*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The day wore on as usual – the customary imbecilic laughter and chatter of the students created an explosion of noise pollution throughout the halls, in the classrooms, in my head; the usual mundane taps of their shoes against the dungeon floors alerted me of the inevitable potion accidents to come. The morose stressors that choose to linger in my banal life.
Neville Longbottom somehow managed to make a normally yellow potion a vibrant violet. Then it exploded. In my face.
It burned against my skin, took my sight. Draco Malfoy, the snaky whelp, assisted me underneath the emergency shower; but it was to no avail. After what seemed like hours of continuous vomiting, the effect of the botched potion wore off and I was soon returned to my well-maintained sinister self, assigning Longbottom with two weeks of detention, deducting 150 points from Gryffindor, and hollering for the class to "get the bloody hell out of my sight". Harry stayed behind.
"Potter, what did I just say?" I snapped, collapsing tiredly in my chair. He took a tentative step closer to me, his green eyes full of concern. "Don't you have a class to attend?"
He asked if I was okay, checked my eyes, touched my face, recommended that I go to the hospital wing. I sneered, told him to fuck off, I could take care of myself. He looked deservedly hurt, took a step back. I grabbed his hand, pulled him forward. He swayed from left to right, trying to get away, finally falling onto me. Thus was the dance of our compassion and we danced it well. Just as novice and awkward and beautiful as it was meant to be; my feet unmoving and his strides jaunty.
"I just wanted to make sure . . ." he said. "You don't have to be such a git, you know."
I smirked.
"Potter-"
"Harry," he reminded me firmly.
"Harry, go to class."
"No."
"Are you asking for a detention?"
"I have to live with you. That's detention enough." He sighed, resting his head on my shoulder. "Professor, you're being a git."
"I am a git, Harry. Go to class."
There was no arguing after that. He got up, shot me an angry look, and stomped off.
I smiled to myself. Oh my sweet prince, your fury is my motivation; your tears are my humanity.
*-*-*-*
I was more tired than usual. I had developed a fever, sweltering and chilling; the effects of winter and summer. It was autumn. I sweated, I shivered; told my advanced class to do an independent study and write a one-foot long report over their deeds of the day. Around lunch, I began hallucinating.
Every other piece of furniture in my chambers became The Dark Lord, as he were - his wand raised and poised to hit me with an Unforgivable. To forgive is divine. Blimey, I was no god.
When I entered my bathroom, I saw Harry Potter's lifeless eyes gazing up at me. His body dead and slumped over the cold porcelain of the toilet seat, his arms gashed open, whole layers of that pale skin removed, messy black hair slick with blood; a long, angry cut down his left cheek.
My heartbeat quickened as a chill ran up my spine. Couldn't see. Darkness was falling past my eyelids. I collapsed next to the dead Harry, only to find him gone.
"You driveling waste of space," a low hiss resounded in my ear. I couldn't see, but I knew the voice.
"Father?"
"You idiot! To think I fathered something so rancid! So asinine! I hope you die a rotten death, Severus. I hope you live in pain and die young. You insignificant, blundering fool!"
I felt my heart stop.
I felt nothing.
*-*-*-*-*
"Severus?"
A kind voice, a gentle touch. I didn't want to wake up, didn't want to open my eyes.
"Severus, it's Albus."
Albus…
"Harry said there was an accident in Potions that might have brought upon your sudden illness. You know better than to leave these things..."
His tone was one of disapproval.
Sorry to have disappointed you, I wanted to say, only to find that my mouth was dry and my voice was gone.
"Open your eyes, Severus."
I reluctantly obeyed, blinking until my eyes adjusted to the light. I was in the hospital wing, on the clean white sheets of a hospital bed. Poppy Pomfrey was nearby, lecturing a Ravenclaw beater on the dangers of Quidditch.
"What happened, child?" Albus asked, regaining my attention. I sat up in bed, shrugged my shoulders. "Can you not speak?" he inquired sharply. Albus rarely took a stern tone. I have to admit, I was intimidated.
"Longbottom," I managed, though the name came out less than amazing. My voice was horrid and hoarse, choked up and dry. "Bad potion." Albus poured me a glass of water, which I drank greedily.
"Explain why you did not seek further care afterwards."
"Thought it was over."
"You were practically dead when Harry found you. Poor boy was out of his mind with worry."
"Then we're square," I shot back. "He was dead when I found him."
Albus cocked his head to the side as if trying to untangle my words; but before he could ask, Harry walked into the room, followed by his loyal Gryffindor sidekicks, Weasley and Granger. Granger, the pretentious muggleborn that she was, had brought me flowers. Weasley had brought me a scowl. I couldn't decide which gift of well being I preferred.
"I brought you tulips, Professor," the girl said shyly, setting them on my bedside table.
