Disclaimer: The characters in this story and the universe in which they exist are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. I am just playing with her toys. Don't worry, I'll clean up after I am finished.
Chapter 3 - Memories
The fire flickered warmly in the fireplace, the bright orange and red tongues licking hungrily at the oak on which it feasted, casting dancing shadows upon the walls of Severus Snape's study. He sat slumped in one of the armchairs in his bathrobe, lazily turning a nearly empty tumbler of double malt scotch with his left hand, watching the bright bursts of light that shimmered as the flames reflected through the crystal. He had been up half the night already, unable to sleep, and when the clock on his wall struck three, he groaned inwardly, knowing he would be exhausted in the morning. Turning towards his left, he contemplated the half-filled decanter upon the table, his lightless eyes moving between it and his nearly empty glass, oh so tempted to pour himself another drink. But he restrained himself, knowing full well that Albus Dumbledore would be none too pleased if he showed up for his morning class besotted with alcohol.
Rising unsteadily from his chair, he carefully strode towards the rear of his desk, where his long, agile fingers pulled open a drawer and extracted an old picture frame. Snape stared at the photo for a few seconds, running his thumb over a portion of the subject, before returning to his chair by the fire, and setting it upon the table at its side, in front of the decanter. He watched it longingly in silence as a younger version of himself, smiling (how long had it been since he last did that?), turned to plant a kiss upon his new bride.
"Why didn't you tell me that you were ill, Alessandre?" he asked the framed photo, whispering to his past. He closed his eyes slowly, remembering the his last words to her, and sighed, shaking his head. "I never wanted it to end that way. I had no choice."
"He resembles you, you know," Snape continued, thinking of his son (was that pride he felt?). "He has my eyes, my hair, my height, perhaps, but the rest belongs to you. Definitely your nose," he added, frowning; he had always disliked his own. "It hurts to look at him, because I see so much of you in him. He has some of those same expressions you used to make, when you thought I was being unreasonable, or making more of something than it was."
"He seems a bright boy, just as bright as that insufferable Gryffindor know-it-all he chooses to hang out with. The only fault I can find in him is just that, his choice of friends, Alessandre. Consorting with… Potter, "he blurted the name with disdain, "is only going to end him up in trouble. I need to put a stop in it before it goes too far. You know what his father was like. You remember how they use to treat…" he winced at the memories that flooded through his mind. Quietly, with a note of sorrow, his throat constricted, he added, "I just don't want him to end up on the wrong side of a jinx, upside down with his underwear showing."
He closed his eyes once more, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes. How do I influence his relationships without revealing my relationship to him? What authority can I possibly have over his life without putting him in peril?
As he pondered this dilemma, the clock on the wall struck four. He really needed to get some sleep or else he was going to be absolutely useless in class, regardless of how much alcohol he consumed.
With a flick of his wand, he dowsed the fire, and lumbered towards his bedroom. Pulling the covers up to his waist, he closed his eyes, hoping for a few hours of restless sleep. What he received, however, were nightmarish dreams of that dark, rainy night that changed his life forever.
The rear door of the ancestral Snape Manor burst open revealing the tall dark frame of its owner surrounded by a rain-soaked cloak undulating wildly in the wind. His raven black hair was drenched, hanging limp around his face, dripping onto his sopping clothes as he stumbled within, gasping for breath, clutching a stitch in his side as if he had run the whole way up the hill from the road.
"Alessandre!" he cried, bounding into the main downstairs hall and towards the stairs. "Alessandre!" Lightening flickered through the still open door followed quickly by a loud clap of thunder as the rain poured relentlessly outside. Not receiving an answer, his stomach plummeted as he climbed the many stairs to the next level, "Alessandre!" he cried, competing with the roaring rain storm outside, but still no answer came. He trembled inwardly as he strode down the hall, horrified at what he might find. Had the Dark Lord gotten to them already? Severus paused outside the nursery as he prepared himself for the worst. Thrusting open the door, a brief wave of relief flooded him as he found his wife sitting contentedly in an antique rocking chair, crooning softly to their sleeping son, both apparently unharmed.
