Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum
Chapter Three.
Solitary.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, et al.
----------
Snape sighed and scrubbed his hands even more vigorously under the faucet. He didn't raise his eyes to the mirror above him. He had never watched himself cry before, today was certainly not the day to start. He turned off the taps and hastily dried his hands on his robes. An hour. Why had he only asked for an hour? An hour was hardly enough time to stop his violent trembling. The Muggle way of doing things takes much longer, he reflected. Before he could stop it, the memory flooded back…
Lucius Malfoy, eyes high and cold; laughing as he snapped Snape's wand. "You have betrayed us for a filthy Mudblood," he had spat. "You deserve no less than to live as one of your precious Muggles." He delivered a swift kick to Snape's stomach, which sent him onto his knees.
Snape rubbed his stomach gently as he remembered the searing pain. He lay down upon his sofa, bringing his hands to his face. In the dark crook of his elbow, he attempted to take a steadying breath. 'Perspective, that's what I need right now,' he thought. How to explain to Albus Dumbledore that all he had wanted, for one moment, was to… matter. How adolescent and self-pitying was that argument?
He sighed again, his breath remaining within the crook of his arm. Stale and foul. Perhaps he would need to go back, way back, to the moment when--against all his judgment and every bit of logic in the known universe--he had fallen in love with Hermione Granger. Maybe he would need to explain to Dumbledore the sheer frustration he felt when, one recent night when his senses were apparently out to tea, he had advanced upon the lovely Miss Granger. And been met with the type of rejection he had always been met with in such endeavors--a semi-amused, disgusted witch, pushing him away amidst fits of giggles. To Miss Granger's credit, she had attempted to soften the blow, but had indeed made everything worse. Snape had sat, head in his hands, wondering why in the bloody hell he had just attempted to express an emotion to--of all people--a former student.
Maybe Dumbledore could understand how Snape had been unable to forget this incident when shoved in a closet with said vixen. Particularly when his pride had just taken the deepest blow of all--he had been called a Muggle-lover, beaten, his wand broken--in front of a crowd of Death Eaters and Slytherin students. Perhaps he would even need to explain how much more the words "Muggle-lover" stung when Draco Malfoy was the one hurling them. Particularly when Draco Malfoy himself had broken every rule set forth for a Slytherin, and taken a Muggle-born as his bride.
Maybe Dumbledore could understand the rage that had welled up within him when he walked the halls of Malfoy Manor, bleeding, and found Miss Granger--pardon me, Mrs. Malfoy. Wasn't it understandable that when the little tart grabbed him and shoved him into the closet, he would feel a bit of anger? Anger at her, obviously, for turning him away and then taking up with an even fouler creature. Anger at himself, for not having the wits to outfox the Malfoys before they found out about his infatuation with Hermione.
It all boiled down to her, to this impertinent girl that had stood merely centimeters away from him, smelling better than anyone so vile had a right to smell. When she had turned to him and tried to whisper an explanation, he hadn't been able to control himself---would Dumbledore be able to understand the passion that overcame him? The urgency with which he pressed his lips to Hermione's? The incredible sense of victory when she did not fight him, when she in fact leaned into him, whispering something he couldn't hear and moving her hands over his back.
"This is no use," Snape muttered into his arm. "I'm not becoming any more rational."
Without looking up, he knew that Dumbledore was standing in the doorway. How quickly an hour passes. What is that Muggle expression, time flies when you're loathing yourself? Surely not.
"Severus, I will not stand here all night. Begin talking and do it now."
"Headmaster, sir… have a seat," Snape uttered from within his arm fort. He felt his legs being pushed aside as Dumbledore chose to seat himself on the sofa. Snape reluctantly pulled himself to a sitting position, his body screaming its protest. He stared straight ahead, not daring a glance at Dumbledore. "Why did she marry Malfoy?" he asked before he even realized he needed to know. Dumbledore sighed and shifted a bit in his seat.
"Well, Severus, surely you understand that the Malfoy family is foremost in Voldemort's plans. And with your compromised position within Lucius' inner circle, we had to find another willing to spy. Draco Malfoy always did like Hermione."
"I don't understand why it was allowed. She's Muggle-born. Is there anything Lucius hates more?"
"Severus, I cannot pretend to understand how the mind of a Malfoy operates. I can only assume Miss Granger--"
"Mrs. Malfoy," Snape hissed.
"Miss Granger. She never legally married him, its all been arranged for months. I'm sorry, Severus, that you had to find out while on the floor of Lucius' dungeon, but I could not have safely communicated the matter to you. She is obviously working at great personal risk--as once were you."
"I still am. I am still on your side, sir."
"That remains to be seen, Severus. Do you intend to tell me that you have--" Dumbledore stumbled over his next words, "violated our Miss Granger, out of… jealousy?"
