Chapter Ten: Background Music
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Prance
your fingers in the direction of detachment
Nightmare nightmare
Raise your head and rear
Your graceful body in the air
Tower above me, push me down
I'm bleeding all over
This sheet of paper
Screaming in the shower
Waiting for my lungs to fill with water
And no one ever hears
No one
Ever
Listens
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The children were loud that morning; with eyes bright and shining, hiding their giggles behind their hands. They were picture perfect, walking in circles in the dark. Their pretty smiles were merchandised, mere fabrications of nature; raising their eyebrows as they pass the food around their House tables, sometimes with an awkward spill. I had the sudden image in my head of hundreds of couples of parents sticking doll parts together, grinning blissfully at the idea of the perfect combination to make the perfect child.
But none of them were the perfect student.
Some of them were stealing quick glances at me, fearing their impending Potions lesson in which I would rip them apart, dress them down, make them feel less than magical; less the Muggle; less than human.
I took no notice of these glances. Most of my immediate attention was focused on the burn in my spine. The Cruciatus Curse seemed to have been stronger the previous night; stronger than any other night I had been subjected to it, anyway. Perhaps it was just my age catching up to me…or maybe I was becoming a victim to frailty. Either way, I had weakened and I knew it.
The headmaster's placating hand sent an insuppressible shudder through my body. His gentle, concerned words gave me heartache. I shook my head, negating whatever his question had been. I never really heard his words. I had stopped hearing words a long time ago.
"Where's Harry?" I croaked, noticing that Harry wasn't with Granger and Weasley.
He replied, but I couldn't hear his words; only his voice. It was trying so hard to comfort me, but I was unable to find solace in Albus.
"Where's Harry?" I repeated, standing up.
Everything seemed nonsensical at that moment: the surprised eyes of the students, the disconcerted murmur of my colleagues, even the manic laughter of Peeves.
Where's Harry?
But nobody answered, and if they did, I didn't hear them. They were useless and incompetent, meaningless and speechless. And all I wanted to do was scream at them for not being able to give me the correct answer. That's all I wanted to do. Scream.
So I did.
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Words can be profound. Words can spark recognition, realization, familiarity, comfort, hatred, love, beauty, affection, melancholy, guilt, shame, sympathy, sorrow, and regret. Words can give birth and end life. Our existence is based on words. The majority of our emotions are based on scant communication. Upon this confession, life is not so significant.
My shoulder had begun to hurt and with a quick movement, I cracked the offending area. I had raged out of the Great Hall. He didn't say as much, but I guessed that Dumbledore was under the impression that I would not be teaching that day.
I was sitting outside, resting my back against the trunk of a tree and staring noncommittally at the frozen, snow-topped lake. Snowflakes were obstructing my view, dusting my eyelashes. I didn't bother to bat them away. I was too drained to move.
I felt like sleeping. Sleeping for a long time. I felt like freezing to death.
I slowly shifted my gaze to my long white fingers, turned pink with cold. I arched an eyebrow in their direction and gave them a wearisome glare. There was warmth in me. I was so warm inside.
There was nobody outside at 9 o'clock that morning. It was just the snow, the lake, the tree, and I. At times, I smiled. The snowflakes weren't really falling. They were dancing to the ground; swirling and floating playfully around eachother, sometimes touching and combining in their descent. Snowflakes had no need for words. Snowflakes were emotionless.
I am Severus Snape. I am a Potions Master. I am a spy.
I tinker with ingredients and live to lie. Another thing about words: words are often false. Words are the dawn of deception. I, as a spy, am the ultimate example of deception. My lord will punish me for deception, but he is too much of a fool to know who deceives him. My lord doesn't need words to communicate. He only needs murder. He can murder me now, as long as he doesn't murder me with words.
Words are the bane of my existence.
"Yer riskin' frostbite there, Professor."
I didn't feel like looking up into Hagrid's concerned eyes, but I did glance at his huge boots just to make sure I wasn't imagining his existence. He lowered himself and threw a blanket over me.
"You shou' be dressin' more warmly," he said, picking my hands out of the snow and shoving a glove onto them. I didn't protest. I didn't move. "Yer fingers will fall off if you just leave 'em in the snow like that." He waited for me to speak. When I didn't, he added, "You're goin' ter need those fingers, Professor. Kids are goin' ter need someone ter teach 'em how to put just the right amount of stuff in ter their Potions. You can't be doin' that without fingers" I heard him making to leave.
"Hagrid, wait…"
"Yes, Professor?"
"How does Harry do in Care of Magical Creatures?"
I turned my head slightly to see him grinning at me, his eyes tearing with emotion.
"Jus' fine, Professor. 'Arry does jus' fine."
When he spoke, I could see his breath escaping from his mouth like the smoke from a Muggle cigarette. The world was dressed in blue and white and the humans in Technicolor. Our words were casual in our thespian surroundings; the environment of a scene in a breathtaking book during a revelation.
The words were scattered all over the page.
"I remember when you were jus' a boy, Professor," Hagrid told me. "You were so shy and frightened."
I rested my head on Hagrid's shoulder and listened to him talk about his memories. I didn't say anything else, just minded the sounds falling from his mouth, interacting and connecting and dancing to my ears.
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"Are you okay? You seemed pretty freaked at breakfast."
Harry brushed the hair out of my eyes that night and kissed my forehead.
"I'm fine, Harry."
He glared at me and uttered, "Liar. I was right in front of you at breakfast and you didn't even see me. You were just looking for a reason to explode."
"You're right. I was just looking for a reason to have something to say."
He gave me an odd look. "You're weird, Professor."
I wasn't hurt. I wasn't angry. I just smiled and shrugged.
Words were only the background music to life, anyway.
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Author's Notes: Right now you're saying, "Uhhh…" and my only response is "Meh, I wanted to write something."