Alessandre Snape stood quickly, surprised by her husband's sudden, unexpected entrance and ragged appearance. Those shadowy eyes that could be either cold as night when he was angry or warm as anyone could wish for when he told her he loved her, were now overflowing with outright anxiety and fear.
"We have to go," he said hurriedly with a tone of voice that said not to ask questions, nearly unhinged in his urgency. He grabbed her arm as she began to cross the room to pack the baby's things and shoved his wife instead towards the nursery door. "There is no time! We must go now!"
Alessandre had never seen Severus behave in such a manner. He was always so composed and self-assured; to see him like this only increased her fear. "Severus, what is going on?"
"No questions, " he muttered, hurrying her down the flight of stairs, reaching into his robes and pulling out another cloak. He tossed the invisibility cloak over himself and his family, covering them from head to toe as he steered them towards the rear of the house and out the door. He dared not have them apparate; the resounding noise it made might draw unwanted attention. Down the hillside he conducted his charges, and through a narrow strip of woodland that bordered his property, the undergrowth snagging at the cloak as they made their way towards the dark road. A lone carriage stood silently just off the thoroughfare in the dark shadows of the tree line, waiting.
Severus Snape paused at the wood's edge, and allowed himself a moment to look one last time at his wife and child, his dark eyes unreadable in the moonless night. He lifted a hand slowly, to tenderly touch the soft black hair of his son's head, and raised his gaze once more to meet Alessandre's own. Severus opened his mouth to say something, and quickly closed it again, unable trust his voice to calmly utter the words he loathed to speak. "You have to go, you have to leave the country…" he finally managed.
"Severus…" Alessandre whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks."
"Listen to me, " he continued, leaning forward to rest his rain-soaked brow against hers and lifting his right hand to brush over her lips with his thumb, his voice choked with emotion. "The Dark Lord…he…you must go, Alessandre. You must change your name… use your godmother's… DeVere, they won't recognize it." Gods, how could it have come to this. His heart ached as each word spilled tremulously from his lips. "You must never contact me."
She was quietly sobbing now, her shoulders shuddering as she leaned against him. Severus wrapped his arms affectionately - desperately - about her waist, pulling both his wife and son close, pressing his lips to Alessandre's temple, his own throat choked so badly he couldn't speak above a whisper. "You must forget about me," he rasped into her ear, his nebulous eyes clenched tightly shut, trying fiercely to hold himself together.
Having spent as much time as he dared with his family, Severus reluctantly let go of them, and began to lift the invisibility cloak away from him. "Go now," he muttered, his eyes cast downward, unable to torture himself any longer. "The carriage is waiting. You can trust the driver."
Alessandre made to grab his arm, but he pulled away, leaving the relative safety of the cloak and took several clumsy steps beyond their reach, deeper into the woods. He couldn't see them, but within a short time the carriage door opened as if by itself, then closed once more, starting off into the black starless night.
Severus watched it go until it disappeared around a bend, then turned to make his way through the woods to come around to the front of the manor. He was halfway up the hill when the first flames began to dance in the windows, their flickering light casting an ever-changing kaleidoscope of shadowy shapes upon the ground before him. He ran the rest of the way, and dropped to his knees before one of the glass panes, the emptiness inside overwhelming him at last.
Within the window he could glimpse a portrait that had been completed shortly after the birth of his son, Julius, the various colors of paint melting and running down the length of the canvas. The flames licked at the base of what once was an image of himself and his family, curling the corners as they hungrily feasted, until naught was left but charred, crumbling ash.
He openly wept then, his hands grasping his ebony hair as he leaned forward, elbows upon his knees, as he sobbed. For those watching, he seemed a man grieving over the death of his loved ones, but in truth, it was not they, but Severus Snape's heart that died that day.
