Once again- MournfulSeverity stands as the source of inspiration. In her very first review of the first chapter of "Love Empowered Empathy- Prologue," she had mentioned the word "Obscurial". That got me researching like a mad hare. Thoughts of "venom" and some sequel of "Spiderman" flooded my mind. And with the emotionally loaded "Mute" and the huge fantastic tale weaving in the backdrop of "Love Empowered Empathy"- Baby's Breath was quietly born in one of my sleepless nights. I hope against hope I shall not disappoint my readers.
I would like to thank Moonvale for helping me to fix those mistakes and straighten up this chapter. š Thank you, Madam Beta.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but my thoughts of AU and OC, the rest all belong to J K Rowling.
Chapter 1
Year, 2004
It was summer break. The corridors, halls, classrooms, and dorms were quiet and empty. The only movements to be seen were by the ghosts; ghosts of young students, of men and women who loved this castle in their lifetimes too much to desert it in their afterlife. All flitted in and out of the winding corridors mindful of their young Headmaster. He was perhaps the youngest to take up the mantle. The world agreed in unison that his experiences in life had seen to it that he aged fast enough. Severus Tobias Snape seamlessly turned to a new corridor and continued walking lazily.
Just like in his days as a potions professor and Head of House for Slytherin, the habit of strolling around the castle at odd hours never ceased to tire him. The feel of his feet hitting against the flagged stone in equal intervals, keeping time with the heartbeats thudding deep within his chest. The very first thing he did, after his prolonged recovery from Nagini's bite, was to walk about aimlessly around the castle. He couldn't explain it to anyone how the mere act of walking gifted him the sense of balance in his twisted existence. He relished the feel of this blessed moment and thought of those days when Hogwarts had managed to stand victorious and the Dark Lord was truly gone for good.
Slipping away from the Infirmary was an easy affair. After spending hours roaming around the castle aimlessly, taking note of the damages and the slow repair work, Snape had returned to the Hospital Wing at the crack of the dawn. First, Poppy Pomphrey had shoved him back to his bed after blasting his ears off for one whole minute. When the mediwitch paused, the visibly concerned Minerva McGonagall had taken up the task much to his chagrin.
Twisting his face to glare at the two witches, he told himself under his breath, "Soon I will be gone and this nightmare of mollycoddling will end," as he allowed them to pour potions down his throat and tuck him in like a toddler. 'Any time now, Aurors would march in and quite unceremoniously whisk me away to Azkaban.' The thought was welcoming. Even after a long wait of ten horrid weeks, he had held on to it, imagining the Dementors descending upon him.
Even as a master of both legilimency and occlumency, a man could handle only so much. As he halted in front of a bay window to watch the gloomy summer and its dark clouds gather overhead he mused, 'My job was no less complicated. By day, be a dour and malicious potions professor, tend to the whims and fancies of future death eaters under my tutelage, and by night, wear a hideous mask and submit to one megalomaniac's bidding. Oh no! Make that two. For even Dumbledore could fit well into that twisted description at times. Ah! To witness those horrendous revels dotted with unfathomable torture of innocent Muggles, standing unaffected at the feet of Voldemort.'
It was long since he had forgotten to count the numerous scars crisscrossing his body. Hell! His nerves have been set to fire too many times. Now, each time he held a quill or a stirring rod, he was in awe with himself, 'How is it that I am still alive? My heart should have stopped beating, my nervous system should be frayed beyond repair and my brain should have shut down by now!'
It took him days and months to come to terms with the dramatic turn of events; to accept that he was alive because of one benevolent witch, the perpetual and insufferable know-it-all. He had escaped from becoming a prisoner of Azkaban because three of the most unlikely students had given rather passionate discourses to demand justice on his behalf.
In those dreary moments in the Shrieking Shack, he had failed to segregate his memories. The fact that he had the will to let them flow freely towards the Wonder Boy, Harry Potter, was a miracle indeed. And that buffoon had shared such personal details with one bushy-haired, hand waving, bossy Hermione Granger. Had he not been sequestered in that pathetic birdcage in front of the entire Wizengamot, he would have had the opportunity to shut out their singsong praises about his sacrifices and chivalry. They were just kids trying out adult shoes!
Miss Granger had truly turned into one powerful young witch. Her points had been irrefutable. Her pieces of evidence and her references to several of those ancient case studies and trials held in this very court, perhaps decades or centuries ago - made her a formidable spokesperson. She had morphed into someone who can only be tackled with proof and evidence. Surprisingly neither the prosecution nor the jury had anything substantial to present against her findings.
From the confines of his iron cage, he was left to battle two emotions throughout her presentation. Scowl and detest the world at large and privately take pride in these students. Bowing his head, hiding his face behind the curtain of his long hair, he had blinked away those tears fiercely.
At the end of her speech, Granger had turned to look at him with those doe-like honey-dipped eyes. He couldn't stop himself from peering at her through his hair. She had said, "I was a stupid bookworm and you rightfully called me a know-it-all. I was blind, Sir, blind and foolish. I failed to understand that while other teachers were praising me for submitting extra inches of essays, you were pressing on to make me learn how to start thinking. Only a person with the very best interests in their heart would do something like that for someone like me."
Her honesty had forced him to look away in shame.
As if blowing up cauldron after cauldron in his classroom was not enough, the snake slayer, Neville Longbottom had told the gathered distinguished magical folk in the court, "Professor Snape, as Headmaster, saw to it that we escaped the brutal punishments handed down by the Carrows. Even when I took many of the tortures voluntarily, giving the younger ones a reprieve, the Headmaster would try to dissuade them in his own way. I now know his handwriting like my own. Many of my essays are riddled with his scrawl. He was the one sending discreet notes with phials of potions for our wounds. Notes that would burn out the moment we read them. Who in their right mind would otherwise give detentions to the ones like us and send us off to Hagrid? And, in all these seven years, not once did Professor Snape taunt me about my parents. "
Well! That lanky boy had said all that without a stutter. Hell did not freeze over when he had readily submitted his memories to attest his statements. He was not surprised to see one proud Pomona Sprout being tailed by a tall and handsome Longbottom two years ago. The existing Herbology professor was formally putting forth her recommendation for accepting the Gryffindor as her apprentice and Snape could hardly argue. Begrudgingly he had given his assent but not without glaring at the young man. He was rather amazed how Longbottom had blushed a little before nodding back at him.
The young man had lingered back after Sprout had left once the documents were signed and sealed. Clearing his throat, Neville had the courage to thank him, "I know now sir that you were the one all along sending potions to keep my parents alive. Since I am of age, I am privy to the confidential documents regarding my parents' medical history. And for that, I cannot thank you enough."
Holding his head high, Longbottom had then left the room while closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Snape couldn't quite stop himself from getting overwhelmed, "I did try to harden them but never in my dreams, Albus, did I imagine them to grow into such fine wizards and witches."
He had turned to the former headmaster's portrait accepting the inevitable, that the dour and unfriendly man, the nightmare of every Hogwarts attending student, was genuinely proud of the ones which stood to defend the very school Voldemort had sworn to demolish.
Heaving a sigh, Severus Snape retraced his way back to the staff room muttering, "It will most definitely rain and I can't just stand by and enjoy it. But there is something in this gloomy air, somethingā¦something ominous is about to happen. I can feel it in my bones."
A/N: As always, your support fuels my thought engine.