Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Thanks to all that reviewed, specially Noctivague. I did my best to remain in character as possible. Also, his fic will not have any overly "romantic" scenes between Severus and Hermione. There's romance, subtly mixed in with angst. Also, this is 5 pages long, damn, I wanted to make it 7 but I couldn't. I did my best.
FLAMES OK, really, just tell me WHY I suck.
PLEASE READ AND REVIEW
CHAPTER FOUR: THE TERRIBLE PAIN OF THE HAUNTED SEVERUS SNAPE
She stepped out into the sunlight and started to walk down the street.
The pain inside her was throbbing, never letting her rest from its unrelenting ache, but it did not worsen. It almost seemed as if she had made peace with it, with the resolution to die. She still had the drained, weary look of a person who has only just recovered from a terrible illness, and her clothes were baggy, hanging loosely off her too slender frame. She had bags below her sunken eyes and her hair was a shaggy mane. Her hands were wrinkled a bit, from the cold perhaps, and she clutched at her shawl as a wind rattled past her, sweeping dust into her vacant eyes.
She looked at the desolate place that she had only begun to call home.
It was a sad place, really, and it seemed lifeless compared to the hustle and bustle she was used to. The silence was overpowering, tangible. It was a threatening force that would, she felt, devour her and make her drown in memories that she wanted to erase. She had to get away from this blasted silence.
The Pain, as she fondly called it, throbbed.
Down the street, where the steady line of houses stopped for a moment, like a gap in a soldier-line at war, she heard the unmistakable rattle of a playground swing. She wondered, for a moment, why there weren't more children playing, since she knew there was a playground for them. And the thought was immediately followed why this lone child was braving the unspoken law that prevented happiness from seeping through to them, why was this child. . . whoever it was. . . human in this place that looked as though it could not nurture a human soul?
As she quickened her pace to see exactly who it was playing by themselves, and half wondering if they'd want her company, the playground with it's overgrown grass and rickety slide, came into view. She wanted to smile, all of a sudden, as the brave 'child' turned out to be a man. But, she also felt the urge to turn tail and run, because here was a man who, she knew, could make her wake up from the trance she plunged into.
The Pain, that by now has a rhythmic beating, stopped for a second and resumed its pace.
Severus Snape was looking up at the sky, swinging back and forth, on the swing. A solitary shadow, as always. She deduced that he probably didn't want her company. . . and she dreaded his. . . so she turned to leave, stepping and breaking a twig as she did.
Severus looked at her, startled by the sound that echoed, being cradled by the houses that flanked the over-grown playground on both sides. He stood up. She turned back to face him, and another gust of wind suddenly made her shiver.
His brow creased slightly, but his face otherwise did not change.
Some force held her to her spot, perhaps it was the fact that her Potions Master was looking at her with a glint in his eye that told her that he wanted to tell her something. His face was stone carved with facial features that belied little about him, but, slowly, he drew a breath. He was so cold, this man, that she wondered if he was capable of feeling . . . though she knew already that he was.
"I would like to offer my apologies again. I am sorry, Miss Granger." His brisk, monotone, business like tone unnerved her. It was too damn calm, like the silence that wanted to enfold her into its being and make her drown in living memories.
She blinked.
". . . for presuming that you would want to talk to me after . . . the ordeal . . . I should not have forced you. I . . . apologize."
The sky above them was slowly growing darker, creeping up on them was a cloud that overtook the light that enveloped them. . . taking away the warmth . . . . and replacing it with a chilling cold.
She did not know how to react, what to say, how to say it so she remained silent.
"Albus merely . . . foolishly . . . believed that I could help you in more ways than a conventional healer could. Miss Granger, he was wrong."
She did not notice the slight hitch to his voice, the slight waver, his almost blinking eyes, and his half balled hand hanging limply at his side. She did not notice the aura of melancholy that surrounded him . . . or his slight frown as he stated this.
"you told me that you do not want to be helped."
Again, the pain throbbed, giving a weak approval.
