Severus' Savior

by Bleak December

A poem fashioned after Poe's The Raven written when I was young. Keep in mind I'm no poet. Hermione visits Snape to comfort him after curfew.

I wrote this a while ago in the theme of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven".

Pathetic? Yes. But it took me a lot of time and effort anyway.

KEEP IN MIND I AM NO POET! I can't rhyme, and I gots no rythem, bro.

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Severus' Savior

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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over a hot and simmering potion for Headmaster Dumbledore,

While I chopped, mincing finely, a knock there came unkindly,

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some student," I muttered, "always wanting something more-

Only this, and nothing more."

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Ah, distinctly I remember of the many I'd dismembered,

And each separate screaming face did plead for me to end their life.

Every day I wished tomorrow would relieve my endless sorrow

Repaying mercy I had borrowed – borrowed for eternal strife.

Can't be forgiven, yet told that I am, he's just twisting the knife –

Twisting it for evermore.

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And still the knock persisting, I insist upon resisting

Flinging open my door to hex the trespasser with a roar;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,

"'Tis some teacher here to borrow ingredients like before –

Out past curfew to leach my resources from my private store –

This it is, and nothing more."

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Soon my temper then grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"A reason," said I, "from you for this intrusion I implore;"

Silence then, my wards disarmed; I freeze my potion with a charm.

"Until then, I say no one is admitted through my chamber door."

Staff speak by now – Death Eaters cross my mind, as I throw open the door –

Darkness there, and nothing more.

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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there glaring, sneering,

Before me is Miss Granger, removing the Invisibility Cloak she wore.

Fear is absent from her gaze, beneath my scowl she remains unfazed.

"Out past curfew, Miss Granger? Twenty-five points from Gryffindor."

She walks past me into the room, my early warning thus ignored,

Merely this, and nothing more.

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Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me yearning,

I whirl to face she who entered my chambers from the corridor.

Miss Granger looks up at me for what seems to be an eternity;

"What brings you to my private chambers, why wash up on my shore?"

She points to my Dark Mark, bleeding where I had scratched, cut and tore,

Which I'd forgotten heretofore.

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Quickly here I wrap my cloak, shuddering as a stabbing pain evokes;

I catch a hint of concern in her eyes, when mine in them bore,

If I'm in pain, why should she care? My welfare is not her affair.

My tongue is ready – ready to spit a hurtful metaphor,

But it stuck in my throat at her sight, and refused to outpour,

'Tis my fatigue and nothing more.

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Miss Granger sat down in a chair, and into the fire did she stare;

"Don't waste your concern on me, child, this is no business of yours."

She didn't reply, and for games I was not in the mood, so I stayed standing and silently stewed.

"I highly doubt you came down here to hear my tales of yore,

So do please enlighten me, as my telepathy is poor."

Here she smiled, and nothing more.

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Much I pondered this mystery, she did not act like her history,

Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;

For she was still intruding where humans I had been eluding.

"Is that what you want?" I sneered, "to hear of murder, blood and gore?

For if you refuse to talk, a 'yes' I'll take your silence for."

Did I say that hereinbefore?

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What made me offer her my past? All my privacy would I cast;

With no soul have I shared this, save Albus Dumbledore –

Why my evil tale did I suggest? For it she did not behest.

Am I this starved for companions to settle for a Gryffindor? –

So lonely for friends – even she, a know-it-all Gryffindor?

Must stop here: say nothing more.

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She gave me a look quite queerly; I returned a glare severely,

"Don't play games with me!" I spat, "this guessing game's a chore!"

Still she stared unyielding, as if to my soul that I was shielding.

My defensive walls weakened; little did I know what lie in store,

For the protective barriers I had built so long before,

Will not be there anymore.

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Then she curled up on the chair, still directed at me was her stare,

Stiffly, I approached the chair, feeling hunted by some predator.

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to drinking,

This was my second blunder, the price of which I did abhor,

But I unthinkingly summoned a bottle and began to pour.

The risks of this I did ignore.

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There I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the girl whose eyes, like drink, now burned into my stomach's core.

Back to her dormitories! Spare her my nauseating stories;

And now the alcohol takes effect, yet I had only drunk four.

Why not tell her all my grisly, shocking, ghastly tales of yore?

Damn my inebriated candor!

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And then to my repulsion, powered by my drunk compulsion,

I started, and when I tried to stop, I continued all the more –

She listened to me closely, as I continued speaking morosely;

Reliving memories and nightmares, the source of all my rancor

My childhood was the first unhappy memory I did outpour,

That was the first of many more.

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I told the horror I was haunted, desolate yet still undaunted,

I told of torture, murder, madness, rape, maim, and gore –

Violence and brutality, I did not spare her from reality.

I expected to hear a frightened gasp and footsteps on the floor,

Followed shortly thereafter by the slamming of the door.

Silence there, and nothing more.

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Slumped forward in my chair, with renewed waves of my despair;

Head in my hands, I am a prisoner – and I myself the captor.

Then I thought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer,

Why does her judgment matter to me? Does she hold some hidden lore?

Why am I pained that she thinks I'm wicked? She is not my savior.

Like all, me she does deplore.

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After all I told her, a hand was put upon my shoulder;

She had risen and approached me silently from across the floor.

Startled at the stillness broken by touch symbolically betoken,

I gave a violent start and pierced her with my eyes of iron ore,

Her gaze was gentle, filled with compassion I'd never seen before,

This she did, and nothing more.

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My face must have betrayed the emotions threatening to cascade,

For she came to sit upon my lap like I was one to adore;

"Tell this soul with sorrow laden, you will comfort me, fare maiden;

Tell me that you'll stay and my soul with your mercy shall restore."

She hugged me tenderly then. "Surely you are my savior."

The silence then was broken by reply so softly spoken,

That I scarce was sure I heard it from the lovely Gryffindor,

"That is what I'm here for,

Always, and forevermore."