.Hello.
Summary: He looks at the children before him and sees exactly what he has lost. Snape's Past.
Author's Notes: Song Fic, based on 'Hello', by Evanescence. This is suppose to be one-shot but if enough people like it, may become something more.
playground school bell rings again
rain clouds come to play again
has no one told you she's not breathing?
hello I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to
hello
He shouldn't be here, he knows he shouldn't be. Every time he finds himself walking up the familiar lane, standing outside the silver metal fence, looking towards the children playing on the asphalt, watching them play, and laugh, he knows he shouldn't do this to himself.
But he needs to. Not matter how much pain and anguish it causes him, he needs to do this. To see what it could have been.
If he looks hard enough, he can see them. See, over there, under the tree, he can see little girl calling out to her parents Look mum! Look at me; I'm half way up!
A ghost of a smile plays on his lips, remembering how proud she'd been, as she climbed higher and higher, calling down her progress to her parents.
He remembered how worried his wife had been, it was only a small tree, her logical side would say aloud. But he could see the worry across her face, as the mother in her came out. She hold a their baby son a little closer, as if it would somehow make the 4-year-old in the tree safer.
He reassured her nothing would happen I'd stop her fall, Evie. Nothing will happen to her. I promise..
He was a wizard, after all. Not just any wizard, he was one of the most talented of his time, with his potion making skills unsurpassed in all of Europe.
His wife turned to him, she trusted him with her life, with the lives of their children. She didn't understand his world, but she trusted in it, for no other reason other than his faith in it.
But he broke his promise, for all the magic in the world could not save little Philippa from a blasted muggle disease. His wife explained it to him, for he had never encountered it in the wizarding world. Even with a muggle father, this disease, which spread 'bad cells' throughout your body until it forced it to give in, was alien to him.
No potion, or counter curse could save the tiny 4-year-old. Everything the muggles did seemed to do nothing more than cause her more pain.
He remembered sitting beside her bed, holding her frail little hands in his, trying to comfort her as she sobbed in pain, when they sent chemicals though her body. Chemotherapy, Evelyn had called it, fighting the bad cells in her body. He hated his helplessness, his inability to understand something to simple. Hating himself as his grief-stricken wife would be forced to explain it to him, as though he was a child.
He remembered his own silent tears that he cried in the dark; after the doctor had told them there was nothing else they could do. That he would loose him little princess. He held her had again, whispering his pleas to her, praying to anyone that would listen, to help her. He couldn't loose her.
He remembered her pain so vividly, the agony etched on her tired face. He remembered her own pleas to him, Daddy, make it stop. Please make it stop..
But Daddy couldn't, for the first time in his life; there was nothing he could do. He didn't understand the disease enough to know how any potion would react, whether or not it could make it better or worse.
The day she finally passed away had been the hardest of his life. People had said it would be easy, but they were wrong. How could the loss of someone so special to him be easy? Stupid, insipid muggles
Pip was in unbearable pain, he could see it so clearly written on her features. She knew she was about to die, she knew she had so many things she needed to say, and she tried, words forming in her mind, but unable to get passed her lips. Tears of frustration and fear trailed down her face, as she struggled to breathe. All her concentration was on her breathing. If she stoped thinking about her breathing, even for a moment, she would stop breathing, and the choking would start.
She'd begin drifting in and out of consciousness, but he never left her side, hold her hand, brushing stray strands of hair out of her eyes, wondering every time she closed her eyes, if it was the last time she ever would.
He remembered her waking, her fragile hand still in his, she moved ever so slightly, smiling a weak smile, whispering tiny words I love you, Daddy
The easiest she'd spoken in days, and for the first time in months, the pain had gone. Tears fell without resistance, as he felt her hand go limp in his. She had closed her eyes for the last time, as her mind and spirit left her battered body.
Finally, he looked towards the opposite side of Pip's bed, there sat his emotionally drained wife, holding their son, her own tears cascading down her cheeks. She had barley left their daughter's side either, he realised.