"Yes . . . professor." She answered lamely.
She could not understand any of this. Her potions master, Professor Snape, was sent to help her. It disgusted her . . . how he could understand her position.
He gave her a curt nod and started to walk towards her. The heavens suddenly let out a loud belch of thunder. She covered her ears. He was level with her, his eyes averted from her face staring ahead.
"But, it is my duty to inform you." He paused, weighing his words carefully. ". . . nothing was your fault. It will not matter, any of this, if you do not want it to. You were saved, Miss Granger, it is not wise to be selfish and throw away what others have given you. Or what others have saved for you. Everyone deserved to be saved, Miss Granger. Do not forget that."
She was determinedly trying to keep her fist from shaking, trying to control her rage. The Pain's ache was moved to the background for a second as she focused her energy on controlling her temper. HOW.DARE.HE.IMPLY.THAT.I.SHOULD.BE.GREATFUL.TO.HIM.FOR.SAVING.ME. Another clap of thunder and a long white streak of lightning went unnoticed in the background as she savored the feel of her nails digging into her palm . . . and the white hot fury that burned in her.
She did not notice the rustle of cloak beside her.
She only looked up when she realized that he had given her his cloak, and it was draped across her shoulders. It was still warm, she noticed and looked up at him, fury forgotten for a moment, at least.
"It will be raining soon, Miss Granger. You are already cold. Come in before the rain starts."
He looked away from her and started the journey towards Grimauld Place, his stride was even, as was his pace, and her mind conjured for her, his billowing black cloak that was now draped, lifeless, on her shoulder.
He did not look back.
The Pain jolted her back to her senses.
"Professor . . ." she said to no one. Perhaps, she had just imagined it . . . perhaps she did not even see it.
This time, the underestimated thunder clap gave its loudest applause and reminded her about the impending rain. She remembered her fury of moments before, but that did not seem so important right now. Perhaps she had just imagined what she thought she saw, for a moment, in her Potion Master's eyes : Concern.
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He coiled his arm around the swing's chain, and for a moment, wanted to give into the desire to be a child again and experience the limited flying sensation this muggle contraption could offer.
He had allowed Miss Granger free leave to go outside, provided she did not wander too far.
He had been wrong, he knew, almost forcing her to tell him about her ordeal. It was not right to push . . . to dig in wounds deeper when they've hardly healed. He should berate himself more often.
"Albus, you damn senile old man." He murmured under his breath, staring up at the sky. "I can not help her, I do not even have a valid reason to try." He smirked. No, he had the perfect reason.
Last night . . . he wandered at his memories. They were too vivid. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
He held himself.
"Yes, Miss Granger will attempt suicide."
He took a deep, steadying breath to calm himself, and went to his desk, uncovering a bottle of whiskey and a small glass. He filled the glass and drank it in a gulp, closing his eyes, and immediately seeing visions of Miss Granger trying to take her own life. Gruesome images of mangled bodies and bloody knives.
He walked out of his room, trying to find his way into the kitchen . . . to a bathroom . . . somewhere he could empty the contents of his stomach.
He reached an open door and pulled it open .. . only to find himself in the drawing room. Now, it was filled with dirty, cloth-covered portraits. Some lined its walls but most were set upon the floor.
He was disoriented, and flopped himself down to the dusty ground, hugging his knees with his eyes closed, half wishing that the visions would depart. Another part of him wanted them to stay . . perhaps he could prevent it from ever happening . . . nothing was certain.
What would she do? Would she try to use an Unforgivable on herself? No, she would pass out in the middle of the process and it would never kill her. Would she slit her throat, an old effective muggle way of suicide . . . . he doubted Miss Granger would resort to that. No, she'd seen too much blood in the Last War. What then?
He stopped himself, and clutched his stomach.
No!
Suddenly, he felt lightheaded and it seemed like his head was inflated to three times its original size. He stumbled on his knees and reeled. He fell, grasping a dirty sheet right next to him, in his attempt to hold on to something . . . anything . . . that would stop his fall. The sheet covered a portrait of a woman . . . that had black hair . . . and eyes that stared ahead of her . . . alive with fury . . .
