"Everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die."
Peter Tash
Severus Snape frowned as he looked at the post-it note stuck to the front door of his home. The war had been over for more than a year now, and he had presumed with his duty to Lily and her son having been paid in full - and then some - that the notes would have stopped. His life, as surprising as it was for him to believe, had not gone to Hades after the war; the Boy-Who-Lived and Minerva having worked together with the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, to clear his name and give him a full pardon for his actions in the war before he'd even regained consciousness in St Mungo's.
But as he pulled the note carefully, almost reverently from the weathered wood of his rundown home in Spinner's End, the wizard found his raven brows furrowing as he realised that the notes, ones that had appeared all throughout his life, weren't about to leave him.
The thought brought a warmth to Severus' heart, an emotion he could not recall feeling in a long time filling him. The notes had been the only thing that had gotten him through that dreadful year he posed as Headmaster, had gotten him through the nightmares and bouts of suicidal guilt that had overcome him after Lily had died - had even been there to comfort him when no one else would after Black had tried to murder him via werewolf; Lupin almost succeeding in turning him into werewolf jerky.
They had even been there when his drunk of a father was still alive and terrorising his childhood, filling his younger self's life with nothing but misery and pain. He could recall the first one he ever received, something that, to the then-six-year-old Severus, had meant more than the lies his mother would spill after his father had beaten them for their magic - again.
The wizard stood on the doorstep of his home, cradling the post-it note in his long, slender fingers. The paper was surprisingly yellowed and slightly worn, but the ink was still legible.
'Severus,' it begun in the familiar, elegantly flowing script, 'Between Heaven and Hell, the Earth may stand. But remember that the light of dawn always follows the dark that is night.'
His heart swelled with emotion, and Severus couldn't help but feel a tear threatening to escape from his onyx eyes. He had never known the identity behind the person who left these notes, and it had become one of the greatest mysteries of his life. They only appeared at the lowest points, always just when he needed them the most.
Severus sat on his bed, his knees drawn tightly against his chest as he tried to drown out the sounds of his parents' argument in the next room, one that had escalated to a violent climax.
His father's voice was slurred, a clear sign that Tobias was drunk again, whilst his mother's sobs echoed through the house, and Severus felt powerless to stop any of it.
Then, as if by magic, a bright yellow post-it note appeared on the mattress before him.
It had been like a beacon of hope in the darkness of his life, containing naught but a simple yet powerful message: 'Never forget that magic is special - that You are special, Severus Snape.'
Those words, the wizard could recall, had brought him comfort and strength in his darkest hour, and he'd held onto that single post-it for years. It had been a lifeline in the abyss of his childhood, a glimmer of light in the oppressive darkness of Spinner's End, It reminded his younger self constantly that he was special, that he did belong at Hogwarts, even whilst the Marauders were constantly trying to get him expelled - or, well, killed...
Severus carefully put the note back into his pocket and entered his home, lowering the wards without a thought as his mind was instead filled with the memories of his past and the enigma of these post-it notes that had followed him throughout his life. As he stepped inside his rather dismal abode, the musty scent of old books and potions ingredients enveloped him. It was the scent of familiarity, one that he had always found comforting.
He moved through the dimly lit rooms of his childhood home, each step echoing with the memories of his past, the turmoil of his youth, along with the choices that he had ultimately made. He could recall the post-it notes being there for him during his years at Hogwarts, offering solace and encouragement during the darkest moments of his adolescence. They had even followed him into adulthood, through his association with the Death Eaters and his subsequent betrayal of Voldemort.
He couldn't help but wonder about the identity of the person leaving these notes, however. Who cared enough about him to have spent their own life offering him words of support and kindness when he needed them most? They had been a constant reminder that he was not alone, even when it had felt as though the entire world had been against him.
Minerva's betrayed expression when he introduced the Carrow's to the staff at Hogwarts flashed across the wizard's mind as he made his way to his cluttered study, though he was quick to shake it off, his eyes instead going to the room at large. It was filled with shelves almost overflowing with books, potions ingredients, and the occasional dark artifact that he'd been too lazy to dispose of; a private place of solitude and reflection were he had spent countless hours perfecting his skills and brewing potions.
The post-it notes had often found their way to this room, appearing randomly on the pages of his books or stuck to a vial of ingredients he'd needed at the time.
As he settled into the only armchair in the room, sinking into the worn leather and ignoring the sounds his choice of seating made in protest, Severus let his gaze wander to the scattered notes that littered the room. Some were stuck to the walls, others hidden among the stacks of books, and a few even affixed to the bubbling cauldron in the corner. Yet each had never been moved from where he'd found them, the wizard having come to the conclusion that he felt some semblance of attachment to the notes enough not to accidently knock them off, or whoever had left them had done so in a way that if he wished them to remain where they had been stuck, they would.
As if proving his second thought as correct, Severus picked up one of the notes from the coffee table beside his chair, his fingers trembling slightly as he read the message: 'Remember, it is within the shadows where you shall find your strength.'
The words written upon the yellow paper resonated with him, as they always did. They reminded him of the choices he'd made, the sacrifices he had had to endure, and ultimately the path he had chosen. He had been a spy, a double agent, and a protector of Harry Potter, all the while hiding behind the shadows of his dual persona of Death Eater and Professor.
Severus closed his eyes against the memories that haunted him just as much during the day as they did at night.
The post-it notes seemed to understand him better than anyone before. They knew the depths of his soul, the choices he'd made, yet still offered to guide him in the times of uncertainty. They had been his silent companions throughout the most tumultuous years of the Wizarding Word, and he had come to rely on their presence.
Leaning back in the armchair, the wizard allowed his thoughts to wander over the origins of the notes. He couldn't deny that these mysterious notes had played a significant role in his life. They had been a source of comfort, a guiding light in the darkness, and a reminder that he was not as alone as he seemed. Somewhere out there, someone or something felt that he was important enough to care for, and Severus had always felt as though he couldn't disappoint the one who's trust in him never seemed to waver.
A young boy with lanky black hair and piercing onyx eyes stood in the musty living room of Spinner's End. The room was dimly lit, filled with shadows and secrets; a place where his mother could teach him and practice her magic in quiet desperation.