He remembered looking back down at Pip, her face, for the first time in months, was free of the pain that had been constant. Grasping her face in his hands, he lay a kiss on her forehead, his tears falling to her face. He remembered his grief and his anger at the muggle world. Nobody should have to watch their child die.
if I smile and don't believe
soon I know i'll wake from this dream
don't try to fix me I'm not broken
hello I'm the lie living for you so you can hide
don't cry
He'd changed after that, or rather, reverted into his former self. The cold, abrupt, sarcastic Snape came back, perhaps stronger than it had been at Hogwarts.
He had watched from the sidelines as his family broke down, as his hatred for the muggle world grew – for their incompetence, for their stupid diseases, for killing his daughter.
In retrospect, of cause, he knew it ridiculous to blame the entire muggle world for his daughter developing leukaemia, but he needed an outlet for his anger. Muggles were always an easy target, especially for a Slytherin.
He cringed as he remembered how easily he'd been lured back to the dark side, he felt his anger build as he saw Lucius Malfoy twist the horrible loss of his daughter into a tool for his own uses. He hated himself for knowing just how susceptible he'd been to the Death Eaters – how he'd played right into their hands.
How he'd ultimately been the cause of his son's demise. Oliver. Kind One. He has no doubts, that if he were alive today, he would have lived up to his name. Even as a baby, he seemed so aware and considerate of his surroundings. Not that he took much notice of his oldest son, he recalled bitterly. Too wound up in his own grief to notice those around him. To hurt to admit, but it was true. Oliver was a stranger to him, as a child and even to this day. He missed all the milestones he should have been around for. And the rest were snatched away by the Dark Lord. For no other reason than he was born on the 29th July 1980. He was a baby – not even a year old. Only 2 months after they had lost Philippa.
Avada Kedavra.
He held the fence tighter for support, as a piercing green light flashed through his mind
He felt his heart race as he was again drawn into the past, his heart pounding within his chest as he raced towards the source of curse. The horror he felt as he saw the tiny child motionless on the floor. He had been too late. Again.
He heard his wife scream as she entered the nursery, as if it was only yesterday. She ran to him, holding him close, yelling at her husband to call an ambulance. But his limbs refused to move, he knew exactly what had happened, he knew nothing would save Oliver now.
It was now his turn to explain to his wife about his world. He delved deeper into the wizarding world than ever before, exposing all the horrors within it. The Ministry, Lord Voldermort, the continual war for power.
He never said it was good verus evil, he recalled. Because in this war, there was no good side, just powerful wizards exploiting the impressionable to reign supreme. It was still true today. There had never been a good side, in his opinion. Just expectations and very little choices. He was a Slytherin – his choices were always minimal. He knew the news would not help their relationship, but she deserved to know.
Their conversation had lasted long into the early hours of the morning, and their marriage was irreparably destroyed. They stayed together, for 3 more years; out of habit and the need for human company more than anything, or at least it was why he knew he stayed.
He remembered Evelyn falling pregnant again, the emotions inside him as she told him. He remembered holding him for the first time. Fearghus, they had named him. Strong Man. He thought the child would bring them closer together, but it was futile. He knew it then, and he knows it now. Everything had changed when Pip was diagnosed with Leukaemia, and nothing would ever be the same again.
She walked out when Fearghus was 3 months old.
He fell deeper and deeper into depression; the only thing that kept him going was spying for the so-called light side. A baby with no extraordinary magical powers may have destroyed Voldermort, but his followers still remained. Leaderless, divided, they were more dangerous.
He wasn't silently fighting the Death Eaters for glory or for the greater good, just revenge. It was plain and simple – he once again needed an outlet. He fought for his own reasons, he fought for himself. Just as he had taken his rage out on muggles after loosing Pip.
Today? Today he spied and fought because it was all he had left. Today, he was the horrible, sarcastic evil Potions Master because it was easier that way. As a child, he had learnt not to get close to anyone; it only ended in pain and heartache. His parents – a drunken muggle and a hapless witch with very little power – never really cared. Only his uncle – his mother's brother – had taken any real notice of his development. His uncle had been cruel and uncompromising in his teachings; forcing him to learn curses and hexes from the day he could hold a wand, punishing him every time he failed.