"SIRRRRIUUUUUUUUUS!"
It was Black's mother. His head was spinning, and his logical mind was out of his reach somewhere beyond the dizzying pain that surrounded and clouded his mind constantly. He dimly remembered the portrait . . . how Albus had finally removed it and moved it to this room along with every other Black portrait in the house. He remembered the woman's screams when she found out her son had died . . . how happy she was.
"SIRIUS IS GONE! TRAITORS WOULD DIE, SURELY, BY A TRAITOR'S HAND! HE DESERVED TO DIE! YOU ALL SEE?! TRAITORS, BLOOD TRAITORS DIE!"
Then, came the woman's maniac laughter, her absurd glee at her son's death.
He simply waited for his mind to clear, for his head to stop spinning, for the portrait to stop screaming.
To his surprise, it did.
"Severus Snape, the GREAT SNAKE HIMSELF!"
He did not pay attention to it, he did not want to confront the woman.
"SEVERUS SNAPE! You were the one my son loathed in school! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! He hated you, you know because he knew that you, YOU, the smelly GIT AS HE CALLED YOU, would have made his parents prouder than he ever could!"
Miss Granger . . . how? He tried to cling on to his thoughts before, tried to cup his thoughts, tried to gather them to him and think again. His thoughts drained away. It was like trying to hold on to water with cupped hands. He needed to . . .
"SEVERUS SNAPE! The PROUD SLYTHERIN PUREBLOOD that HATED MUDBLOODS AS MY SON WAS SUPPOSED TO! He hated you! HE HATED YOU! You made your parents proud, didn't you, SNAPE?! I wished then that you could have been MY son instead! BUT NOW . . . LOOK AT YOU! TURNING TRAITOR AND SIDING WITH DUMBLEDORE."
He was trying not to listen. His thoughts were clearing . . . Miss Granger . . . attempting suicide . . . how? He felt slightly better.
"YOU SICKEN ME, BOTH OF YOU, SNAPE . . . YOU AND BLACK! You SICKEN ME! both of you were taught how to hate the mudbloods, how unworthy they are. THAT WAS GIVEN TO YOU AT BIRTH, YOU TRAITORS, SCUM!. YOU . . . PEOPLE LIKE YOU WHO DISGRACE THE WIZARD NAME . . . YOU SICKEN ME! HELPING MUDBLOODS! YOU SICKEN ME!"
He stood up, shaking, furious.
"MY PARENTS TAUGHT ME TO HATE! THEY NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT WHO TO LOVE, OR TO TRUST!"
He grabbed the sheet that lay on the floor, and covered the portrait with it, muffling the woman's screams and curses that followed him down as he reached the landing and corridor to his bedroom. It was not wise for him to listen to that woman because now, she had awakened something in him that he thought he'd been able to kill.
"Mudblood Granger wants to die."
His upbringing had taught him one thing: Mudbloods should die, they deserve it. Now, he was fighting to save one?
He smirked. At least, he could do this to honor his parents.
"For you, mum!" he drank the cup of whiskey he poured himself. Sarcasm was thick in his voice and grim determination was visible on his face that was, even now, veiled by the darkness.
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Revenge. He had the perfect reason indeed. He was unaware of anything else for a while, as he stared at the dull blue heavens that, he guessed, was ready to cry.
A twig cracked somewhere, and he turned to see Miss Granger with her back to him, obviously ready to leave . . . but she turned around and faced him. Her face was weary, grim. But it was her eyes that drew his gaze. Empty. Almost lifeless. He had seen eyes like that stare back at him once before. Eyes that were not chocolate brown but dark, black orbs.
His own eyes as he looked into a mirror.