The boy's mother, Eileen, was a witch. She came from a Magical family, yet their own life had been far from the ideal of magical harmony. His father was a Muggle, who hated them both for their abilities, something of which Severus couldn't understand since his father Tobias had married his mother.
Why would someone marry another if they didn't like who or what they were?
The boy shook his head, returning his focus back to his mother, watching on as Eileen stood over a bubbling cauldron, her eyes filled with a mix of determination and sorrow. He knew that she had always tried to protect him from the harsh reality of their world, but also knew and understood that the magic that ran through their veins couldn't be hidden forever.
Severus had heard tales of the Wizarding War, where the Headmaster of Hogwarts had defeated Gellert Grindelwald. His mother had told him of Credence, of the Obscurus who had hid his abilities, along with the story of what had become of him. She told him of the boy's death, of how hiding his magic - supressing it had led to his downfall.
The boy knew that his mother hadn't meant to scare him when she'd been telling the tale, just wanting her son to understand that despite what their father thought, their magic couldn't be ignored; it could never be suppressed. But the idea of ending up in an early grave, of having no control of his powers and turning out like- like- his father! It had scared the crap out of Severus, and he was adamant to learn all he could from his mother, to master his magic and not supress it, even if he did have to hide it when his da was around.
He stood by his mother's side, watching as she worked both with her wand and without. Though his curiosity was piqued when she suddenly gestured to a couple of vials on the nearby table and they all floated up from their places and towards his mother, this all happening without Eileen muttering a word.
Severus' eyes grew wide at the knowledge that not only did his mother know wandless magic, but wordless as well, and he reached out with his small hand towards one of the vials in complete wonder. His fingers were trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement, and with his emotions beginning to boil over at the extraordinary sight, there was a sudden flash of light and pulse of accidental magic - and the vial of powdered moonstone suddenly dropped to the ground.
The glass shattered, the fine powder it had contained being scattered across the floor, and Eileen let out a gasp as her eyes widened in shock. Swifty the witch put a status spell over her cauldron before moving to clean up the mess, all the while her son just stood there, watching as the iridescent powder shimmered in the dim lighting of the room.
The boy's entire body was trembling by now, fearing that he'd done something wrong, that he was about to be punished despite the fact his mother had never laid a hand upon him in anger. Yet it was also then that he felt a gentle touch upon his shoulder, as if someone were there to offer him their reassurance.
Startled, Severus turned, his heart pounding in his chest. However, and when his gaze landed on the post-it note hovering in the air in front of him, the paper yellow and delicate, relief filled the boy. The message written was simple, yet filled him with a mixture of awe and confusion.
'You're a wizard, Severus. Do not be frightened of the gift you have been given.'
Severus knew that he was a wizard, that he possessed magical abilities, but no one had ever spoken to him about them so directly. His mother was willing to teach him what she knew, but nothing more less their father catch on, though the message before him seemed to be offering an understanding and acceptance that even Eileen couldn't give him; something of which Severus Snape had rarely experienced in his young life.
Tears welled up in the boy's eyes as he re-read the message over and over again, the words sinking deep into his soul. It was like a lifeline, a confirmation that he was not alone in his magical journey; the fears and worries that came with it.
His mother was so absorbed in her task of cleaning the spilled moonstone that she never noticed the appearance of the post-it note, and Severus quicky plucked it from the air, tucking it into his pocket for safe keeping. A sense of warmth effused his heart, feeling a connection to the sender who had reached out to him in his time of need.
The sun hung low in the late afternoon sky, casting long shadows across the quiet streets of Cokeworth. In the small park at the edge of town, two young friends played on the swings, laughter filling the air as they lost themselves to the joy that was childhood. Around nine or ten, their bond was already stronger than any friendship either had ever known. Yet Severus Snape and Lily Evans shared a secret.
The boy, with his black hair and pallid complexion, stood by the swing his friend was using, his thin frame looking almost a twin for the pole he was resting against. Though Severus didn't care, his attention solely focused on Lily as her fiery red hair caught the fading sunlight and had it seeming as though each strand was made of fire as she swung back and forth on the swing, her laughter like music to the young wizard's ears.
For but a few moments, they could forget the harsh realities of their respective homes, along with the differences between their worlds.
But, and as it did so often happen between the pair, an argument was brewing; all but simmering beneath the surface of their friendship. Severus had always been a boy who viewed the world through a lens of stark pragmatism, a belief that life was more akin to a dog-eat-dog world wherein only the strong survived. It was shaped by the harsh reality of his home life with his father's abuse and neglect. He had lived through too much, seen and experienced so much pain and hatred that it was hard for him to envision the world as anything less, and had come to see magic as a means to rise above the struggles and challenges that life dared to throw his way.
Lily, on the other hand, was an optimistic, having come from a loving Muggle family wherein magic was a gift to be cherished but not exploited. She always believed that there is good in people when their hearts have already been hardened from such a notion, and the most current case and point for Severus believing Lily acted as such was her continued conciliating of her sister whenever Petunia decided to show her face and start trouble; something of which the boy let be known.
"Lily, why don't you just use your magic to stop Petunia from being so horrible?" he blurted out before he could stop himself, the words all but tumbling from his lips. Severus knew that suggesting such a thing was taboo, even among young witches and wizards.
Lily's swing stopped abruptly, and she hopped of before turning to face Severus. Her emerald eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and disbelief as she exclaimed, "Severus, you can't just use magic like that! That's not how it works."
Severus found himself frowning, his brows furrowing with confusion. That had not been the response he'd been expecting.
"But you have magic, Lily," he argued. "It's a gift. Why not use it to make your life better?"
The young witch just shook her head at her friend, her red hair bouncing with the motion. "It's not that simple, Sev. You told me that magic was a part of who we are, but we can't just use it to do everything. My mum told me it would only lead to a lazy lady, and that it would have consequences."
The differences between their lives had always been at the heart of their arguments, and as the words passed Lily's lips, Severus felt his stubbornness get the better of him; the fact that Lily's mother was willing to speak of magic, to discuss it so openly with her daughter causing him to say something he shouldn't have. "Maybe you just don't understand," he stated defiantly, crossing his arms against his chest. "You live in a perfect world with a loving family. You don't know what it's like for the rest of us."
The moment they had escaped his lips, Severus had immediately wanted to take them back. But it was too late, Lily's face having turned flush with anger, and her eyes were already glistening with unshed tears.
