Chapter 7
Bottles and broodings
The office was dark, a lonely candle's remains emitted more smoke than light, and every shape seemed oddly distorted in this fragile, flickering half-darkness. There was no sound but the glum drip-drip of something from a shattered jar, and gentle bubbling coming from a forgotten cauldron. The stone walls and floors were looking as dreary as ever, shining damply in the gloom.
A sliver of light lay across the floor, cutting it in two extravagant parts. It was coming from an especially dark corner, where a usually magically hidden door was left ajar.
Behind the door there was another room, slightly more spacious than the office, and less gloomy and dark. That fact, though, was largely due to the soft illumination, provided by a shallow stone basin filled with neither liquid nor gas, sitting on a small coffee table.
The furniture consisted of an old wardrobe, and armchair, a heavy-set sofa, a writing desk complete with a straight-backed chair. There also was a chest standing in a corner, the whole ensemble completed with four tall stands of bookshelves for each wall.
With a thud, muffled by a ragged carpet, which probably had been green several centuries ago, an empty bottle fell and rolled under the sofa.
A glazed black-eyed gaze followed its progress. With a groan, Severus Snape threw his head back, closing his eyes. There was a deep vertical crease between his eyebrows, and his lips were twitching, as if he was trying to talk with his mouth shut.
Abruptly, he stood up, swaying, and made for another door, the one heading to his bathroom. The last few steps seemed to drain his remaining strength, so he gripped the door for support and thus prevented himself from falling. Taking a few deep breaths, he stumbled inside, cursing under his breath. After the first 'damn' the room glowed with candlelight.
Somehow, copious amounts of alcohol in his blood increased his wandless abilities, especially if he used swear words instead of incantations. That was a source of entertainment for Lucius and his gang, where Severus was introduced in his Fourth Year. He had his first taste of Firewhiskey then, and woke up next morning fully clothed in someone else's bed, with a vicious hangover, and no recollection of the evening whatsoever. As he later found out, he had demonstrated some of his impromptu spells on the people around (who didn't have serious injuries only because they were too drunk and bloody lucky), and thus put his reputation out of the question.
Severus set the cold water running and leant his forehead to the mirror, putting his hands on either side of the sink.
Suddenly, not quite covered by the noise of splashing water, he heard a voice. It was a voice so familiar, so missed, and yet so loathsome it made him start violently, and open his eyes.
"Severus"
There, in the mirror, he saw the face that had been haunting his dreams for the last 20 years.
"No. Not you. Not now."
Of course, that feeble attempt at blocking the voice didn't work. All the Occlumency in the world wouldn't have helped here. The face in the mirror only shimmered a little, and suddenly there was a perfectly solid James Potter reflecting in the smooth surface, standing only a few paces away.
"Severus"
The voice repeating his name sounded oddly muffled, as if it was coming from a great distance.
"It's been a long time since you last came, James. A bloody long time. Almost five years, I think. I had the impression I made it clear that I didn't want to see you ever again, be it in spectral or any other form. You're being your annoying self even in the afterlife, though… What kind of utter rubbish will you be pestering me with now, I wonder? You've come to try and 'reason' me again, haven't you? Or maybe, you just missed me so much you popped down here to have a look at my pretty face?"
Severus tried in vain not to sway on the spot (after all, a bottle was his limit, but tonight he drowned two and a half), and the slurr in his voice was one bit too heavy not to notice.
James' surprisingly solid spectre watched him with sad concern.
"Severus, you have to stop running, someday soon you'll hit a dead end"
"I don't need cryptic warnings from hallucinations, thanks very much"
James just continued watching him silently. Severus glowered back into the looking glass.
"I'm not 13, I don't need anyone's advice, yours least of all, Potter"
"Of course. You're all grown-up, Severus. But you don't want to grow up in certain aspects. You don't grow over some things"
Severus didn't meet the spectral hazel eyes this time. James' voice sounded closer.
"I forgave you for what you've done. And Lily did too. Why can't you do the same and let it go?"