He felt an unfamiliar twinge somewhere below his left breast. He understood something at last. Perhaps, he thought, Miss Granger felt something like he did when he first realized the guilt all his deeds in the Dark Revel brought. She felt something like the time he first felt a dead weight bearing down upon him from sheer misery. Then, he wanted to forget that he himself did those things . . . he wanted to forget that he himself was responsible and he did those horrible acts full willing. He wanted so much to forget, but he couldn't.
At one point, he wanted to destroy himself as punishment.
Perhaps . . . she felt the same way. If she did, he thought, then she wouldn't want to be saved, to continue living knowing and believing that you would never be able to atone for your sins, that you would never be as pure as those around you . . . and never wanting to be part of them again, afraid to stain them with your blood-caked hands.
He fell, once too. Albus saved him then. Albus made him understand that he could still do something to redeem himself in his own eyes. That was why he became the spy that he was, but what about her? How could he unburden her, how could he make her see that she can do something to save herself?
How could he help her save herself, now that he knew he could not save her again?
She did not want to be saved by him, he knew.
"I am sorry, Miss Granger."
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He walked back up to Grimauld Place, eyes fixed ahead. The heavens gave another rumbling laugh and the long, white finger lit up the sky momentarily. His footsteps echoed on the pavement.
He had another reason, now, to save her. Not for revenge, no, as a tribute to his salvation. He suddenly found the urge, the desire, the will to save her, to carry her away from her pain and suffering. He suddenly had the urge to protect her the way he felt protected. He owed it to her, he felt, to help save her as he was saved . . . once.
A tribute to his salvation, he will save another, if only to see that he could bring salvation as well.
"Albus, you senile old man." He shook his head.
He owed it to her to bring her out of her darkness into the light as he was brought out once. Everyone deserved to be saved.
He opened the well-oiled door and stepped inside the doorway, turning around he saw Miss Granger walking down towards him, his cloak billowing behind her. She looked wraithlike with a background of the gods' war painted behind her. He waited for her to reach the door, and as she entered, he stepped aside. She took of his cloak and handed it to him.
"Thank you, Professor."
Together, they headed down to the kitchen, where he called Dobby to prepare a meal for them.
"But, Professor, I'm not hungry. Really."
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The truth was, she was starving, but she did not want to spend another minute with Professor Snape. She was afraid of him, in a sense, because he understood her too much.
Everyone deserves to be saved. Damn him, she thought, as what she feared started to bubble inside her: doubt.
At first, she had been furious, being the proud Gryffindor that she was, but she later saw the truth in his words. Yes, she was selfish for not dwelling on the fact that she survived, yes, she was wasting whatever effort he exerted in trying to save her . . . trying to befriend her. Worst of all, she knew, Professor Snape who had once been a Death Eater, had survived more ordeals. She had no right to---
She stopped her thoughts as the Pain gave a nasty throb of apprehension.
She must stay away from him . . . he was already succeeding. She will not let Professor Snape deter her. Her Gryffindor courage kicked in, and she set her mind to it. When she decides to do something, she does it. She tried to convince herself that she needed death, but doubt had already burned a hole through her resolve. She had felt that this was going to happen. She had to stay away, force herself not to listen.
Does she deserve death?
Mental pictures of the Grim Reaper from old horror movies flashed in her mind. The Reaper wielding his mighty scythe.
She shook her head.
"Miss Granger?"
She looked up, and saw that Professor Snape had sat down opposite her on the small scrub table and was looking over at her, sitting motionless before a veritable feast, considering that there were only two people who were about to eat.
"Eat. You need to eat, Miss Granger. You need to gain back your strength, though your body is fully healed, it still needs nutrition. Eat."
She picked up her fork and started to pile food on her plate, refusing to look up at him. How though, she mused, was he going to save her? Exactly how, she asked herself, would a man be able to stop someone from taking their own life? She smiled secretly to herself as she found no answer to her question, she hoped he would not be able to.
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TBC
btw: I only plan on having 2 more chapters to this fic up. Hehe, the next one contains part of how he saves her and the last one, well, is a continuation.