"No. You don't get it, Severus. You don't even get me!" she told him, trying to keep the dam from spilling over before finding it was already too late. Without another word being said, and unwilling of showing her tears to Severus, Lily turned on her heel and stormed away, her fiery red hair trailing behind her like a banner of defiance.
Severus could do nothing but watch her go; his heart already feeling the weight of his regret. He knew that he'd crossed a line, said something that he couldn't take back. Once again, in his effort to make Lily understand his perspective, he had gone and pushed her away.
Standing alone by the swings, the boy felt a profound sense of isolation wash over him. He had lost his closest friend, the one person who had offered him solace and a glimpse of a better world; once again letting his stubbornness and bitterness get the best of him, and it had cost him dearly.
As he watched the sun slowly disappear below the horizon, casting long shadows across the park, Severus was overwhelmed by a crushing sense of regret. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had irreparable damaged his friendship with Lily, a bond that was beginning to mean the world to him.
With his shoulders slumping, the boy closed his eyes, trying to hide back the tears that threatened to well up. Oh, how he wished he could turn back time, take back his thoughtless words, and make things right with Lily.
As if response to his inner turmoil, his inner wish, a flutter of... something tugged at the edges of Severus' consciousness. And as he opened his eyes, his brows furrowing with confusion, movement caught his eye. A small, bright yellow Muggle post-it note seemed to materialise out of thin air before it then gently floated down to rest on the swing that Lily had just vacated.
With trembling fingers and a healthy dose of both hope and trepidation, Severus moved away from the pole he'd been leaning against, reaching for the note as his heart pounded in his chest. The words on the note were written in the same elegant script as the previous; one of which Severus was becoming rather envious of given his own looked as though a crow had decided to take up the fine art of writing with how scratchy and ineligible it was.
'Mistakes are a part of life, Severus. What matters is what you decide to do next.'
The tears that he'd been trying to stop begun to seep free as he read the message. It was as if the note could see into his very soul, offering him not only a lifeline of understanding, but of forgiveness as well. The words reminded him that even in his darkest moments, when he couldn't even find an ounce of love for himself, out there somewhere was someone who did care, someone who believed in his capacity to make amends.
Severus clutched the post-it note close, his fingers tracing the words as if they were a promise. He knew what he had to do next. He had to find Lily, apologise for his thoughtless words, and work to rebuild the friendship he had nearly destroyed.
With a renewed determination, the boy turned and hurried off in the direction his friend had gone, a sense of purpose and a deep longing to make things right fuelling each step he took. Severus knew that he had to show Lily that he valued their friendship above all else.
The Great Hall at Hogwarts was filled with the eager chatter of students who were either watching or waiting for their turn to be sorted into their respective houses. Severus stood with who was left of the First Years still waiting, his heart racing with anticipation. He had dreamt of this moment for as long as he could remember, but now that it was finally here, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
As the Sorting Hat made its way through the line of students, the eleven-year-old couldn't help but steal glanced at the red and gold table. There, the cause of his anxiety, sitting with an air of confidence amongst the rest of the Gryffindors, was Lily Evans, her fiery red hair standing out like a beacon under the candlelight. She was already surrounded by the other students from her house, but most notably to Severus, the pair of boys who had already made an impression on him during their train ride to Hogwarts.
With their unruly hair and mischievous grins, James Potter and Sirius Black - as he had come to learn - had taken an immediate disliking to Severus, and all because they'd heard what House he hoped to be in. On the train, James had come up with the hurtful nickname 'Snivellus' and had used it to try and get a rise out of Severus. To his dismay, it seemed the nickname had already gained popularity among the Gryffindors, some of whom he'd already overheard referring him as Snivellus instead of his actual name.
As his name was called and the Sorting Hat was placed on his head, however, Severus found all thoughts on the pair of bullies disappearing as he instead begun to feel the hat's scrutiny; probing at his thoughts and secret desires. And after what felt like an eternity, the hat finally made its decision.
. . . .
That night, as Severus lay in the bed allocated for him in the Slytherin dorms, his thoughts were consumed by the events of the day. He had hoped to be in the same house as Lily, to share in her adventures and protect her from the likes of Black and Potter. But now, they were in different houses and all but separated by a rivalry that had begun before either of them had even been born.
The First Year couldn't shake the feeling of unease he felt towards Lily being thrown into the lion's den, especially with the likes of those bullies as her housemates. He had a deep-seated concern that their antics would not stop at name-calling, and that Lily would get caught up in their antics. He knew he would have to do something before it could get to that, though just wasn't certain as to what that 'something' was.
The common room below was filled with the hushed voices of his fellow Slytherins, the camaraderie of the House offering some level of comfort for the attention-starved boy. But it could not dispel the growing distance that Severus felt was already growing between himself and Lily. He knew that their friendship was strong, that they'd faced worse hurdles in the past. Yet the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, he had come to find, could strain even the tightest of bonds.
As Severus lay there, lost in the turmoil that was his thoughts, a small, bright yellow post-it note appeared in a flash of light on his nightstand. The wizard was sitting the moment he realised what it was, and he picked it up with his heart racing within his chest.
'True friendship can transcend the boundaries of Houses, Severus. Hold on to what truly matters.'
Once again the words provided Severus a sense of solace and reassurance, and he clutched the note to his chest, trying to draw strength from its message.
He knew then, without a sliver of a doubt, that no matter what house they were sorted into, the friendship he had with Lily Evans was far more important. But with the post-it note in his hand, Severus made a silent vow to hold onto the true essence of friendship, no matter the challenges ahead. The rivalry between their houses could try to extinguish the bond that they had forged over the years, but it would do so in vain.
The friendship he had with Lily was stronger than anything else in the world, and he would prove it to the world if he'd have to.
The Marauders had struck again.
This time, however, their mischievous antics had reached a cruel peak, one that had left Severus Snape hanging by his ankles in the Hogwarts courtyard with his bits on display for the whole school to see. It had been a relentless campaign of humiliation that had pushed him to the edge of despair.
His black hair dangled toward the ground, and his robes hung around him like a mockery of his dignity. James Potter and Sirius Black, the ringleaders of his torment, continued to revel in their victory, taunting him as he dangled helplessly. Peter Pettigrew, one who only acted when he knew he could get away with it, had also joined in, his own shouts and spells having only added to Severus' humiliation.