Chapter 3 - Memories
The fire flickered warmly in the fireplace, the bright orange and red tongues licking hungrily at the oak on which it feasted, casting dancing shadows upon the walls of Severus Snape's study. He sat slumped in one of the armchairs in his bathrobe, lazily turning a nearly empty tumbler of double malt scotch with his left hand, watching the bright bursts of light that shimmered as the flames reflected through the crystal. He had been up half the night already, unable to sleep, and when the clock on his wall struck three, he groaned inwardly, knowing he would be exhausted in the morning. Turning towards his left, he contemplated the half-filled decanter upon the table, his lightless eyes moving between it and his nearly empty glass, oh so tempted to pour himself another drink. But he restrained himself, knowing full well that Albus Dumbledore would be none too pleased if he showed up for his morning class besotted with alcohol.
Rising unsteadily from his chair, he carefully strode towards the rear of his desk, where his long, agile fingers pulled open a drawer and extracted an old picture frame. Snape stared at the photo for a few seconds, running his thumb over a portion of the subject, before returning to his chair by the fire, and setting it upon the table at its side, in front of the decanter. He watched it longingly in silence as a younger version of himself, smiling (how long had it been since he last did that?), turned to plant a kiss upon his new bride.
"Why didn't you tell me that you were ill, Alessandre?" he asked the framed photo, whispering to his past. He closed his eyes slowly, remembering the his last words to her, and sighed, shaking his head. "I never wanted it to end that way. I had no choice."
"He resembles you, you know," Snape continued, thinking of his son (was that pride he felt?). "He has my eyes, my hair, my height, perhaps, but the rest belongs to you. Definitely your nose," he added, frowning; he had always disliked his own. "It hurts to look at him, because I see so much of you in him. He has some of those same expressions you used to make, when you thought I was being unreasonable, or making more of something than it was."
"He seems a bright boy, just as bright as that insufferable Gryffindor know-it-all he chooses to hang out with. The only fault I can find in him is just that, his choice of friends, Alessandre. Consorting with… Potter, "he blurted the name with disdain, "is only going to end him up in trouble. I need to put a stop in it before it goes too far. You know what his father was like. You remember how they use to treat…" he winced at the memories that flooded through his mind. Quietly, with a note of sorrow, his throat constricted, he added, "I just don't want him to end up on the wrong side of a jinx, upside down with his underwear showing."
He closed his eyes once more, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes. How do I influence his relationships without revealing my relationship to him? What authority can I possibly have over his life without putting him in peril?
As he pondered this dilemma, the clock on the wall struck four. He really needed to get some sleep or else he was going to be absolutely useless in class, regardless of how much alcohol he consumed.
With a flick of his wand, he dowsed the fire, and lumbered towards his bedroom. Pulling the covers up to his waist, he closed his eyes, hoping for a few hours of restless sleep. What he received, however, were nightmarish dreams of that dark, rainy night that changed his life forever.
The rear door of the ancestral Snape Manor burst open revealing the tall dark frame of its owner surrounded by a rain-soaked cloak undulating wildly in the wind. His raven black hair was drenched, hanging limp around his face, dripping onto his sopping clothes as he stumbled within, gasping for breath, clutching a stitch in his side as if he had run the whole way up the hill from the road.
"Alessandre!" he cried, bounding into the main downstairs hall and towards the stairs. "Alessandre!" Lightening flickered through the still open door followed quickly by a loud clap of thunder as the rain poured relentlessly outside. Not receiving an answer, his stomach plummeted as he climbed the many stairs to the next level, "Alessandre!" he cried, competing with the roaring rain storm outside, but still no answer came. He trembled inwardly as he strode down the hall, horrified at what he might find. Had the Dark Lord gotten to them already? Severus paused outside the nursery as he prepared himself for the worst. Thrusting open the door, a brief wave of relief flooded him as he found his wife sitting contentedly in an antique rocking chair, crooning softly to their sleeping son, both apparently unharmed.