PLEASE READ AND REVIEW
Thanks to all that reviewed, specially Noctivague. I did my best to remain in character as possible. Also, his fic will not have any overly "romantic" scenes between Severus and Hermione. There's romance, subtly mixed in with angst. Also, this is 5 pages long, damn, I wanted to make it 7 but I couldn't. I did my best.
FLAMES OK, really, just tell me WHY I suck.
PLEASE READ AND REVIEW
CHAPTER FOUR: THE TERRIBLE PAIN OF THE HAUNTED SEVERUS SNAPE
She stepped out into the sunlight and started to walk down the street.
The pain inside her was throbbing, never letting her rest from its unrelenting ache, but it did not worsen. It almost seemed as if she had made peace with it, with the resolution to die. She still had the drained, weary look of a person who has only just recovered from a terrible illness, and her clothes were baggy, hanging loosely off her too slender frame. She had bags below her sunken eyes and her hair was a shaggy mane. Her hands were wrinkled a bit, from the cold perhaps, and she clutched at her shawl as a wind rattled past her, sweeping dust into her vacant eyes.
She looked at the desolate place that she had only begun to call home.
It was a sad place, really, and it seemed lifeless compared to the hustle and bustle she was used to. The silence was overpowering, tangible. It was a threatening force that would, she felt, devour her and make her drown in memories that she wanted to erase. She had to get away from this blasted silence.
The Pain, as she fondly called it, throbbed.
Down the street, where the steady line of houses stopped for a moment, like a gap in a soldier-line at war, she heard the unmistakable rattle of a playground swing. She wondered, for a moment, why there weren't more children playing, since she knew there was a playground for them. And the thought was immediately followed why this lone child was braving the unspoken law that prevented happiness from seeping through to them, why was this child. . . whoever it was. . . human in this place that looked as though it could not nurture a human soul?
As she quickened her pace to see exactly who it was playing by themselves, and half wondering if they'd want her company, the playground with it's overgrown grass and rickety slide, came into view. She wanted to smile, all of a sudden, as the brave 'child' turned out to be a man. But, she also felt the urge to turn tail and run, because here was a man who, she knew, could make her wake up from the trance she plunged into.
The Pain, that by now has a rhythmic beating, stopped for a second and resumed its pace.
Severus Snape was looking up at the sky, swinging back and forth, on the swing. A solitary shadow, as always. She deduced that he probably didn't want her company. . . and she dreaded his. . . so she turned to leave, stepping and breaking a twig as she did.
Severus looked at her, startled by the sound that echoed, being cradled by the houses that flanked the over-grown playground on both sides. He stood up. She turned back to face him, and another gust of wind suddenly made her shiver.
His brow creased slightly, but his face otherwise did not change.
Some force held her to her spot, perhaps it was the fact that her Potions Master was looking at her with a glint in his eye that told her that he wanted to tell her something. His face was stone carved with facial features that belied little about him, but, slowly, he drew a breath. He was so cold, this man, that she wondered if he was capable of feeling . . . though she knew already that he was.
"I would like to offer my apologies again. I am sorry, Miss Granger." His brisk, monotone, business like tone unnerved her. It was too damn calm, like the silence that wanted to enfold her into its being and make her drown in living memories.
She blinked.
". . . for presuming that you would want to talk to me after . . . the ordeal . . . I should not have forced you. I . . . apologize."
The sky above them was slowly growing darker, creeping up on them was a cloud that overtook the light that enveloped them. . . taking away the warmth . . . . and replacing it with a chilling cold.
She did not know how to react, what to say, how to say it so she remained silent.
"Albus merely . . . foolishly . . . believed that I could help you in more ways than a conventional healer could. Miss Granger, he was wrong."
She did not notice the slight hitch to his voice, the slight waver, his almost blinking eyes, and his half balled hand hanging limply at his side. She did not notice the aura of melancholy that surrounded him . . . or his slight frown as he stated this.
"you told me that you do not want to be helped."
Again, the pain throbbed, giving a weak approval.