A small part of the Severus' mind wondered why Remus Lupin hung around the group, the sandy-haired boy always there; never saying a word or casting a spell, but also never stepping in at the same time to say that his mates may have taken things too far. Yet the ghost of claws, the glimpse of fangs as the werewolf the boy could become flashed across his mind - and all thoughts on the one-who'd-been-set-up-to-kill-him disappeared.
The humiliation of his current situation was already unbearable, but it paled in comparison to the self-loathing that now consumed him; having allowed himself to be pulled into a bitter rivalry with Potter and becoming the embodiment of every prejudice and cruelty that he often swore to Lily he despised.
But the worst part of his entire ordeal, day - life - had been the word that had escaped his own lips in his anger and frustration, a single phrase that he knew had ultimately severed the last thread of his friendship with Lily Evans: "Mudblood."
. . . .
The Hogwarts grounds lay quiet under the light of the waning moon, a peaceful stillness falling over the castle that belied the turmoil within Severus' heart.
The young wizard stood near the edge of the Black Lake, a place where he often found solace during the moments of deep despair. He had come here seeking refuge from the relentless torment of his thoughts, the events of the past week that continued to replay in his mind. Yet as each memory flashed through his head, Severus could only feel another part of his heart shatter.
The memory of being strung up by his ankles, the cruel laughter of Potter and his friends ringing in his ears, still haunted his every waking moment. It had been an experience beyond humiliating, and had managed to leave the wizard both physically and emotionally scarred.
But what had wounded him even more was the memory of what he had said during the ordeal.
"I don't need any help from a filthy Mudblood like her!"
Severus winced, the words cutting through his mind just as sharply as they had tumbled from his lips in his fit of shamed rage. It was a derogatory term, a word that no true wizard or witch should ever use. And yet, in that moment of weakness and anger, he had hurled it at the one person who had meant more to him than anyone else.
He had attempted to apologise, had spent an entire desperate week camped outside the Gryffindor common room pleading for Lily's forgiveness. He had rehearsed his words a thousand times, the weight of his remorse weighing him down with each passing day. But every attempt to try and bridge the gap he had inevitably created had been futile, his once-best friend having remained resolute in her anger and disappointment, refusing to even listen to him.
He could still recall the way her emerald eyes had been filled with a mixture of hurt, disappointment, and her own righteous fury.
Severus sat down under onto the bank of the lake, his head hanging low. The rift between himself and Lily had grown only wider since her declining of a second chance, and he felt as though there was no hope for reconciliation.
What could he say that would have her see that he hadn't meant it, hadn't intended to call her such a foul word?
Not only had he lost his pride, but because of his own stupidity, he'd also lost the one person who had offered him a glimpse of a better world, and the destruction of their friendship had Severus feeling utterly alone for the first time in his young life; nothing more than a lonely vessel adrift in a sea of regrets.
The days of their shared laughter, the secrets they had whispered to each other, and the bond that had been nigh unbreakable... they all were nothing more than distant memories.
Feeling desperate, and utterly isolated from the world he had never thought would ever escape him, Severus pushed himself back onto his feet, a dark and unthinkable thought crossing his mind. The world, one that had been so bright and filled with a future full of red hair, green eyes, and pretty smiles, now felt cold and unforgiving, much like the turbulent waters below.
The thought of ending his pain, of escaping the torment that had become his life became almost all-encompassing. But as the wizard took a step closer to the edge of the Black Lake, ready to let himself fall into the depths of its dark abyss, a sudden burst of blinding light caught his eye.
Spinning on his heel, Severus watched on stunned as a small, bright yellow post-it note appeared in the air, as if conjured by magic. It hovered before him, its message clear and filled with something that the sixteen-year-old felt he did not deserve.
'I forgive you.'
Severus reached for the note with trembling fingers, the words cutting through the darkness of his thoughts and offering him the smallest glimmer of hope. Yet he hesitated, each word also reminding him of what he had lost.
He knew that it was not from Lily, that they were no longer friends. And unlike the last time they'd had a massive argument that left him floundering for a way to fix their friendship, this note did not hold the mention of reconciliation. It was as if whoever the sender was knew that their friendship was done and dusted, despite how desperate he desired for it to be different.
Tears welled up in Severus' eyes as he finally snatched the note from the air, gripping it tightly but tenderly within his grasp. How could someone who knew what he'd done, knew what he had ruined, find it in themselves to be able to forgive him? His heart felt both light and heavy within his chest, the weight of the mistakes he had made warring with the seemingly easily offered forgiveness from someone he did not even know.
The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow upon the surface of the Black Lake, yet no reflection of the wizard who stood upon its desolate bank could be seen.
Black robes, as dark as the night itself, billowed in the brisk wind, and dark eyes stared unblinkingly into the depths of the water as their owner's mind continued to be filled with a tumultuous storm of guilt and sorrow.
The deaths of Lily and James Potter had already been published in the Prophet, the story having been released before their bodies had even been recovered from what was left of their house, and the weight of his actions, actions that had inadvertently led to the deaths of the Potter's, threatened to drown the dark-haired wizard within their depths.
The knowledge that their fate had come about because of his own stupidity, his own weakness had left a wound that festered in Severus Snape's soul; a wound that he knew would never heal. He could claim all he wanted that he had felt torn, that between his association with the Dark Lord and his deep-seated regret for betraying Lily had been the cause of his actions. But he knew that there was no excuse for what he'd done. Nothing could ever be said in his defence for what had happened, and already he was awaiting the arrival of the Aurors; smart enough to know that with the brand marring his arm, there would be no escape from Azkaban.
The thought of prison did not upset Severus as much as he thought it would. He had thought he would be scared, be worried about the Dementors he had once told Lily about. Yet he felt nothing. The world as a whole seemed less - empty - without her presence, her laughter, and her friendship, and there was no one to blame but himself for that. Lily Evans was gone, and it had been Severus' own actions that had led to her tragic death.
The weight of his betrayal pressed heavily upon Severus' soul, threatening to pull him into the darkness of despair. He had thought of this moment often, standing before the Black Lake, envisioning the dark waters surging forth and swallowing him whole.
The post-it notes, ones that had once been a source of confusion, then hope, and eventually solace throughout his life, had been absent. He had hoped that like in the past that he would receive some form of message, a word of comfort, anything to alleviate the anguish that was trying to consume him. Yet nothing had appeared.