"Albus. Please. Give me… allow me to gather my thoughts."
"You have been given time with which to prepare. I demand an explanation now, before I am forced to call in others to assist me in this matter."
"All right. I'm not implying that my behaviors were motivated by jealousy. Although I certainly did feel it. I'm sure you agree that nothing I felt could justify what I did. But jealousy certainly is not a reason to harm one so precious." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at Snape's description of Hermione, but said nothing. Snape took a deep breath, pain shooting throughout his body as he did so, and continued. "They called me a Muggle-lover… they broke my wand… beat me. I've taken abuse from the Death Eaters for so long, while never truly being one of them. And never truly being one of you. Always on the outside, and, sir, I know that is no defense. It is childish. But Hermione, what she said tonight… it's the absolute truth. I envy you all your freedoms."
"What freedom is there, Severus, in a Death Eaters hatred and love of destruction?"
"The freedom of knowing where one belongs! Knowing that there are others like you, who feel as you do. The freedom of belonging to something, no matter how horrible that something may be. The freedom of community, of brethren, of camaraderie!" Snape was pacing the floor suddenly, heat and passion taking over his voice.
"Severus, I must ask you to calm down."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm being quite irrational, I know."
"So you were jealous of the Death Eaters, jealous of the Order, spited by Miss Granger… where exactly did you cast aside all reason and morality?"
"I cannot explain myself, sir. I think I just felt the rage so keenly at that moment--I wanted… I only wanted…" he trailed off, unable or unwilling to put words to his horrid feelings.
"You only wanted a bit of power. You only wanted to strike fear in someone's heart. Someone who mattered, someone who--you feel-- deserved it." Dumbledore spoke coolly, his voice for the moment free of judgment. Snape lowered his head in shame.
"Help me, it's the truth," he murmured, falling again to his knees. Dumbledore stood suddenly and grabbed Snape by the shoulders. He lifted him and forced him to meet his eyes. At this intimacy, Snape felt himself close to breaking, screaming, crying--all things which Severus Snape was not inclined to do. Perhaps Dumbledore sensed this, understood that they had merely scratched the surface of the issue, and suddenly realized he wanted to hear no more for the night.
"Rest, Severus. I shall contact you tomorrow… perhaps in the light of day, this will all look different." He released his hold on Snape and swept out of the room, leaving a tired and broken man, who again fell to the floor.
Chapter Three.
Solitary.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, et al.
----------
Snape sighed and scrubbed his hands even more vigorously under the faucet. He didn't raise his eyes to the mirror above him. He had never watched himself cry before, today was certainly not the day to start. He turned off the taps and hastily dried his hands on his robes. An hour. Why had he only asked for an hour? An hour was hardly enough time to stop his violent trembling. The Muggle way of doing things takes much longer, he reflected. Before he could stop it, the memory flooded back…
Lucius Malfoy, eyes high and cold; laughing as he snapped Snape's wand. "You have betrayed us for a filthy Mudblood," he had spat. "You deserve no less than to live as one of your precious Muggles." He delivered a swift kick to Snape's stomach, which sent him onto his knees.
Snape rubbed his stomach gently as he remembered the searing pain. He lay down upon his sofa, bringing his hands to his face. In the dark crook of his elbow, he attempted to take a steadying breath. 'Perspective, that's what I need right now,' he thought. How to explain to Albus Dumbledore that all he had wanted, for one moment, was to… matter. How adolescent and self-pitying was that argument?
He sighed again, his breath remaining within the crook of his arm. Stale and foul. Perhaps he would need to go back, way back, to the moment when--against all his judgment and every bit of logic in the known universe--he had fallen in love with Hermione Granger. Maybe he would need to explain to Dumbledore the sheer frustration he felt when, one recent night when his senses were apparently out to tea, he had advanced upon the lovely Miss Granger. And been met with the type of rejection he had always been met with in such endeavors--a semi-amused, disgusted witch, pushing him away amidst fits of giggles. To Miss Granger's credit, she had attempted to soften the blow, but had indeed made everything worse. Snape had sat, head in his hands, wondering why in the bloody hell he had just attempted to express an emotion to--of all people--a former student.
Maybe Dumbledore could understand how Snape had been unable to forget this incident when shoved in a closet with said vixen. Particularly when his pride had just taken the deepest blow of all--he had been called a Muggle-lover, beaten, his wand broken--in front of a crowd of Death Eaters and Slytherin students. Perhaps he would even need to explain how much more the words "Muggle-lover" stung when Draco Malfoy was the one hurling them. Particularly when Draco Malfoy himself had broken every rule set forth for a Slytherin, and taken a Muggle-born as his bride.
