Song: Blessures d'enfance, Yves Duteil
Last scene was of course heavily inspired by MMAD lover's gorgeous artwork on tumblr, and it's all for you dear
"Don't forget your book and your plushie, Severus. Albus has lots of toys for you, but if you want to bring anything, just give them to me, alright? I'll carry them."
The little boy surveyed the room, obviously in deep thought. The way he frowned, it was so characteristic of his older self - but Minerva was determined for that frown to only make appearances for important child matters, such as toy picking, puzzle solving, and vocabulary learning.
"Another book?" the boy asked rather confidently, waiting for her approval.
"Of course. Take as many as you like."
Severus usually spent his Thursday afternoon with Albus, either in his quarters or study depending on what the headmaster had on schedule that day. But an emergency meeting had been called by Filius this time; it involved two boys from their respective houses, and their parents. The boys had been at each other's throats since the year had started, and the staff had finally elected to take disciplinary action. Before agreeing to the meeting, Minerva and her colleague had conducted a thorough investigation, looking for evidence of bullying on either side, and she had found it.
She was ashamed to confess that this was new; that she had never before put so much effort into understanding what went on behind closed doors. But this time, she had felt Severus' burning gaze on her back, both the adult's and the child's.
She could not bear to imagine her little boy being abused or tormented, and she was discovering, every day, just how much children could hide. It made her sick to her stomach.
She used to say "You must toughen up" and believe it firmly. She had said this to first-years, always out of genuine concern. She had felt irrational anger towards students who grew up and still showed signs of vulnerability, looking at her expectantly, hoping for some sort of protection. She had never given in emotionally. She had always thought that if she had been strong enough, those children could too; that she was doing them a favour. Life would not always be kind to them. She needed to stay firm.
But now, every time, she pictured Severus in their place, and it was easy, because she had seen him as such already. The big expectant eyes, the tears, the terrible silence of a child crying without a sound -
"You must toughen up."
No. No. She wanted him to open up. She wanted him to speak to her, to confide in her, to cry in her arms. She wanted to see everything that was inside of him and protect it at all costs, polish the gems, get rid of the vermin and the fear and the shame.
Still, most of the time, she found herself locked out. And she heard herself.
Toughen up.
There was so much buried in that little mind already.
A small hand nudged her skirt, making her look down.
"Is it time?" Severus asked, looking at her expectantly. He was holding his plush and books with the same hand; Minerva immediately relieved him of his burden, kneeling in front of him to button up his cardigan. It was an emerald one and matched most of her dresses perfectly, so, naturally, she had to purchase it when she saw it in the shop display. She glanced at the clock.
"Yes, you're right, let's go now. Don't forget, I'll come and get you when the small clock hand is on the six, and the big one is on the twelve."
"Can you… teach me the clock?" the boy asked as she was closing the door. She smiled. Severus was so eager to learn, it was quite extraordinary: his thirst for knowledge was the one thing that helped him come out of his shell. He could not resist the urge to ask to be explained one thing or another.
Ironically, she could feel that their bond, despite many setbacks, grew stronger each day through teaching. The healthy kind - the one that asked for nothing in return.
"It's a bit complicated, but I will teach you if you like, dear. You can also ask Albus. He has a huge collection of clocks and watches that he could show you."
"He… he has a book collection, and a stamp collection, and a ma- man-"
"Manuscripts."
"Ma-nu-scri-pts", Severus repeated under his breath. "And a manuscripts collection."
"Yes, Albus enjoys collecting things," Minerva said, pausing for a second. She glanced at the child next to her, squeezing his hand slightly. "Beware of the staircase, Severus. He's very moody today."
"There are 142 staircases", the boy said, glancing at her timidly. "Albus told me."
Minerva smiled proudly.
"Indeed, Severus. Very good!"
They had just reached the bottom of the stairs when shouts reached their ears. There was a commotion in the hall between several first-years who should definitely have been in class: one of them, a ginger boy named Williams, was pointing his wand at another girl, Smithon.