There had been no note this time, and Severus Snape mildly wondered if the lack of one was a message in itself.
. . . .
Unbeknownst to Severus Snape, and high above in the castle, Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk in her office. The Head of Gryffindor House had just learned of the tragic events that had unfolded, the deaths of Lily and James Potter and the survival of their only child, Harry. Though she did not need to have it printed on paper before her to be able to read what hadn't been said.
Being a part of the Order of the Phoenix, Minerva knew of Severus Snape's involvement with Voldemort, with the Death Eaters, as well as his duplicity from their cause to join the side of the Light, and the elder witch knew that for such a targeted attack to have occurred, that poor wizard was somehow indirectly involved. Her heart ached for her former student-turned-colleague, for the man who she believed had been dealt nothing but the worst cards in life.
Despite grieving for the loss of Lily and James, of wondering what would happen to poor Harry, Minerva found she could not stop her thoughts from turning to Severus Snape. She had come to know him well over the years, had borne witness to the pain and regret that had haunted him ever since his friendship with Lily had deteriorated, and she worried for his emotional stability during this time. She couldn't bear the thought of him being alone with his guilt.
As if her train of thought had somehow summoned it into existence, a Muggle post-it note suddenly appeared on the newspaper forgotten on the desk before the Deputy Headmistress; something of which immediately caught her eye. Minerva McGonagall may have been a witch accustomed to the Muggle ways of life, but even she could admit that the sight of the small square of yellowed paper seemed rather out of place in her magical surroundings, and its unexpected appearance was more than baffling. But it was the words printed so elegantly upon its surface were what caught her attention, capturing her focus in but an instant, the 'how' such a thing had appeared in her office vanishing as quick as the newspaper had reported the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Without a thought as to who had sent it or why, Minerva snatched up the scrap of paper and left her office, a sense of urgency driving her. Her footsteps were brisk as she made her way through the castle, her thoughts focused on finding Severus Snape. She had no inkling of the significance of the note that was clutched tightly within her grasp, but she couldn't ignore the words or the feeling that someone - someone who understood Severus' pain - had sent it.
. . . .
As Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall approached the Black Lake, a place she knew to hold a sense of solitude and reflection for the wizard she was seeking, she spotted the wizard standing at the water's edge, his gaze fixed on the dark expanse. The moon's silver light continued to bath the night in its glow, but there was no reflection in Severus' eyes; nothing but a sea of grief and torment.
"Severus," she called, her voice gentle and filled with concern as she approached the Potions Master. His sudden vulnerability tugged at her heartstrings, and she couldn't help but feel the weight of his pain as if it were her own; for when Severus turned to face her, his expression was a mix of vulnerability and surprise. It was as though she had glimpsed not only the turmoil of his heart but also the immense pain he carried; emotions of which were clearly almost too much for the wizard to bear.
But as he registered her presence, had realised that someone had managed to get close to his person without his knowledge; too lost in his grief and pain to have noticed their presence, Severus' instincts kicked in, and he couldn't help but react defensively.
"Deputy Headmi-" he begun, only for the words to end up lodged in his throat as his gaze landed on the familiar scrap of yellow paper in Minerva's hand. The air thickened with a sudden tension as his demeanour shifted, his gaze intensifying as his initial confusion was replaced by a wave of emotion. "Where did you get that?" he suddenly demanded, his voice sharp and accusing. Severus' mind was suddenly flooded with betrayal and pain; the thought, the idea that whoever had been sending him the notes had betrayed him to the witch.
Or that-
"Have you been snooping around in my office?!"
Minerva was momentarily taken aback by his reaction, by the sense of intrusion he seemed to feel; even if his response answered the question of whoever had sent the note knew Severus. But that was neither here or now, and the witch shook her head, holding out the note to the wizard as she explained how it had come into her possession. "No, Severus. It appeared on my desk. I don't know how it got there, but the message on it... it seemed important."
The Deputy Headmistress had no clue as to what part of her explanation caused the reaction, yet, and even as Severus snatched the note from her hand, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and confusion, Minerva could not deny that she witnessed what she'd believed to be a flicker of relief flash across his eyes as she'd finished. Though she brushed the train of thought that threatened to be built from the sight of a relieved Severus Snape aside, knowing that now was not the time to be trying to delve into the life of a very, very complicated young wizard.
Severus tried to keep his hands from trembling as he took the note from Minerva, tried to keep the emotions threatening to overwhelm him from showing as his eyes read what was written upon the post-it note. It wasn't as if he had expected the notes to have remained a secret for this long, a private lifeline that only he knew about, but they somehow had despite appearing as sporadically as the Weasley's popped out children. And the thought of his secret having been exposed, having been shared...
Whatever track Severus' thoughts were taking suddenly derailed as his mind absorbed the words so elegantly written upon the yellow scrap of paper. His defences crumbled, and he found that he could not look to Minerva, once again consumed by the guilt of having acted without thinking.
'A friend in need is a friend indeed.'
The simple words on the post-it note had a profound impact, the phrase resonating deeply within Severus. It was clear that the sender had gone to Minerva out of genuine concern and a desire to offer comfort in a form they clearly could not. And the thought of having lashed out at the witch, at accusing her of having-
"No harm, no foul, Severus," Minerva's voice cut through his swirling thoughts, the Deputy Head clearly having sensed his inner turmoil. Her tone was soft and reassuring, the small upwards twitch of her lip and hand coming to rest reassuringly upon his arm a clear sign that she understood that he was going through a difficult time.
Yet, the simple action left Severus floundering. He struggled to find the words to respond, unsure of how to express his gratitude or acknowledge the depth of his own guilt. It was an unfamiliar gesture; one he had rarely received with such honesty in his life. He had spent years keeping people at arm's length, building walls to protect himself from vulnerability, and now he found himself facing a level of compassion he had not expected.
"Minerva, I..." he tried, his voice laced with genuine sincerity, though the words just would not come. What could he say that would convey his feelings, emotions that he wasn't even sure what to name at that moment? The world suddenly felt as though it was spinning madly around one Severus Snape, and he did not know how to get it to stop.
