Chapter 7 – Friends In Stranger Places

Snape was in silent disbelief. Abandoning his inhibitions, aided in part by the cognac, he had laid his soul on the table packaged in well-versed prose. He didn't know what he expected her to do with the information, but for some reason he was eager to find out.

She studied him for a moment, a grin still playing at the corners of her mouth. "Yes, I like to read. Some might say as if my life depended on it." The grin faded a bit. She was clearly thinking again, nibbling on her bottom lip. Snape also noticed her glass was almost empty, but he was a great deal more concerned with what was she going to say next.

"The years teach much which the days never know," she finally said.

He knew then that she'd heard what he was saying without ever having to say it. "Emerson."

She looked unexpectedly very serious. "Yes." She looked to be collecting her thoughts. "The self we are from day to day seems solid, but the self we are through the years is fluid. We change without feeling it. We evolve without knowing why and silently the years blur the edges until we can no longer distinguish ourselves from the person we were and the person we are. We become strangers to ourselves. I think that if when we realize who we have become and we still like the self we used to be, then we have probably done something tremendously wrong along the way."

Struck by the truth of those words, Snape was surprised to find that he didn't recognize them. "Whose words are those?" he asked.

"Mine," she said. Her eyes were boring into his. "You cannot blame yourself Professor." She paused. "If it were not for you, I am quite sure I would not be sitting here today."

Snape tried to say something, but she put up a hand to stop him. She went on.

"I walked into this room thinking I knew you. The funny thing is, the longer I've been here, the more I feel I know absolutely nothing about you. That is until a few minutes ago. Perhaps I have drank too much tonight, but I think I've just seen you through fresh eyes. You know, Emerson also said 'There are many things of which a wise man might wish to be ignorant.' As far as I'm concerned, that is the only thing of which you're guilty of."

Words failed him. Somehow, she had managed to pluck the heart from his chest, hold it in her delicate hands for a moment and then thrust it back, still beating, into his ribcage. He was thankful for the hazy grip the alcohol had on his brain, otherwise he didn't think he could handle this. No one had spoken such words to him since Albus. Albus.

"If that is so, then why did the 'wise man' have to kill the wisest of them all?" He looked down at his hands in his lap, trying to suppress the guilt quickly filling him from the inside.

> > > > > > > > > >

Was he talking about Dumbledore? Surely, he doesn't blame himself for that, she thought. Taking a deep breath, she stood up from her chair and wobbled a little. She had been stationary for a while and had quite enough to drink in that time. She took the few steps over to the end of the couch closest to Snape.

As soon as she sat, she began, "All right, here goes. 'Whatever is done from love always occurs beyond good and evil.' That was Nietzsche. This one's from the bible. 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' He died to save your life and my life and how many countless others. Then there's this. 'We may be partial, but Fate is not.' Do you understand? Emerson was a wise man. So was Dumbledore. You did not create his fate. No one blames you, Severus, no one at all." Her eyes beseeched him.

He looked up at her wearing mingled shock and sorrow. His eyes still held that boundless sadness. "I have never talked to anyone about Albus."

"Then it's about time you had. Did you hear what I said?" she asked.

"Yes. Thank you," he answered.

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding and said, "Good. Now, do you have any happier topics you would like to discuss because this one is really starting to depress me?"