Minerva cursed under her breath. Students should have cleared the hall by now.
"Come, Severus", she told the boy next to her, directing him towards the great stairs in the hall. They climbed the first flight of stairs, stopping on the balcony-like space that separated it from further stairs above. She looked over her shoulder; Smithon had drawn her wand.
"Severus, I need you to stay here for a minute while I take care of this. I don't want you to move, alright? You must stay right here. Do you promise?"
The boy nodded, glancing beside her at the shouting students below.
"Why are they fighting?" he asked anxiously.
He hated when people raised their voices, even if these were just bigger children.
"From what I'm hearing, one of them was practicing a spell and it turned that girl's shoes a bright purple colour. The shade is quite good, actually. But he should have been casting spells on his own belongings." Severus seemed to relax a little. She squeezed his hand gently. "Do not worry, dear. I'll be back in a minute. It's nothing."
She took a step back, but the child, instinctively, made to follow her. Minerva caught the quick, almost imperceptible movement with the corner of her eyes; she felt the urge to hug the boy tightly and not let him go.
"Purple in Gaelic is purpaidh", she told him. "Purpaidh. Let's see if you remember it when I'm back, mmh?"
That, apparently, did the trick. Severus nodded with enthusiasm, repeating the word to himself a few times, smiling as it rolled over his tongue with delightful ease. He loved the Rs especially: they were so different from English.
Minerva quickly went back downstairs, turning back to look in Severus' direction three or four times in the space of a few seconds. He could not fall or get lost, he had levitating and tracing spells on him; surely she could leave him for a second. None of her colleagues were around, and she was worried the two students would start hexing each other, which could end up badly even amongst first years. Uncontrolled magic could have effects just as devastating as skillfully cast spells if the student was determined enough – who would end up being the target was the question.
She glanced back again. Severus smiled at her from where he was standing, holding his soft toy against his chest. She put on her strict, rigid teacher mask in place.
Severus watched as Minerva put herself between the two students, arms crossed and standing tall. She was not too far away, he could see her, and for that reason, despite his unease, he did not panic. He could have, but he was thinking about how pleased she would be with him if he did not move – she trusted him, and he would stay right here, and she would be proud of him for being so well-behaved.
He was starved for even the smallest hints of approval, something that his mother struggled to show, though she had been proud of him, prouder than he would ever know. He recalled watching her silently a couple of times while she brewed flu potions, counting the ingredients, learning visually what came after what; then he had told her, once, that the brown roots came after the yellow ones. She had been so proud, and had felt so happy. He liked them, the potions. They looked like cooking to his father. She brewed them in a pot. Dad thought she made soup or natural medicine. But he knew. It was their little secret, the magic in their home.
Often, when she brewed, his mum smiled. Perhaps Minerva would smile at him, too, when she came back.
Sudden sounds of loud footsteps interrupted his train of thought. Severus turned his back on the hall, looking over at the staircase above him. Two people were approaching rapidly, two big boys, with black and green robes - he leaned a little further against the wall – he did not want to be seen. But just as they came down the staircase, they stopped right in front of him, eyeing him curiously. One of them started laughing, though there was not a shadow of a smile on his face.
Severus hugged his plushie tighter.
"Why the hell is there a child here? Are there parent-teacher conferences or something?" he asked, stopping right in front of Severus. Severus recoiled, looking frightened.
"Nah, it was last week, my dad came. Would've liked it if he hadn't…"
"Wait", the first boy replied, leaning over towards Severus. "Do you think that is…"
His classmate frowned. He, too, started examining the boy, though he did not take a step forward.
"It can't be", he finally said, not taking his eyes off Severus. "For all we know, it's only a rumour. He might be in Azkaban."
"Come on Gordon, that's him. Just look at him. It has to be."
"He wouldn't be at Hogwarts."
"Why not?"
"Who would be taking care of him?"
"The muggle-loving fool, of course. He does love traitors."