Minerva managed to help ground him just as much as she'd thrown him off-kilter, however, as the Deputy Headmistress just shook her head, her eyes filled with a clear understanding. "No apology necessary, Severus," she told him, letting her arm fall from his and taking a step back, giving the wizard the air and space he clearly needed.
Severus just shook his head in response, needing to apologise, to explain.
"It's my fault, Minerva," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper. Though, and much to his surprise again, Minerva denied him his chance once more.
"I don't know what you believe it is you've done, Severus Snape," the Deputy Headmistress told him, her tone returning to one which she only used upon stubborn or idiotic children. "But I know for a fact that it was not you who took away Harry's parents," she continued, ignoring the flinch Severus gave at the mention of Lily and James' child as she ploughed on right ahead, "That man was a vile, evil monster who got exactly what he deserved. Whatever you think you've done, whatever you're feeling guilty about, it doesn't matter."
The witch raised her hand, her eyes flashing when Severus opened his mouth to retort, the Potions Master's expression turning thunderous at the words she'd all but thrown at his feet.
"No, Severus Snape, they don't. And do you know why? Because we all make mistakes, we all have things we're guilty of doing. They don't matter because it is what we do after we make a mistake, how we choose to move forwards from them that does."
Severus Snape stared at Minerva McGonagall; the Potions Master's usually sharp tongue silenced by her words. She had always had a way of cutting through his defences, of exposing the raw nerve of his guilt and self-condemnation. Her words, firm and unwavering, carried the weight of truth, and they struck at the very heart of his torment.
He had believed that he was responsible for the death of Lily, that his actions had led to her tragic end. The burden of guilt had never left him ever since he'd realised that prophecy had meant her and her unborn child, and it had festered in his soul like a poison. The memory of that fateful night, of the choices he had made after overhearing that damnable seer, had haunted him for far too many months.
But Minerva's words shattered the foundations of his self-blame. She refused to accept his guilt, to allow him to bear the weight of a crime he hadn't truly committed. In her eyes, it was not Severus Snape who had taken away Lily and James Potter; it was the evil monster, Lord Voldemort, who had met his deserved end. And her conviction, her refusal to let him wallow in his self-inflicted misery, left Severus both stunned and, in a strange way, relieved. He had spent so long tormenting himself, believing that he could never atone for his actions, that he was forever marked by the past. But here, in this moment, Minerva McGonagall had become a beacon of understanding and hope.
As the years went by, Severus could recall how, on the Halloween nights he had spent out by the Black Lake, lost in his grief and regrets, Minerva had always been there. Her presence had been a silent comfort, an unspoken acknowledgment of the pain he carried within. At first, it had been just her silent company, just being there for him during a time when he desperately needed a friend but had no idea how to ask.
Yet, as the seasons changed and the years rolled on, the wizard found himself doing something he'd never done before; he began to open up to the witch. It was there, in the dark of the night and before the still waters of the Black Lake, did Severus Snape begin to share his memories of Lily.
He talked about all he could; of their shared interests, their late-night conversations under the starry sky, and the moments when he had seen her smile. He spoke of how he regretted what he'd done, how their friendship had ended in bitterness, and of how he'd felt so lost and alone when Lily had been unable to forgive him. Minerva, with her own memories of the red-haired witch she'd once taught, provided Severus with insights and perspectives he'd never known.
Their conversations had become a balm for his soul, a way to remember Lily and, in some small way, ease the guilt that had gnawed at him for years.
But the eve of Halloween before Harry Potter was to start at Hogwarts, Severus had found himself alone. For the first time in years, Minerva had not appeared, and he could recall how the night had felt so heavy yet still mirrored the weight of his own thoughts. The absence of his friend had left him in a state of quiet reflection, and it had been the first time that his mind drifted to the post-it notes that had appeared all throughout his life, yet had been subsequently absence during the years that Minerva had accompanied him on his yearly visits to the lake.
He recalled the notes' mysterious appearance, how they always seemed to know when he was at his lowest, how they had always come with words of encouragement and support even when he didn't know who was behind them. They had been a lifeline in times of despair, a lifeline that had saved him from the abyss.
But then, they had stopped. The notes had ceased to appear during the years he had spent with Minerva, speaking of their shared memories and offering him the comfort of her company. He had assumed they had stopped because he no longer needed them, that he had found a friend who could fill the void they had once occupied.
Yet, and as the memory of the first note that had appeared after a long hiatus came to him, Severus could not help but wince.
Severus Snape's private quarters were a realm of shadows and despair, illuminated only by the dim light of the fireplace. The shattered remnants of glass and splintered wood bore testament to the storm of anger that had swept through the room, and in his inebriated state, he clutched a near-empty bottle of firewhisky in one hand, the amber liquid offering a poor substitute for the solace Severus so desperately sought.
Halloween night had arrived once more, a date etched forever in his memory with dread, pain, and regret. However, this particular holiday night was especially painful, for it had brought with it a darkness that Severus had long feared.
"A fucking troll?!" he shouted through the room, his voice slurred yet still filled with the disbelief he'd beheld when he, Minerva, and that blundering oaf Quirrell had come across Potter and his merry friends - along with the body of a blasted troll! - in that wretched bathroom. How those reckless students had managed to walk away unharmed was beyond the wizard, beyond his current state of mind, as the fear he'd felt of failing the vow he'd made to Lily, to Dumbledore, had driven Severus to the brink of despair.
As he sat in his dimly lit office, the memories of his terror, the way he had felt the strain upon the Unbreakable Vow he had taken with Dumbledore even as 'Fluffy' tried to take a chunk out of his hide, replayed in his mind on an unending loop. It had almost been like Lily all over again, the desperation he'd felt to do something, anything in order to save her son from the troll's wrath. His heart had pounded with fear, and the Vow had strained against his very being, a constant reminder of the life-and-death promise he had made.
Severus downed the remainder of his drink, the fiery liquid burning his throat as it momentarily dulled the anguish in his chest. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions - the fear, guilt, anger, and regret. He had almost lost Lily's son tonight, and the realization of that near failure gnawed at his soul.
But it wasn't just the threat to Potter that truly troubled the Potions Master. It was the fear of letting down Lily's memory once again, a memory he held dearer than life itself. He had sworn to protect her son, and the weight of that promise bore down on him like an unrelenting burden.
. . . .