"Yes . . . professor." She answered lamely.
She could not understand any of this. Her potions master, Professor Snape, was sent to help her. It disgusted her . . . how he could understand her position.
He gave her a curt nod and started to walk towards her. The heavens suddenly let out a loud belch of thunder. She covered her ears. He was level with her, his eyes averted from her face staring ahead.
"But, it is my duty to inform you." He paused, weighing his words carefully. ". . . nothing was your fault. It will not matter, any of this, if you do not want it to. You were saved, Miss Granger, it is not wise to be selfish and throw away what others have given you. Or what others have saved for you. Everyone deserved to be saved, Miss Granger. Do not forget that."
She was determinedly trying to keep her fist from shaking, trying to control her rage. The Pain's ache was moved to the background for a second as she focused her energy on controlling her temper. HOW.DARE.HE.IMPLY.THAT.I.SHOULD.BE.GREATFUL.TO.HIM.FOR.SAVING.ME. Another clap of thunder and a long white streak of lightning went unnoticed in the background as she savored the feel of her nails digging into her palm . . . and the white hot fury that burned in her.
She did not notice the rustle of cloak beside her.
She only looked up when she realized that he had given her his cloak, and it was draped across her shoulders. It was still warm, she noticed and looked up at him, fury forgotten for a moment, at least.
"It will be raining soon, Miss Granger. You are already cold. Come in before the rain starts."
He looked away from her and started the journey towards Grimauld Place, his stride was even, as was his pace, and her mind conjured for her, his billowing black cloak that was now draped, lifeless, on her shoulder.
He did not look back.
The Pain jolted her back to her senses.
"Professor . . ." she said to no one. Perhaps, she had just imagined it . . . perhaps she did not even see it.
This time, the underestimated thunder clap gave its loudest applause and reminded her about the impending rain. She remembered her fury of moments before, but that did not seem so important right now. Perhaps she had just imagined what she thought she saw, for a moment, in her Potion Master's eyes : Concern.
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He coiled his arm around the swing's chain, and for a moment, wanted to give into the desire to be a child again and experience the limited flying sensation this muggle contraption could offer.
He had allowed Miss Granger free leave to go outside, provided she did not wander too far.
He had been wrong, he knew, almost forcing her to tell him about her ordeal. It was not right to push . . . to dig in wounds deeper when they've hardly healed. He should berate himself more often.
"Albus, you damn senile old man." He murmured under his breath, staring up at the sky. "I can not help her, I do not even have a valid reason to try." He smirked. No, he had the perfect reason.
Last night . . . he wandered at his memories. They were too vivid. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
He held himself.
"Yes, Miss Granger will attempt suicide."
He took a deep, steadying breath to calm himself, and went to his desk, uncovering a bottle of whiskey and a small glass. He filled the glass and drank it in a gulp, closing his eyes, and immediately seeing visions of Miss Granger trying to take her own life. Gruesome images of mangled bodies and bloody knives.
He walked out of his room, trying to find his way into the kitchen . . . to a bathroom . . . somewhere he could empty the contents of his stomach.
He reached an open door and pulled it open .. . only to find himself in the drawing room. Now, it was filled with dirty, cloth-covered portraits. Some lined its walls but most were set upon the floor.
He was disoriented, and flopped himself down to the dusty ground, hugging his knees with his eyes closed, half wishing that the visions would depart. Another part of him wanted them to stay . . perhaps he could prevent it from ever happening . . . nothing was certain.
What would she do? Would she try to use an Unforgivable on herself? No, she would pass out in the middle of the process and it would never kill her. Would she slit her throat, an old effective muggle way of suicide . . . . he doubted Miss Granger would resort to that. No, she'd seen too much blood in the Last War. What then?
He stopped himself, and clutched his stomach.
No!
Suddenly, he felt lightheaded and it seemed like his head was inflated to three times its original size. He stumbled on his knees and reeled. He fell, grasping a dirty sheet right next to him, in his attempt to hold on to something . . . anything . . . that would stop his fall. The sheet covered a portrait of a woman . . . that had black hair . . . and eyes that stared ahead of her . . . alive with fury . . .