The boy seized Severus' chin, forcing the child to look him in the eyes. The second he was touched, Severus' face grew paler; he started trembling; he tried to get away. The student laughed as he failed to free himself from his grip, and Mr. Octopus was discarded on the floor.
"So, Snape", the Slytherin told him, "having fun playing around, mmh? Does the headmaster buy you pop-sickles as a reward? Rattles, perhaps?"
His classmate looked around them uncomfortably.
"Mate, this isn't a good idea. McGonagall's in the corridor downstairs. Forget it."
"That bastard betrayed us all and sent my parents to Azkaban", his friend told him, shaking Severus even harder. "He sent all his old friends to prison and he's back in his little hiding place getting holidays. He'll pay."
The small boy started hyperventilating. He looked desperately to his side, but Minerva was nowhere to be seen. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He started struggling even harder, refusing to let a single tear fall down his face, fighting an intense battle against his own nerves: remembering what his father had once taught him about fighting back, he started kicking the other student valiantly. The older boy gasped and shoved him against the wall to their right, baring his teeth.
He slapped Severus in the face.
"You little bastard, I'll kill you -"
But he didn't get to finish. One second he was standing on his two feet, and the next, he was propelled in the opposite direction, landing abruptly on the hard stone floor. Rapid footsteps followed. They were that of Dumbledore, who was holding his wand in his direction, and McGonagall, who was running up the stairs behind him.
The headmaster stopped right next to the fallen student, his wand still pointed at him. He looked terrible: his blue eyes were filled with formidable anger, every muscle on his face contracted, then froze in an expression of pure fury.
"Mr Colling", the old man said, his voice so toneless and low that the other Slytherin took a few steps back, his eyes on the floor. "Get up. Now."
It was as if Time had stopped.
Slowly, the older boy gathered himself, struggling a bit to get back on his. He did not look up. He looked disgusted, and his hands were trembling.
"I will see that you meet with the Disciplinary Board tonight", Dumbledore continued, looking at him intensely. "And I will vote for your definitive expulsion from this school."
That seemed to break the spell. The student looked up defiantly, casting a repulsed look towards the headmaster.
"I didn't expect to stay here anyway", he told him, glancing at Severus. "Too many mudbloods and traitors around."
Dumbledore's nostrils flared. For one second his hand tightened around his wand – Minerva approached rapidly, and put a hand over his arm. They did not exchange a single word, but the older man loosened his grip almost instantly. He took a deep breath in. Still, when he spoke, each of his words rang like a menace, and his ominous tone filled the hall with baleful accents.
"How miserable one must be, to go after a small child. You disgust me."
He had said that before. He refused to think about that time, to think of similitude and lessons learned. He wanted that boy out of his sight, no matter how angry, no matter how hurt. He'd worry about him later. He'd try and be understanding later.
Severus had looked less surprised by that punch than when being gifted a toy.
He could have killed that student. He could have done it because he was angry with himself, and that was how he functioned.
The bell rung. Filius made his appearance on the staircase, looking interrogatively at them all. Minerva ran past Albus and knelt before Severus. The boy was standing perfectly still, his hand still over his right cheek, his eyes unfocused. She felt her heart break. Her first instinct should have been to comfort him, yet in this instant she felt so ashamed, so deeply, terribly ashamed that all she wanted to do was to go away, to disappear, to not have to look into the onyx eyes and say sorry yet again.
She couldn't bear that new failure. Three minutes, this was all the time that had been needed to shatter any illusion of improvement on her part. It felt revolting, and she was revolting, thinking of herself and how she was feeling when Severus was standing right in front of her... but he looked so emotionless... she saw no way through... she was, once more, locked out.
Very slowly, she made to touch his shoulder. He did not move, and for less than a second she thought that perhaps she could find the words, that he would listen. But as soon as she made contact, the boy brutally recoiled, shouting a furious "NO!" before running up the staircase and disappearing into the nearest corridor.