"To brighten my day?" I sneered, glaring at her as she broke out in a smile. "Or, Miss Granger, did you think it might up your score on that last report?"
"I deserved a perfect score," she went straight to it, just as I knew she would.
"Pack it in, Hermione. He only deducted one point," Weasley's scowl deepened. "Greasy bastard failed me."
"20 points from Gryffindor for blatant disrespect, Weasley," I smirked. He glared. I raised an eyebrow. "If you wish to discuss your score, I'll be less than happy to go over your paper with you." Harry chuckled, and I looked at him expectantly. It was the first noise he'd made since they had entered the room.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, Harry, I'm fine."
"I told you to go to the hospital wing…"
"I know you did," I replied. "You were right."
He beamed. Weasley and Granger looked at me as if I had sprouted about fifty extra heads. I suppose it was on rare occasion that I told a student that they were right…much less, that they were right and I had been wrong. But you have to understand those occasions were rare. They never happened.
"I think you should admit your faults more often, Severus," Albus said, his eyes twinkling as they always did. "It softens you."
I glared at the old man. "I don't have faults to admit, Albus," I ground out, inclining my head towards the Gryffindor trio. I hated being degraded to human status in front of students. I didn't want them to believe that I made mistakes; that at times I, and this is the worst, could be on their level.
"The bloody hell you don't," Harry snorted.
"Quiet, Potter."
"HARRY!"
"Quiet, Harry."
That's when it happened. The worst thing that could happen. That feeling of fire, of anger, of hatred. The instantaneous pain that coursed throughout my left arm, as I hissed and clutched my skin. When I looked up, Albus was leering over me with concern. Weasley, Granger, and Harry were no longer in my line of vision.
"Where are the children?" I gasped. Albus moved, looked to the floor. I moved to the edge to see that Harry had collapsed. His hand was covering his scar, and his eyes tightly shut, leaking tears. Granger was soothing him, stroking his hair. Weasley, panicked, was patting his friend's back and murmuring words of worry.
"He's really mad," Harry whispered, finally opening his green eyes.
I knew what had to be done. I had to go. I had to apparate to my master's side, kneel before him, and kiss his robes. Gather his information and work against him, for the better of the Light and for the fall of the Dark. Darkness falls.
I swung my legs off of the side of the bed, gathered my balance.
"Severus, no." Albus hissed. "Remember what I told you? You're not-"
"I am," I cut him off. "I have to. If I don't, we'll never get anywhere." He grabbed my shoulder, but I pulled away. I looked down at the three students below, alarmed at the fear shattered in their eyes.
"Professor, no," Harry shook his head. "Don't." He hugged my leg. "Please don't go…" Granger and Weasley gaped at their companion.
It broke my heart, I must say, to see him plead with me not to leave.
"Granger, Weasley… take care of Harry for me."
"Severus, you are not going," Albus said. "You're weak!"
Weak. Anemic, debilitated, decrepit, delicate, effete, exhausted, faint, feeble, flaccid, flimsy, forceless, fragile, frail, hesitant, impotent, impuissant, infirm, insubstantial, irresolute, lackadaisical, languid, languorous, limp, powerless, puny, rickety, rocky, rotten, senile, shaky, sickly, sluggish, spent, spindly, supine, tender, torpid, uncertain, undependable, unsound, unsteady, unsubstantial, wasted, wavering.
I, Severus Snape, refuse to be called weak ever again.
"Take care of Harry for me," I repeated, leaning down to gently disentangle the boy from my leg. "I'll be back later tonight."
I swept away, leaving my charge just as I had found him, broken and crying.
I retreated down to my chambers, dressed in fresh robes, and donned my mask.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
I groveled, crawled on my knees, kissed the hems of his robes.
Oh, bloody hell. The man needs to watch where he steps.
"Severus, have you learned anything new?"
I've learned that my heart still functions…
"No, my Lord. I'm afraid Dumbledore has been dormant for the past few days. The school has continued in its usual routine."
"Crucio."
Oh Merlin, ouch. Its times like these when I wish I were masochistic.
"And Harry Potter, Severus? What of Harry Potter?"
I panted for a moment, trying hard to regain my breath. "Well, my Lord, Harry Potter continues to fail Potions."
"Crucio."
Does this never end?
I lay on the ground, staring into his red eyes. He quirks a malicious smile, and yet I'm not feeling fear. Anger, yes. Much. That's all I ever have felt. Anger.
"I have a present for you, Severus."
However, I did not like the sound of that.
"A present, my Lord?"
"Bring her out."
I turned my head as much as it would allow me, to see Malfoy and Crabbe leading forth a girl child. She was crying, her arms crossed over her torn, bloody nightgown.
"A child, my Lord?" I asked, the sense of dread setting in.
"Not just a child, Severus. A filthy, Muggle child."
My heart sank.
"Destroy her."