As the hours passed, and the Firewhisky numbed his senses, Severus's office had become a battlefield of conflicting emotions. He berated himself for his inadequacy, for not being there to prevent the perilous encounter, for not being able to shield Potter from harm. He cursed the circumstances that had forced him to make the Unbreakable Vow in the first place, binding his fate to a boy he could not even stand the sight of.
Seeking further refuge in another bottle of firewhisky, Severus stumbled to his desk, spiralling further into his drunken stupor as he cracked open the next bottle. Alcohol was his desperate escape from the relentless memories that haunted him, a futile attempt to numb the pain, the guilt gnawed at him, consuming him, drowning him in a sea of self-loathing. The weight of his failures continued to try and press themselves upon his chest, making it difficult to breathe.
And then, as the room spun around him, as the embers of his anger smouldered and his vision blurred, Severus became aware of something strange on his desk. There, amidst the wreckage, lay a single, yellow post-it note.
'He's alive, is he not? You have yet to fail anyone.'
Severus blinked, unable to comprehend the meaning of the words, or the sudden reappearance of the mysterious post-it notes. He mumbled to himself, the firewhisky having robbed him of his usual sharpness. "Words on parchment," he slurred, his voice thick with bitterness. "What use are you? You know nothing, understand nothing. You can't bring her back. You can't undo what's been done."
His trembling fingers plucked the note from the desk, crumpling it into a ball before tossing it into the flames of his fireplace. The paper ignited and turned to ash, and for a brief moment, Severus felt a twisted sense of satisfaction as he watched.
But, and as he turned away from the fireplace, another note appeared on his desk.
'Really, Severus? Is that how you treat someone who cares?'
The Potions Master felt his anger flare, and he shouted at the post-it note as if it were an adversary. "Who are you to care? You don't know me. You don't know what I've done!" unaware that the notes seemed to be answering his inebriated words.
Severus crumpled the second note and tossed it into the fire as well, watching as it too turned to ash. But it notes were relentless, appearing one after another, as if in response to his torment.
'I understand you pain.'
His face contorted with anger and despair. "You don't understand. No one can understand."
The notes seemed to be multiplying quicker than Severus could burn them, each message so elegantly written upon their yellowed surface echoing through his mind and causing his heart to race.
'Talk to me, Severus. I only want to help.'
They were like mocking phantoms, taunting him with their impossible appearance, and the anger, despair, and self-loathing he had harboured for so long had clouded his perception. He berated the notes, accusing them of being as empty and meaningless as the rest of his existence. In his intoxicated state, he was unable to grasp the lifeline that had been offered to him, the opportunity for solace and connection slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.
He swiped the remaining notes from his desk in a fit of rage, creating a paper storm of white and yellow as not only were the post-it notes thrown into the fire. The Potions Master watched as the paper curled and blackened in the flames, and he felt a perverse satisfaction in their destruction.
But then a strange thing happened.
As the notes burned, the flames seemed to dance in response, as if in conversation. The ashes of the yellow post-it notes swirled, forming patterns that resembled writing. It was as though the notes were speaking back to him during a floo call, responding back to his outbursts, yet was doing it in writing instead of words. Severus, however, too deep in his inebriated state, failed to recognise the significance of this strange exchange. He could only see the mockery in it, and he cursed the flames like he were cursing at a person, not realising that he was shouting at the notes themselves.
The fire continued to crackled even as the remnants of the notes finally turned to embers, and Severus collapsed into his chair, overwhelmed by exhaustion and self-loathing. He had raged against the world, against himself, and he had driven away the only source of comfort that had dared to reach out to him. And so there he sat amidst the wreckage of his office, consumed by a profound sense of loss and despair. The spectres of his past continued to haunt his every waking moment, their whispers of guilt and regret echoing in the silence that echoed through the chamber.
The post-it notes had been reduced to ashes, and the opportunity for solace and connection had gone up in literal smoke.
He had watched constantly over Lily's son, done his very best to protect Potter from the worst that the world had to offer. But it had been a bittersweet duty, for the boy's resemblance to his father had been nothing but a constant and painful reminder of what could never be. Every glance at Potter had been like a stab in the heart, a reminder of the friend he had lost and the choices he had made.
Potter, Weasley, and Granger; the 'Golden Trio' had all been both a constant presence and an unavoidable nuisance during his tenure at Hogwarts. He could recall every bout of frustration he had felt, keeping them from killing themselves with their reckless Gryffindor bravery, even when his every instinct had screamed at him to let them be, to treat them harshly in order to protect his own cover. He had given them detentions, deducted house points, and subjected them to his biting sarcasm, all the while knowing that they were the key to defeating the Dark Lord.
Hermione Granger, in particular, had been an absolute thorn in his side. She was one of his most talented and intelligent students, the kind he secretly admired but was duty-bound to berate. Her endless pursuit of knowledge, her thirst for understanding, had been qualities he recognized and respected, even as he was compelled to shame her before her peers. Severus couldn't help but wish he'd had the opportunity to teach her differently, to nurture her intellect instead of stifling it. He wondered how different her experiences at Hogwarts might have been if he had been free to guide her without the constraints of his double life.
As he wrestled with these memories, the ones with the post-it notes came flooding back into his mind. The notes had been a lifeline, offering guidance and solace during the most challenging times of his life. They seemed to respond to his thoughts and emotions, as if they were attuned to his very soul. He had come to rely on their presence, finding comfort in their enigmatic messages.
But the notes had been conspicuously absent during the years he had spent meeting Minerva by the Black Lake. It was as though their soothing presence had become an intrusion into his carefully constructed world. Their return had filled him with a mixture of relief and trepidation. What did they know? Who was behind them? Why did they continue to send them to him?
His reverie was abruptly interrupted by a knock at the door, a sound that sent his heart pounding faster within his chest. Who could be visiting him at this hour, and on the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, no less? The Ministry's Ball wasn't to finish for another hour and a half, something of which Severus had skipped out on, of course.
The wizard rose from his chair with a groan, his steps heavy as he approached the door. The world outside was cloaked in darkness, and the air felt strangely still, and as he reached for the doorknob, the Potions Master couldn't help but wonder if this visit would bring new revelations, peeling away another layer of his intricate, interconnected life.
The moment he opened the door, however, his eyes widened in surprise and all thoughts fled.
"Mi-Minerva?"