Snape's head snapped up abruptly. He looked more ghostly that the man inside the mirror. Black eyes stood out on the waxy skin, and his teeth were bared in a feral grin.
"Oh of course. You and your angelic Mudblood wife have both forgiven me from the grave I sent you to. And now you want me to do the same and stop torturing your bastard of a son. Well, let me enlighten you: forgiveness doesn't come easily on this side of the mirror. Here vengeance is more powerful. And I will have my full revenge."
He expected to anger this ghost of a memory, wanted it to loose its temper (do hallucinations even have tempers?), but it didn't happen. Instead, his nemesis gave him a sad smile.
"Maybe vengeance is your way of keeping memories close, Severus?"
And he vanished, dissolved into nothing right before Severus' astonished eyes.
The man stood still for a second, then let out a roar of frustration, snatched something from the sink and threw it. The glass shattered, showering him with sharp bits.
"Damn you to hell, James Potter!"
The water in the sink kept running. Swaying, Severus managed to totter towards the tub and a rather elaborate curse set one of the faucets to work. Later it turned out to be the cold water one, but at the moment Severus couldn't care less. Without undressing, Severus threw himself into the tub, acquiring a few bruises in the process. Silently, he Summoned a fresh bottle and took a long draught.
"It's a way of keeping memories close"
How on this thrice bedamned earth could a hallucination be right?
"I hate you, James Potter"
He closed his eyes, and threw his head back, shutting everything off by a thick wall of darkness.
He only came to his senses when felt that something was being done to his hair. Severus tensed, and almost uttered a killing curse when a low, husky voice spoke.
"Professor should lay still while Alda takes care of him"
Abruptly realizing that he was half-sitting in his own bed, wearing pyjamas and thick woolen socks, all warm and dry (except for his hair, which now was, it turned out, being dried with a towel), he tried to straighten himself up with a croaky groan, but was immediately shoved back into place. How creatures four times smaller than the average human could posess such strength when needed was beyond him. Resignedly, Severus looked up to meet grey orb-like eyes.
"Yes, professor, Alda comes to take care of professor Snape. He fell asleep in a cold bath, and Alda found a bottle again…"
The Elf tutted under her breath, froze, and made to strangle herself with the very towel she was holding. Severus snatched the towel out of her fingers irritably.
"Will you stop doing that? You're perfectly allowed to criticize me and live through it, Alda, I thought we made it clear years ago!"
Alda the House Elf only took a deep breath and nodded. Her large, sad grey eyes lingered on the man's harsh face. Severus looked around, searching for his wand. Alda produced it from between the folds of the white cloth she was wearing and held it out to him. He took it with a curt nod, and dried his hair in one spell.
"Why are you so fond of drying my hair without magic, Alda? It takes ages…"
"Master Severus should keep his memories at bay. Master lets them haunt him, and bruise him. Master must stop. Alda knows what happened today in Master's office. The Potter boy looked into the Pensieve. Master Severus shouldn't hate the boy. The little one is not his father."
Black eyes narrowed and got veiled with anger.
"Now here's something I don't usually discuss with House-Elves. You have said quite enough, Alda. Go now."
The Elf surveyed the man with sad eyes.
"Alda was there when Master Severus wasn't Professor yet. She's seen many things, heard many talks. Alda does not judge, it is not her place to do so. She knows, but she will not tell anyone."
"Go."
The tone was ice itself in its finality.
"Professor may be angry with Alda, bust she only wishes him well."
Alda went to the door. She stopped in the doorway for a last look.
"Master Severus says he doesn't know forgiveness, yet he should, by now"
Severus watched the door close silently, and relaxed the grip on his wand. He laid back, and massaged his temple.
"Forgiveness is a luxury unaffordable to me, Alda."
Suddenly he felt so tired he ached all over, and his limbs became heavy like lead. Already slipping in a deep slumber, he mumbled:
"I will hate anyone I please, be it Potter senior or his junior brat… or these moronic pyjamas and ridiculous socks…"