Alessandre Snape stood quickly, surprised by her husband's sudden, unexpected entrance and ragged appearance. Those shadowy eyes that could be either cold as night when he was angry or warm as anyone could wish for when he told her he loved her, were now overflowing with outright anxiety and fear.
"We have to go," he said hurriedly with a tone of voice that said not to ask questions, nearly unhinged in his urgency. He grabbed her arm as she began to cross the room to pack the baby's things and shoved his wife instead towards the nursery door. "There is no time! We must go now!"
Alessandre had never seen Severus behave in such a manner. He was always so composed and self-assured; to see him like this only increased her fear. "Severus, what is going on?"
"No questions, " he muttered, hurrying her down the flight of stairs, reaching into his robes and pulling out another cloak. He tossed the invisibility cloak over himself and his family, covering them from head to toe as he steered them towards the rear of the house and out the door. He dared not have them apparate; the resounding noise it made might draw unwanted attention. Down the hillside he conducted his charges, and through a narrow strip of woodland that bordered his property, the undergrowth snagging at the cloak as they made their way towards the dark road. A lone carriage stood silently just off the thoroughfare in the dark shadows of the tree line, waiting.
Severus Snape paused at the wood's edge, and allowed himself a moment to look one last time at his wife and child, his dark eyes unreadable in the moonless night. He lifted a hand slowly, to tenderly touch the soft black hair of his son's head, and raised his gaze once more to meet Alessandre's own. Severus opened his mouth to say something, and quickly closed it again, unable trust his voice to calmly utter the words he loathed to speak. "You have to go, you have to leave the country…" he finally managed.
"Severus…" Alessandre whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks."
"Listen to me, " he continued, leaning forward to rest his rain-soaked brow against hers and lifting his right hand to brush over her lips with his thumb, his voice choked with emotion. "The Dark Lord…he…you must go, Alessandre. You must change your name… use your godmother's… DeVere, they won't recognize it." Gods, how could it have come to this. His heart ached as each word spilled tremulously from his lips. "You must never contact me."
She was quietly sobbing now, her shoulders shuddering as she leaned against him. Severus wrapped his arms affectionately - desperately - about her waist, pulling both his wife and son close, pressing his lips to Alessandre's temple, his own throat choked so badly he couldn't speak above a whisper. "You must forget about me," he rasped into her ear, his nebulous eyes clenched tightly shut, trying fiercely to hold himself together.
Having spent as much time as he dared with his family, Severus reluctantly let go of them, and began to lift the invisibility cloak away from him. "Go now," he muttered, his eyes cast downward, unable to torture himself any longer. "The carriage is waiting. You can trust the driver."
Alessandre made to grab his arm, but he pulled away, leaving the relative safety of the cloak and took several clumsy steps beyond their reach, deeper into the woods. He couldn't see them, but within a short time the carriage door opened as if by itself, then closed once more, starting off into the black starless night.
Severus watched it go until it disappeared around a bend, then turned to make his way through the woods to come around to the front of the manor. He was halfway up the hill when the first flames began to dance in the windows, their flickering light casting an ever-changing kaleidoscope of shadowy shapes upon the ground before him. He ran the rest of the way, and dropped to his knees before one of the glass panes, the emptiness inside overwhelming him at last.
Within the window he could glimpse a portrait that had been completed shortly after the birth of his son, Julius, the various colors of paint melting and running down the length of the canvas. The flames licked at the base of what once was an image of himself and his family, curling the corners as they hungrily feasted, until naught was left but charred, crumbling ash.
He openly wept then, his hands grasping his ebony hair as he leaned forward, elbows upon his knees, as he sobbed. For those watching, he seemed a man grieving over the death of his loved ones, but in truth, it was not they, but Severus Snape's heart that died that day.