"SIRRRRIUUUUUUUUUS!"
It was Black's mother. His head was spinning, and his logical mind was out of his reach somewhere beyond the dizzying pain that surrounded and clouded his mind constantly. He dimly remembered the portrait . . . how Albus had finally removed it and moved it to this room along with every other Black portrait in the house. He remembered the woman's screams when she found out her son had died . . . how happy she was.
"SIRIUS IS GONE! TRAITORS WOULD DIE, SURELY, BY A TRAITOR'S HAND! HE DESERVED TO DIE! YOU ALL SEE?! TRAITORS, BLOOD TRAITORS DIE!"
Then, came the woman's maniac laughter, her absurd glee at her son's death.
He simply waited for his mind to clear, for his head to stop spinning, for the portrait to stop screaming.
To his surprise, it did.
"Severus Snape, the GREAT SNAKE HIMSELF!"
He did not pay attention to it, he did not want to confront the woman.
"SEVERUS SNAPE! You were the one my son loathed in school! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! He hated you, you know because he knew that you, YOU, the smelly GIT AS HE CALLED YOU, would have made his parents prouder than he ever could!"
Miss Granger . . . how? He tried to cling on to his thoughts before, tried to cup his thoughts, tried to gather them to him and think again. His thoughts drained away. It was like trying to hold on to water with cupped hands. He needed to . . .
"SEVERUS SNAPE! The PROUD SLYTHERIN PUREBLOOD that HATED MUDBLOODS AS MY SON WAS SUPPOSED TO! He hated you! HE HATED YOU! You made your parents proud, didn't you, SNAPE?! I wished then that you could have been MY son instead! BUT NOW . . . LOOK AT YOU! TURNING TRAITOR AND SIDING WITH DUMBLEDORE."
He was trying not to listen. His thoughts were clearing . . . Miss Granger . . . attempting suicide . . . how? He felt slightly better.
"YOU SICKEN ME, BOTH OF YOU, SNAPE . . . YOU AND BLACK! You SICKEN ME! both of you were taught how to hate the mudbloods, how unworthy they are. THAT WAS GIVEN TO YOU AT BIRTH, YOU TRAITORS, SCUM!. YOU . . . PEOPLE LIKE YOU WHO DISGRACE THE WIZARD NAME . . . YOU SICKEN ME! HELPING MUDBLOODS! YOU SICKEN ME!"
He stood up, shaking, furious.
"MY PARENTS TAUGHT ME TO HATE! THEY NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT WHO TO LOVE, OR TO TRUST!"
He grabbed the sheet that lay on the floor, and covered the portrait with it, muffling the woman's screams and curses that followed him down as he reached the landing and corridor to his bedroom. It was not wise for him to listen to that woman because now, she had awakened something in him that he thought he'd been able to kill.
"Mudblood Granger wants to die."
His upbringing had taught him one thing: Mudbloods should die, they deserve it. Now, he was fighting to save one?
He smirked. At least, he could do this to honor his parents.
"For you, mum!" he drank the cup of whiskey he poured himself. Sarcasm was thick in his voice and grim determination was visible on his face that was, even now, veiled by the darkness.
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Revenge. He had the perfect reason indeed. He was unaware of anything else for a while, as he stared at the dull blue heavens that, he guessed, was ready to cry.
A twig cracked somewhere, and he turned to see Miss Granger with her back to him, obviously ready to leave . . . but she turned around and faced him. Her face was weary, grim. But it was her eyes that drew his gaze. Empty. Almost lifeless. He had seen eyes like that stare back at him once before. Eyes that were not chocolate brown but dark, black orbs.
His own eyes as he looked into a mirror.