Maybe Dumbledore could understand the rage that had welled up within him when he walked the halls of Malfoy Manor, bleeding, and found Miss Granger--pardon me, Mrs. Malfoy. Wasn't it understandable that when the little tart grabbed him and shoved him into the closet, he would feel a bit of anger? Anger at her, obviously, for turning him away and then taking up with an even fouler creature. Anger at himself, for not having the wits to outfox the Malfoys before they found out about his infatuation with Hermione.
It all boiled down to her, to this impertinent girl that had stood merely centimeters away from him, smelling better than anyone so vile had a right to smell. When she had turned to him and tried to whisper an explanation, he hadn't been able to control himself---would Dumbledore be able to understand the passion that overcame him? The urgency with which he pressed his lips to Hermione's? The incredible sense of victory when she did not fight him, when she in fact leaned into him, whispering something he couldn't hear and moving her hands over his back.
"This is no use," Snape muttered into his arm. "I'm not becoming any more rational."
Without looking up, he knew that Dumbledore was standing in the doorway. How quickly an hour passes. What is that Muggle expression, time flies when you're loathing yourself? Surely not.
"Severus, I will not stand here all night. Begin talking and do it now."
"Headmaster, sir… have a seat," Snape uttered from within his arm fort. He felt his legs being pushed aside as Dumbledore chose to seat himself on the sofa. Snape reluctantly pulled himself to a sitting position, his body screaming its protest. He stared straight ahead, not daring a glance at Dumbledore. "Why did she marry Malfoy?" he asked before he even realized he needed to know. Dumbledore sighed and shifted a bit in his seat.
"Well, Severus, surely you understand that the Malfoy family is foremost in Voldemort's plans. And with your compromised position within Lucius' inner circle, we had to find another willing to spy. Draco Malfoy always did like Hermione."
"I don't understand why it was allowed. She's Muggle-born. Is there anything Lucius hates more?"
"Severus, I cannot pretend to understand how the mind of a Malfoy operates. I can only assume Miss Granger--"
"Mrs. Malfoy," Snape hissed.
"Miss Granger. She never legally married him, its all been arranged for months. I'm sorry, Severus, that you had to find out while on the floor of Lucius' dungeon, but I could not have safely communicated the matter to you. She is obviously working at great personal risk--as once were you."
"I still am. I am still on your side, sir."
"That remains to be seen, Severus. Do you intend to tell me that you have--" Dumbledore stumbled over his next words, "violated our Miss Granger, out of… jealousy?"
"Albus. Please. Give me… allow me to gather my thoughts."
"You have been given time with which to prepare. I demand an explanation now, before I am forced to call in others to assist me in this matter."
"All right. I'm not implying that my behaviors were motivated by jealousy. Although I certainly did feel it. I'm sure you agree that nothing I felt could justify what I did. But jealousy certainly is not a reason to harm one so precious." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at Snape's description of Hermione, but said nothing. Snape took a deep breath, pain shooting throughout his body as he did so, and continued. "They called me a Muggle-lover… they broke my wand… beat me. I've taken abuse from the Death Eaters for so long, while never truly being one of them. And never truly being one of you. Always on the outside, and, sir, I know that is no defense. It is childish. But Hermione, what she said tonight… it's the absolute truth. I envy you all your freedoms."
"What freedom is there, Severus, in a Death Eaters hatred and love of destruction?"
"The freedom of knowing where one belongs! Knowing that there are others like you, who feel as you do. The freedom of belonging to something, no matter how horrible that something may be. The freedom of community, of brethren, of camaraderie!" Snape was pacing the floor suddenly, heat and passion taking over his voice.
"Severus, I must ask you to calm down."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm being quite irrational, I know."
"So you were jealous of the Death Eaters, jealous of the Order, spited by Miss Granger… where exactly did you cast aside all reason and morality?"
"I cannot explain myself, sir. I think I just felt the rage so keenly at that moment--I wanted… I only wanted…" he trailed off, unable or unwilling to put words to his horrid feelings.
"You only wanted a bit of power. You only wanted to strike fear in someone's heart. Someone who mattered, someone who--you feel-- deserved it." Dumbledore spoke coolly, his voice for the moment free of judgment. Snape lowered his head in shame.
"Help me, it's the truth," he murmured, falling again to his knees. Dumbledore stood suddenly and grabbed Snape by the shoulders. He lifted him and forced him to meet his eyes. At this intimacy, Snape felt himself close to breaking, screaming, crying--all things which Severus Snape was not inclined to do. Perhaps Dumbledore sensed this, understood that they had merely scratched the surface of the issue, and suddenly realized he wanted to hear no more for the night.
"Rest, Severus. I shall contact you tomorrow… perhaps in the light of day, this will all look different." He released his hold on Snape and swept out of the room, leaving a tired and broken man, who again fell to the floor.