She did not think. She did not hear Albus tell Filius to escort the boys to his office, she did not hear his footsteps follow hers; she just ran. Severus' trail, marked by a golden tread, was glimmering on the stone flags. The echo of his footsteps was all she could hear - not the chatter of the students getting out of their classes, not the sound of the many chairs being pulled back and the books being closed precipitately. Only Severus.
"Severus", she heard herself say in a voice riddled with despair, a voice came right from her youth, "Severus, please come back. Severus, please stop."
There was a lack of conviction in her tone that she could not shake off.
Of course Severus was running away. It made sense. It was right. She had no right to run after him.
No right, no. But a duty.
The boy stopped near a window, in the phylum of two corridors. He lowered himself to the floor, his arms wrapped around his legs which he pulled up against his chest. Both Minerva and Albus froze, out of breath and yet, perfectly still. The child was not looking at them. He was not crying; no, he was angry.
"Severus…" Minerva whispered, trying to gather herself. She was crying. "Severus, I am so sorry."
"I want to go home", the boy replied simply, looking directly into her eyes. "I want to see my mum and my dad."
"Severus", Albus intervened softly, taking a step forward, "I know you got very scared. I am sorry too. This should not have happened."
"Home", Severus repeated obstinately, burying his face against his knees. "Take me home."
"This is your home, dear", Minerva told him almost plaintively, her voice trembling. "Right here."
"You said… said… I was safe here. You promised."
You lied.
It was as if Minerva had been stabbed right in the heart. She felt it contract so harshly that she gasped, taking a step back – a wave of grief fall over her with such an intensity that her body's only defense mechanism was to freeze entirely. She stood motionless, staring vaguely about her, incapable of forming any coherent thought or word.
That was grief, in its ugliest, most primary form.
Toughen up.
And Albus found himself torn between her and the child, not knowing who to comfort first, feeling a terror almost akin to the one he had felt when Severus had almost died on that day of May as he watched Minerva's blank stare. He made a conscious move towards Severus, because he had promised that he would come first no matter what; but a glimpse of his black eyes stopped him in his stride.
The boy was looking at them both, and though he was not crying, his eyes were tear-filled. Still, he had this inquisitive look about him that Albus knew well; and then he knew what to do, and he turned around. He wrapped his arms around Minerva with infinite softness, allowing her head to rest her head against his shoulder like he had done so many years ago. At the time, she had been their newest teacher.
There is no shame in crying, Minerva.
"Do not give up now", he whispered to her. "We made a mistake. We will work harder. We will give him proof. Minerva, he deserves someone who does not give up."
She did not reply. There was nothing she could say. Albus looked at the child beside them, still curled up against the wall. His arms around his legs had loosened a bit, and he was staring at them. The tears were yet to fall. The headmaster smiled at him.
"You have the right to be angry, Severus", he told him, still holding Minerva who had closed her eyes. "We should have protected you. We promised to protect you. We failed, and I am sorry. I am so very sorry, my dear boy."
The small child felt intense confusion build up in his chest, confusion between anger - because he had not moved, he had done like he was told, he had stayed right there, but Minerva had not come back soon enough, she had not been there, and he had, because he had promised; confusion between that and the wonder, the pure exhilaration of being given a genuine apology, of a grown-up saying sorry, of a grown-up saying he was right, and they were wrong.
And Minerva, she was crying: he did not want her to cry.
These were the many things that mingled in his brain, and he was too small to pick them apart, to lay them flat on the table and make sense of them. So, finally, he started crying, too.
And these were the purest of tears coming from the farthest corners of the purest of soul.
He felt two arms wrap around his body, holding him tightly. He started sobbing harder, and the arms hugged him tighter.
If he let go of neither his anger nor his fears, because there was only so much such a small child could let go of at the same time, he cried, for the first time since infancy, out loud.
"I'm sorry, Severus", he heard Minerva whisper just above his head as she started rocking him. "Sometimes we try very hard and we still fail. But I will always try very hard. Always."
