Albus," I said, sinking into a chair without invitation. "Lets have tea."
Albus looked at me from his desk, a half smile on his face and his eyes twinkling in amusement. For some reason, I always managed to amuse the old fool. It was odd considering everyone else thought me to be the least humorous person to ever grace this earth.
"Poppy has already informed me about the incident with Harry Potter-"
"I did not come to discuss Harry Potter," I cut him off. "I came for tea." His eyes hardened. I have learned over the years that when Albus Dumbledore's face becomes completely serious, then you have made an error in judgement. Thus I attempted to look apologetic while saying, "Sorry. I meant, may we please have tea?"
He sighed, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, shook his head, and waved his hand. Sandwiches, a teapot, and teacups appeared before us on his desk and I smiled gratefully, grabbing one of the sandwich triangles like a greedy child.
"Severus," he said slowly, watching me munch on my sandwich. "I do have something important to discuss with you . . . involving Harry."
Of course, what else could I expect? Knowing it was inevitable, I waved my hand for him to continue, maintaining a look of sheer boredom on my face.
"Poppy has told me that she suspects the wounds were self-inflicted. Is this true?"
I rolled my eyes, swallowing the last bite of my sandwich. "Yes, Albus."
"I want you to recount everything that happened, Severus. This is very serious."
Where do I begin?
"Well, I heard him crying from the hallways." I said. "I walked into the bathroom and there he was, sitting in a pool of his own blood, his arm mutilated and a dagger in his hand."
Albus nodded. "What did he have to say?"
"He said he didn't want to live anymore." I smirked. "At least now he understand my position . . . "
I pride myself in being a strong liar.
"Severus . . . " Albus warned. "This is extremely serious. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take drastic measures."
Of course Albus would have to take drastic measures! The golden boy was involved. Every measure taken in the wake of the golden boy was a drastic measure.
I stuffed more sandwich into my mouth before asking, "What're you going to do?"
"Child, do not speak with your mouth full," Albus scolded, looking thoroughly amused. He then sighed, his face once again hardening. "I can't trust a suicidal student alone. I'm going to have to have him reside with one of the staff members until he's mentally healed."
I stopped chewing, remembering the vacant green eyes that had looked at me so pleadingly. I could feel the soft boyish, hair between my spindly fingers and the pads of his fingertips that brushed over my scarred arms.
"Who are you entrusting your golden boy to, Albus?" I sneered, trying my best to fill my voice with disdain.
"Minerva, most likely, as she's his head of house," Albus replied.
The tears that he didn't cry, and his small voice asking me to take care of him. The same voice promising to take care of me. His warm weight, light from malnutrition, as I carried him up to the hospital wing. His heavy breathing on my cheek.
"I suppose that would be best . . . " I mumbled.
His hand running through my clean hair, asking if I cared for him.
"Severus, my boy, you look troubled," Albus remarked. "What ever is the matter?"
The mangled arm. The blood pooling around his small body.
"Severus? Are you alright?"
His smile. His shaking left arm, slipping the dagger through the blood on the floor.
"Severus, come back."
((I'll take care of you))
"I want him," I whispered.
"Sorry?" Albus asked, looking particularly delighted.
"I want to take care of Potter."
"Excellent."
I knew that Albus had wanted this, even expected it. Now I was entrusted with the care of Harry Bloody Potter, the Boy Who Fucking Lived. My most hated student . . . and yet, there was this sinking feeling when I thought about him, alone in the bathroom, his childish voice whispering about the abuse of existence. The first fall of the dagger to the floor, and the unsatisfying sound it made that reverberated against the walls and throughout the room. His maniacal grin, that only managed to show how tired he was.
I rolled up my sleeve to touch my scars.
Tired. Tired of life.
"It doesn't hurt, Albus," I said, feeling the constriction of my throat.
"What doesn't hurt, Child?"
Nothing hurts. The Dark Lord of Fecal Matter could summon me at this very moment, burn his dark mark black on my forearm and I would say that it was painless. Hurt was an abused word. The only thing that truly hurts is life itself.
Or maybe Harry Potter and I just cancel eachother out. Either way, it doesn't hurt.
"Severus, are you alright?"
I couldn't give this man I considered to be the only parental figure I had, the satisfaction of thinking I was having another turn around. I just couldn't.
"No, Albus," I replied, snapping my head up to meet his gaze. "I'm not. There's a bad taste in my mouth."
"From what, Severus?"
"The Dark Lord. He tastes like shit." I rose, throwing a half-eaten sandwich down on the platter. "I have to go find more Gryffindors to take points from. I'm in an awful mood."