But Evelyn had changed it all. A muggle taught him to love again. Although, he had to admit, he only took notice of her to begin with, because it went against what was expected of him. After his time in Hogwarts, after his parents, his Uncle, he was sick of being told what to do and when. This was simply rebellion.
But it all changed when he found himself loving her, a feeling so foreign to him, it took ages to come to terms with it. But he did, and their relationship flourished. For a while, it had been heaven.
Should have know it was too good too be real He though bitterly.
Nowadays, it's easier to push everyone away, to wear a mask and hide behind it. But he has worn that mask for so long, he doubts he could every really take it off.
And for that, he's thankful.
suddenly I know I'm not sleeping
hello I'm still here
all that's left of yesterday
They say to loose on child is the worst thing imaginable. But to loose 3 in the space of 2 years, that destroys you. Knowing that it was your blind hatred, your incompetence. Your fault. That kills you, and leaves nothing more than an empty shell.
He pulls a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, searching his faded jeans for a light. He has to laugh at himself. He looks so much like a muggle standing here, jeans, long black jacket, hair tied back. Smoking. Another stupid muggle habit he can't kick. But it helps, the smoking that is.
Finally finding the Zippo, sliver with an intricate design of a snake carved into the face, and two emerald green eyes staring back at him. Once a Slytherin...
Taking a long drag, his attention turns back to the playground, noticing a lot of children running for cover, he feels a few drops of water hit his face, as a light shower begins.
It was at that moment, he realised he'd been crying, but all evidence was being washed again, as the tears mingled with raindrops.
With a swift turn, he is walking back down the lane, so he may apparate back to Hogsmead, when he realises a child, no older than 10 is standing in front of him.
The boy doesn't look t all startled by the presence of the looming man, and any shock Severus initially felt was quickly hidden as he schooled his expression into indifference.
"They'll kill you" the boy stated.
Severus looked somewhat amused at the child's words, "Many things can kill us" was is cryptic response.
The boy simply shrugged in response, and Severus look one last drag before dropping it and extinguishing it with the sole of his boot.
"You shouldn't be here, you know"
"I could say the same about you" A long silence ensured, before Severus lowered his head in defeat. "I know"
"I'm glad you came though" The boy whispered, "I needed to see you"
"You don't need me, boy. You have a family. Go to them"
"You are my family. I need you"
Severus shook his head, "You have no idea what you need"
"I need my father!" The boy yelled angrily.
"You have a father, boy"
"He'll never be my father. They don't understand me. They think I'm a freak. They don't care"
"What makes you think I do?" Severus snapped irritably
"You wouldn't keep coming here if you didn't"
"You're just a child. You don't know a thing" Severus moved to walk past him, when the boy grabbed him arm.
"Please" he pleaded, unshed tears filling his eyes, "I need you Dad"
Severus couldn't move, he felt his paternal side coming out, breaking down the walls he spent the last decade building. He wants his son back, more than anything in the world, he wants to pick him up, and hug him and tell him it will all be fine.
But he knows he can't. Whatever paternal urges once existed are all but quashed, the tiny sparks that remain are not enough to raise the child in front of him, let alone help him.
"I can't Fearghus. It's too dangerous"
"I don't care" was the defiant response, "As long as I'm with you"
"How can you want to stay with me? How can you be so sure that I will take care of you? After all I say to you?"
"I can see through all that crap. Through that mask"
"How?"
"Because I wear exactly the same one"
Fearghus stepped forward and threw his arms around his father, finally letting the tears fall. It took a few seconds for Severus to react, before he embraced his son, holding him close.
Fearghus buried his head into his father's chest, grasping his jacket, Severus heard the muffled words through his son's sobs, which cause his own tears to fall silently.
I love you, Dad.
So, what did you think? Worth making into a proper story? Or is it crap and I should leave it alone?
Cheers!
=GYBRFE=