He felt an unfamiliar twinge somewhere below his left breast. He understood something at last. Perhaps, he thought, Miss Granger felt something like he did when he first realized the guilt all his deeds in the Dark Revel brought. She felt something like the time he first felt a dead weight bearing down upon him from sheer misery. Then, he wanted to forget that he himself did those things . . . he wanted to forget that he himself was responsible and he did those horrible acts full willing. He wanted so much to forget, but he couldn't.
At one point, he wanted to destroy himself as punishment.
Perhaps . . . she felt the same way. If she did, he thought, then she wouldn't want to be saved, to continue living knowing and believing that you would never be able to atone for your sins, that you would never be as pure as those around you . . . and never wanting to be part of them again, afraid to stain them with your blood-caked hands.
He fell, once too. Albus saved him then. Albus made him understand that he could still do something to redeem himself in his own eyes. That was why he became the spy that he was, but what about her? How could he unburden her, how could he make her see that she can do something to save herself?
How could he help her save herself, now that he knew he could not save her again?
She did not want to be saved by him, he knew.
"I am sorry, Miss Granger."
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He walked back up to Grimauld Place, eyes fixed ahead. The heavens gave another rumbling laugh and the long, white finger lit up the sky momentarily. His footsteps echoed on the pavement.
He had another reason, now, to save her. Not for revenge, no, as a tribute to his salvation. He suddenly found the urge, the desire, the will to save her, to carry her away from her pain and suffering. He suddenly had the urge to protect her the way he felt protected. He owed it to her, he felt, to help save her as he was saved . . . once.
A tribute to his salvation, he will save another, if only to see that he could bring salvation as well.
"Albus, you senile old man." He shook his head.
He owed it to her to bring her out of her darkness into the light as he was brought out once. Everyone deserved to be saved.
He opened the well-oiled door and stepped inside the doorway, turning around he saw Miss Granger walking down towards him, his cloak billowing behind her. She looked wraithlike with a background of the gods' war painted behind her. He waited for her to reach the door, and as she entered, he stepped aside. She took of his cloak and handed it to him.
"Thank you, Professor."
Together, they headed down to the kitchen, where he called Dobby to prepare a meal for them.
"But, Professor, I'm not hungry. Really."
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The truth was, she was starving, but she did not want to spend another minute with Professor Snape. She was afraid of him, in a sense, because he understood her too much.
Everyone deserves to be saved. Damn him, she thought, as what she feared started to bubble inside her: doubt.
At first, she had been furious, being the proud Gryffindor that she was, but she later saw the truth in his words. Yes, she was selfish for not dwelling on the fact that she survived, yes, she was wasting whatever effort he exerted in trying to save her . . . trying to befriend her. Worst of all, she knew, Professor Snape who had once been a Death Eater, had survived more ordeals. She had no right to---
She stopped her thoughts as the Pain gave a nasty throb of apprehension.
She must stay away from him . . . he was already succeeding. She will not let Professor Snape deter her. Her Gryffindor courage kicked in, and she set her mind to it. When she decides to do something, she does it. She tried to convince herself that she needed death, but doubt had already burned a hole through her resolve. She had felt that this was going to happen. She had to stay away, force herself not to listen.
Does she deserve death?
Mental pictures of the Grim Reaper from old horror movies flashed in her mind. The Reaper wielding his mighty scythe.
She shook her head.
"Miss Granger?"
She looked up, and saw that Professor Snape had sat down opposite her on the small scrub table and was looking over at her, sitting motionless before a veritable feast, considering that there were only two people who were about to eat.
"Eat. You need to eat, Miss Granger. You need to gain back your strength, though your body is fully healed, it still needs nutrition. Eat."
She picked up her fork and started to pile food on her plate, refusing to look up at him. How though, she mused, was he going to save her? Exactly how, she asked herself, would a man be able to stop someone from taking their own life? She smiled secretly to herself as she found no answer to her question, she hoped he would not be able to.
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TBC
btw: I only plan on having 2 more chapters to this fic up. Hehe, the next one contains part of how he saves her and the last one, well, is a continuation.
PLEASE READ AND REVIEW