She held him for a long time.
When she arrived at her meeting, twenty minutes late, her eyes were still red. She defended the Ravenclaw vehemently.
She had so few certainties now.
Minerva was lying in bed, on top of the blankets, staring aimlessly at the ceiling above her when two soft knocks broke her trance – she had been thinking about nothing and yet, she felt mentally exhausted.
It took effort to push aside the awful thoughts.
"Come in", she said softly, pulling herself into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. She turned on her bedside lamp with a flicker of her wand.
Slowly, the door opened, and Severus' small silhouette appeared in the door frame, right at the crossroad of light and dark. The white stars on his khaki pajamas shone in the dim light. He looked frightened and pale, his cheeks were flushed, and he was holding his soft toy tightly. Despite Poppy's healing cream, there was still a reddish mark on his cheek.
"What is it, Severus?" Minerva asked softly. "Come here, dear."
But the boy did not move.
"C-can I sleep here?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Minerva smiled and pulled up the blanket, gesturing towards the bed.
"Always. Come."
After a moment of hesitation, Severus let himself be tucked into bed right next to her.
They were silent for a moment. The boy had his back turned on Minerva, and her eyes rested on his black mop of hair.
"Did you have a nightmare?" she finally asked, with a timidity unlike herself.
He did not move.
"No", he murmured.
"Do you want to speak about what happened today?"
He did not reply, but she could tell he was expecting her to go on. She cleared her throat.
"Those boys are struggling a lot. They are angry. But it's no excuse and it has nothing to do with you, Severus. At all. It wasn't your fault."
"But they were so- so angry."
"Yes. A lot of people are angry. But that is never a reason to hurt others."
And it was true, at least to the extent that Severus didn't know, and couldn't comprehend just how justified the Slytherin had felt in attacking him today.
"I'm sorry", Severus said softly.
"There is nothing to be sorry for, mo leanabh. They were in the wrong, and I did not protect you. You do not owe anyone an apology."
"I… I made you cry."
"Oh, Severus…"
She moved her hand over his head, gently stroking his hair.
"I cried because I was angry with myself. It had nothing to do with you. And you have the right to say what you think - the right to say when you're angry, too."
"I don't want… I don't want – don't want to be angry. To hit people."
Minerva straightened herself, resting her back against a pillow.
"Severus. You can be angry and not hit people. You have the right to be angry, but not to hurt people. It's different. Do you understand?"
"When dad is angry… he… he…" he trailed off.
"I know. And it's wrong. He does not have the right to hurt you."
"But he's angry with me."
For a moment, Minerva did not know what to reply. She did not know how to explain to such a small boy that anger could be legitimate, but ill-expressed, that it could be misplaced, erroneous, raw; she didn't know.
"He's your dad. He's angry with himself, not you. Parents do not hurt their children. And they do not let their children get hurt: that is why I was sad today. I promised you something, and I didn't keep you safe."
She felt Severus' small body tense up.
"I don't… like promises."
Such a bright child.
"I won't promise anything else, then. Just try my best. Is that alright with you?"
"Y… yes."
A long pause. He had relaxed.
"Shall we sleep?" She said softly. "We can talk more in the morning. Albus will come to see you."
"'Kay."
She turned off the light. Her hand was resting on Severus' shoulder, and she refused to let go.
"Minerva?" he murmured, finally turning back towards her. She lowered herself to his level.
"Yes?"
"I did not forget."
She frowned.
"What didn't you forget?"
"Purple. Tha an gio- giobarnach agam… purpaidh."
She hugged him tightly.
"You are so very clever, dear."