With that, I swept out of his office. The hallways were once again, abandoned, and I was, as I always will be, utterly alone.
* * *
Five minutes passed before I crumbled in an appalling heap of sentimentality and made my way for the hospital wing. If I could be two people, I'm sure one of me would be sneering at the other. Actually I think I'm having multiple-personalities tendencies, for I am experiencing this unrelenting urge to insult myself.
Poppy was incorrigible, as always. She demanded to know what business I had to be near her sickly patients and when I replied, she told me, "No, you can't see the Potter boy. He's asleep, anyway."
I shrugged my shoulders, as I was also incorrigible, and walked past her to Potter's bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing was deep.
"He's crying," I hissed to Poppy, as small tears strayed down the boy's face.
"He has bad dreams," the medi-witch replied, as if speaking to a small child. "It's very common for him to have nightmares." Apparently realizing that I was harmless, she left my side to tend to her other patients.
I sighed, stepping closer to Potter. He was tightly grasping the white sheets in his hand, quietly sobbing now.
"I don't want to be alone."
Merlin, the boy could rip a man's heart out in his sleep. I gently pried his hand open and rested mine in his palm. He squeezed. I squeezed back.
"Professor Snape?" he mumbled. His eyes were still closed.
"Yes, Potter, it's me," I managed to say, though a knot was forming in my throat.
The boy didn't say anything else, just continued holding my hand with his eyes tightly shut and tears still streaming down his cheeks.
"What was that dream about, Potter?" I finally asked.
He smiled through his tears, opened his mother's eyes and probed my soul.
"You, Professor."
The 5th year Creevy brother was straying in the hallways as I made my way to Dumbledore's office. He looked positively terrified as I wordlessly swept up to him, and towered overhead, fiercely intimidating and valiant (if I do say so myself).
I was in the mood to torment. I had just displayed enough compassion to suit me for the next ten years.
"And what, Mr. Creevy, are you doing out of class?" I asked chillingly.
The words tasted good on my tongue. The seventy five percent of my conscience that remained malicious cheered and chimed mugs of butterbeer together, chanting, "All hail, Severus!"
In my mind, I'm the king. I have the feeling that this psychological disorder came from the neglect I sheltered throughout school, but I really don't care now. At least I think I'm great.
"P-Professor McGonagall, sir," Creevy spluttered. "S-she sent me to run an errand."
I sneered. "Did you complete this so-called errand, Creevy?" The boy nodded his head vigorously. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your needless loitering."
"B-but-"
"Five more points from Gryffindor for your inane stammer. Now go back to class before I lose my temper."
The boy turned around and walked away at a fast pace. Blast, he knew I'd deduct even more points if he ran. Oh well, Gryffindors are a ridiculous lot; I'll be able to take off more points within the next hour, I'm sure.
I was relieved when I finally reached the headmaster's office without anymore crying, insane Harry Potters who tugged at my heartstrings and nagged my evil intent. Although, another Creevy incident would be tolerable, as Creevy was small and in comparison, I was very, very big.
"Albus," I said, sinking into a chair without invitation. "Lets have tea."
Albus looked at me from his desk, a half smile on his face and his eyes twinkling in amusement. For some reason, I always managed to amuse the old fool. It was odd considering everyone else thought me to be the least humorous person to ever grace this earth.
"Poppy has already informed me about the incident with Harry Potter-"
"I did not come to discuss Harry Potter," I cut him off. "I came for tea." His eyes hardened. I have learned over the years that when Albus Dumbledore's face becomes completely serious, then you have made an error in judgement. Thus I attempted to look apologetic while saying, "Sorry. I meant, may we please have tea?"
He sighed, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, shook his head, and waved his hand. Sandwiches, a teapot, and teacups appeared before us on his desk and I smiled gratefully, grabbing one of the sandwich triangles like a greedy child.
"Severus," he said slowly, watching me munch on my sandwich. "I do have something important to discuss with you . . . involving Harry."
Of course, what else could I expect? Knowing it was inevitable, I waved my hand for him to continue, maintaining a look of sheer boredom on my face.
"Poppy has told me that she suspects the wounds were self-inflicted. Is this true?"
I rolled my eyes, swallowing the last bite of my sandwich. "Yes, Albus."
"I want you to recount everything that happened, Severus. This is very serious."
Where do I begin?
"Well, I heard him crying from the hallways." I said. "I walked into the bathroom and there he was, sitting in a pool of his own blood, his arm mutilated and a dagger in his hand."
Albus nodded. "What did he have to say?"
"He said he didn't want to live anymore." I smirked. "At least now he understand my position . . . "
I pride myself in being a strong liar.