"Severus," the Headmistress of Hogwarts greeted with a prim nod, though the tight smile playing about on her lips did not reach her eyes. She looked older and paler than he had ever seen before, her features strained. In her hands, she held a book, one of which Severus's gaze immediately locked onto as he glimpsed the familiar yellow post-it note stuck to its cover.
He couldn't contain his curiosity, and before Minerva could say anything more, questioned, "Where did you get that?" his voice tinged with a mixture of confusion and concern as his eyes darted between the Headmistress and the post-it note.
"That's why I'm here, Severus," Minerva told him, her voice trembling slightly. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes filled with a profound sadness and unshed tears, before she finally asked, "Do you recall teaching a student named Hermione Granger?" as she held both the book and the post-it note out to the Potions Master, her expression filled with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.
Six Years Later...
Severus Snape stood before the memorial wall at Hogwarts, his eyes fixed on the names etched into the stone. The wall was a solemn reminder of the lives lost during both wizarding wars. It was a place of reflection and mourning, where the weight of so many tragedies hung heavy in the air. At the top of the memorial wall, a quote was inscribed: "Of Life, does Time steal."
His fingers gently brushed the surface of the stone as he traced the names, each one a painful memory, a life lost to the relentless march of time. His gaze shifted from one name to another, and his thoughts wandered through the years that had passed since the end of the last war.
It had been seven years since the final battle, six since Severus had made a discovery that had turned his world upside down. Hermione Granger, the brilliant witch he had once taught, was not dead as he had first believed. She had not been killed during the battle, but lost to time; tied to his life in a way he could not have imagined.
It had been Miss Granger, he had discovered, who had been sending him the post-it notes throughout his life.
Severus had spent years searching for answers, and the journey had led him to the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry of Magic. The Unspeakables there had explained that they believed her disappearance had been the result of a time-turner accident, one Severus had come to discover that the witch had not returned to the Headmaster after her Third Year, suspecting that the magical device had malfunctioned at some point during the final battle, and Hermione had become untethered from the normal flow of time, lost in the ever-shifting currents of history.
He had returned to Hogwarts, to the Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, to tell her of the young witch's fate. Minerva had come to know of Hermione's existence from the memories Severus held of the witch, yet the Headmistress could not recall her most favourite cub herself. The Department of Mysteries had theorized that a powerful temporal charm, caused by the fracturing of a time expedition gone awry, had caused this memory loss in those who had known the witch.
"You know, Miss Granger," Severus begun, his voice soft as he turned his gaze back to the wall; speaking as though he were addressing the departed souls. "I've tried to find a way to bring you back, to undo whatever it was that happened to you, but it seems it's a challenge even beyond my abilities. Minerva, because she'd beat me over the head if I dare call her Headmistress or Professor to you, she knows of you, yet she cannot remember the witch you were. No one can. It is as if you've become a ghost to the pages of history, an enigma lost to the past."
He continued to recount the years that had passed, explaining to Hermione how her friends had fared after taking a deep breath, his eyes welling with emotions he had never shared with anyone. "Your friends, Potter and Weasley, have of course moved on. Scarred, yes, but determined to not let their past hold them back. They're leading their lives, living the life that you should have had."
Severus's voice carried his deep sense of loss and a profound longing as he continued. He knew Hermione could not hear him, but the act of speaking to her felt like a small act of closure. "Your parents... They're well, blissfully unaware of the lengths you went to ensure they stayed that way. I went to Australia to find them, to see if there was any way to reverse it, but it's not possible. The Healers at St. Mungo's said that such a feat on a Magical is difficult enough. They continue to live their lives, never knowing of the dangers they would have faced if you had not sent them away."
"I've found that I've missed you," the Potions Master continued as, with a heavy heart, he removed a worn yellow post-it note from his pocket - the very same one that Minerva had with her six years prior. His thumb ran absently across the words written upon its surface, even as his gaze continued to stare at the stone before him. "I miss your intelligence, your tenacity, and your loyalty. You were the brightest witch of your age, and the world was a far better place with you in it."
As he concluded his words, dark eyes dropped to the paper held between pale fingers before Severus reached forward to adhere the post-it note to the memorial wall beside the names of those who had been lost, using his wand to make certain it wouldn't fall. A smile pulled at his lips, one that was small yet filled with an emotion the Potions Master wasn't certain to name, as along with the words 'Hermione Granger' that were so elegantly written upon the yellowed paper, Severus gently enchanted it to bear the added words 'Of Time, does Life enrich', causing the paper to glow warmly.
"Daddy?! Daddy?!"
His musings and heartfelt conversation with the memory of Hermione Granger were interrupted by a child's voice, a pure and innocent curiosity that never ceased to warm his heart. Severus spun on his heel, barely managing to slip his wand back up his sleeve as a three-foot, black-haired blur collided into his body; the wizard barely having enough time to catch the wayward child before they both went crashing into the ground.
"What's a Nargal?" five-year-old Minnie questioned; the girl's expression curious yet serious as she thrust a rather familiar strip of yellow paper into her father's face.
Severus's eyes widened as he took the offered note. It was a post-it, one of the very few he'd seen over the last six years. His life, much to his surprise, had been full of adventure, but not of pain and misery. He hadn't received the post-it notes he had come to expect during his difficult years at Hogwarts and beyond, and he had assumed Hermione had moved on, her task of guiding him through life completed.
Yet, and as he read the note his daughter had, the wizard couldn't help but burst out laughing. It was both cryptic and endearing, a message that reminded him of the brighter aspects of magic - and of the witch who'd written it. "Well, my little know-it-all," Severus said to his daughter, scooping Minnie up into his arms, "Why don't we pop into Flourish and Botts before heading for some ice cream and get what you so clearly need. Who knows, perhaps your new friend might have more messages to share with you while we're there."
Minnie nodded eagerly, clutching the note close to her chest, and the realization that perhaps a certain curly-haired witch hadn't completely left his life filled Severus with warmth and gratitude. He was delighted that his daughter had someone to turn to when she needed guidance, even if that someone had once been his guiding light in a time of darkness.
As he walked away from the memorial wall, his daughter in his arms, Severus marvelled at how life had a way of enriching even the most complex of stories by interconnecting the threads of time, weaving his past and present together in the most unexpected and heartwarming ways.
. . . .
'A book a day keeps the Nargles away.'
Fin...?