End of chapter 7
Notes:
Tha an giobarnach agam purpaidh = my octopus is purple
Mo leanabh = term of endearment, my child
Blessures d'enfance (Childhood wounds), Yves Duteil
On ne sait pas toujours à quel point les enfants
Gardent de leurs blessures le souvenir longtemps
Ni comme on a raison d'aider à s'épanouir
Cette fleur dans leur âme qui commence à s'ouvrir
Moi qui rêvais d'amour de musique et d'espoir
Je m'endormais cerné de frayeurs dans le noir
Certain que tous les rêves étaient sans lendemain
Je m'éveillais toujours le vide entre les mains
We do not always know to what extent children
Keep of their wounds a long-lasting memory
Or how right we are when we help to make thrive
That flower in their soul that is just about to bloom
I who dreamt of love, of music and of hope
I fell asleep surrounded by fears in the dark
Certain that all my dreams were short-lived
I always woke up with emptiness in my hands
Chacun vivait pour lui dans sa tête en silence
Et je chantais mon âme en pleine indifférence
Encombré de mes joies troublé de mes envies
Faisant semblant de rien pour que l'on m'aime aussi
L'été on m'envoyait sur le bord de la mer
Ou au fond du Jura profiter du grand air
Écrire à mes parents que je m'amusais bien
Et m'endormir tout seul blotti dans mon chagrin
Everyone lived for themselves in their head in silence
And I sung my soul surrounded by indifference
Burdened with my joys and troubled by my desires
Acting normally to be loved too
In the Summer time I was sent to the seashore
Or at the bottom of the Jura to breathe some fresh air
Write to my parents that I was having fun
And fall asleep all alone huddled in my sorrow
J'essayais de grandir, de m'envoler peut-être
Pour cueillir des étoiles à ceux qui m'ont vu naître
J'ai longtemps attendu ce geste ou ce regard
Qui n'est jamais venu, ou qui viendra trop tard
Puis mon frère est parti pour un lycée banal
En pension pour trois ans parce qu'on s'entendait mal
J'avais cherché sans cesse à croiser son chemin
Sans jamais parvenir à rencontrer sa main
I was trying to grow up, to fly away maybe
To harvest stars for those who gave me life
I have waited so long for that one gesture or glance
That never came, or that will come too late
Then my brother left, in an ordinary high-school
To boarding school for three years because we did not get along
I had tried so many times to cross his path
Without ever succeeding in holding his hand
Tous mes élans d'amour brisés dans la coquille
J'essayais de renaître en regardant les filles
Aimer c'était malsain pervers ou malséant
Pourtant c'était si doux si tendre et si troublant
Aujourd'hui j'ai grandi mais le silence est là
Menaçant, qui revient, qui tourne autour de moi
Je sais que mon destin, c'est d'être heureux ailleurs
Et c'est vers l'avenir, que j'ai ouvert mon cœur
All my outburst of love broken in their shell
I attempted to be reborn by looking at girls
But to love was unclean, perverse and unhealthy
Still it was so sweet and tender and troubling
Today I have grown up but the silence is there
Menacing, it comes back and surrounds me
I know that my fate is to be happy elsewhere
And it is towards that future that I have opened my heart
Mais j'ai toujours gardé de ces années perdues
Le sentiment profond de n'avoir pas vécu
L'impression de sentir mon cœur battre à l'envers
Et la peur brusquement d'aimer à découvert
On ne sait pas toujours à quel point les enfants
Gardent de leurs blessures un souvenir cuisant
Ni le temps qu'il faudra pour apprendre à guérir
Alors qu'il suffisait peut-être d'un sourire
But I have always kept a memory of these wasted years
The deep feeling of not having lived
The impression that my heart beats in reverse
And the sudden fear to love out in the open
We do not always know to what extent children
Keep of their wounds a burning memory
Nor how long it will take to learn how to heal
When all it would have taken was but a smile
Moi qui rêvais d'amour de musique et d'espoir
J'ai attendu en vain ce geste ou ce regard
Mais quand un enfant pleure ou qu'il a du chagrin
Je crois savoir un peu ce dont il a besoin.
I who dreamt of love and music and hope
I have waited in vain for that gesture or that glance
But when a child cries or feels sorrow
I think I know a bit what he might need.