"Severus . . . " Albus warned. "This is extremely serious. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take drastic measures."
Of course Albus would have to take drastic measures! The golden boy was involved. Every measure taken in the wake of the golden boy was a drastic measure.
I stuffed more sandwich into my mouth before asking, "What're you going to do?"
"Child, do not speak with your mouth full," Albus scolded, looking thoroughly amused. He then sighed, his face once again hardening. "I can't trust a suicidal student alone. I'm going to have to have him reside with one of the staff members until he's mentally healed."
I stopped chewing, remembering the vacant green eyes that had looked at me so pleadingly. I could feel the soft boyish, hair between my spindly fingers and the pads of his fingertips that brushed over my scarred arms.
"Who are you entrusting your golden boy to, Albus?" I sneered, trying my best to fill my voice with disdain.
"Minerva, most likely, as she's his head of house," Albus replied.
The tears that he didn't cry, and his small voice asking me to take care of him. The same voice promising to take care of me. His warm weight, light from malnutrition, as I carried him up to the hospital wing. His heavy breathing on my cheek.
"I suppose that would be best . . . " I mumbled.
His hand running through my clean hair, asking if I cared for him.
"Severus, my boy, you look troubled," Albus remarked. "What ever is the matter?"
The mangled arm. The blood pooling around his small body.
"Severus? Are you alright?"
His smile. His shaking left arm, slipping the dagger through the blood on the floor.
"Severus, come back."
((I'll take care of you))
"I want him," I whispered.
"Sorry?" Albus asked, looking particularly delighted.
"I want to take care of Potter."
"Excellent."
I knew that Albus had wanted this, even expected it. Now I was entrusted with the care of Harry Bloody Potter, the Boy Who Fucking Lived. My most hated student . . . and yet, there was this sinking feeling when I thought about him, alone in the bathroom, his childish voice whispering about the abuse of existence. The first fall of the dagger to the floor, and the unsatisfying sound it made that reverberated against the walls and throughout the room. His maniacal grin, that only managed to show how tired he was.
I rolled up my sleeve to touch my scars.
Tired. Tired of life.
"It doesn't hurt, Albus," I said, feeling the constriction of my throat.
"What doesn't hurt, Child?"
Nothing hurts. The Dark Lord of Fecal Matter could summon me at this very moment, burn his dark mark black on my forearm and I would say that it was painless. Hurt was an abused word. The only thing that truly hurts is life itself.
Or maybe Harry Potter and I just cancel eachother out. Either way, it doesn't hurt.
"Severus, are you alright?"
I couldn't give this man I considered to be the only parental figure I had, the satisfaction of thinking I was having another turn around. I just couldn't.
"No, Albus," I replied, snapping my head up to meet his gaze. "I'm not. There's a bad taste in my mouth."
"From what, Severus?"
"The Dark Lord. He tastes like shit." I rose, throwing a half-eaten sandwich down on the platter. "I have to go find more Gryffindors to take points from. I'm in an awful mood."
With that, I swept out of his office. The hallways were once again, abandoned, and I was, as I always will be, utterly alone.
* * *
Five minutes passed before I crumbled in an appalling heap of sentimentality and made my way for the hospital wing. If I could be two people, I'm sure one of me would be sneering at the other. Actually I think I'm having multiple-personalities tendencies, for I am experiencing this unrelenting urge to insult myself.
Poppy was incorrigible, as always. She demanded to know what business I had to be near her sickly patients and when I replied, she told me, "No, you can't see the Potter boy. He's asleep, anyway."
I shrugged my shoulders, as I was also incorrigible, and walked past her to Potter's bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing was deep.
"He's crying," I hissed to Poppy, as small tears strayed down the boy's face.
"He has bad dreams," the medi-witch replied, as if speaking to a small child. "It's very common for him to have nightmares." Apparently realizing that I was harmless, she left my side to tend to her other patients.
I sighed, stepping closer to Potter. He was tightly grasping the white sheets in his hand, quietly sobbing now.
"I don't want to be alone."
Merlin, the boy could rip a man's heart out in his sleep. I gently pried his hand open and rested mine in his palm. He squeezed. I squeezed back.
"Professor Snape?" he mumbled. His eyes were still closed.
"Yes, Potter, it's me," I managed to say, though a knot was forming in my throat.
The boy didn't say anything else, just continued holding my hand with his eyes tightly shut and tears still streaming down his cheeks.
"What was that dream about, Potter?" I finally asked.
He smiled through his tears, opened his mother's eyes and probed my soul.
"You, Professor."