Severus Snape leaned back in the chair in his office, his chest tight and his breathing heavy. The shattered glass and dried cockroaches lay scattered on the floor. He made no move to pick them up. He was stunned beyond words.
A moment ago Harry Potter had been gazing into Severus's pensieve, peering at memories that should never have been resurrected. Did the boy know what he had just done? The wound had been torn open, and, once again, Snape's forearm began to ache. The Dark Mark seared whenever he felt any sort of weak emotion; it was the Dark Lord's purpose.
Snape glared down at the shards of glass, hating Potter and the memory and the rage and himself most of all. The glass on the floor mocked him. He wanted to stand up and grind the fragments into glittering dust with the heel of his foot, but found that his body was defying his mind. What use was it anyway? His back stiffened then relaxed.
DamnPotterdamnPotterdamnPotterdamnPotterdamnhimdamnhim.
Easing back into the hard, rosewood chair, he wondered vaguely whether he should speak to the headmaster. No, Albus would never understand. Or would he? It did not matter anymore. Albus knew his feelings concerning the Potters; he should have known what would happen. He once again shifted in his seat. The serpentine chair was not designed for comfort.
And what about Harry Potter? Should he admit the boy back into Occlumency lessons? No, that's impossible now. Not after what he's seen. Did the boy know? Could he possibly guess?
I doubt I will be able to look Potter in the eyes again.
The eyes that were Lily's.
Snape absently rubbed the mark as his thoughts drifted back to a time when James had been his arch-rival and nemesis; and, irresistibly, he remembered Lily. And James. Lily and James. Severus shuddered and gripped the arms of the chair. The Dark Mark was burning furiously now but he no longer cared.
Damn Potter for bringing this up.
After James's prank, Lily never talked to Severus again. Not after what he said. Did he really have to use the term that he did? And James…that bastard's little joke cost me everything. And he knew…he knew the entire time. And Potter junior believes that this was typical Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. It was much, much more.
James loved Lily and so did Snape.
Severus remembered the way James looked at Lily; though she never returned it. Snape was always privately and vastly amused by James's continuous attempts, though his own, admittedly, were unsuccessful as well. Then, when Lily and James began to date in seventh year…it was almost more than he could bear.
Snape closed his eyes as he recalled his third year. If there was one subject Lily was weak at, it was her Potions work. Severus himself was not spectacular at it, but if it meant he had to be to help Lily, he would strive at it. And so he did. In their fourth year Snape offered to help Lily with her work, and she, of course, accepted rather reluctantly. Back then the Potions master had a strange fetish for frost potions, and those could only be brewed in cold temperatures, of course. This meant Lily and him spent many long hours in the coldest place in the castle; the dungeons. He should have known this was going to be a permanent reflection of their relationship. And it was. Students today say that Snape was fond of the dungeons because vampires enjoy dark, cold places. What would they say if they knew the truth?
What would Potter say?
Snape paid special attention to James and Lily during his seventh year. He could see the affection there, and later, the love. By the time they graduated, it practically radiated off of them. To Snape, it was like a personal insult.
Why did he have the say that to her that fateful day?
One time, Snape considered placing the memory permanently in the pensieve and then smashing it, destroying it irrevocably. But when he finally tried to follow through with the plan, he hesitated. The memory was a wound on the inside of his skull; something that no amount of denial could heal. He deserved his pain. He was a wretched, twisted man, and he knew it. He hated himself. Maybe that's why he wanted the Dark Lord dead. Maybe he would make a mistake and the Dark Lord would end it. Regardless, he found himself risking his life, and he found that he did not care.
Severus abruptly stood up from his desk and drew his wand, his breathing heavy and ragged. He need to hex something, to curse something. He looked wildly around for a target, but found none. Frustrated, he shouted "Reducto!" and effectively demolished his cauldron. He did not care about that, either. He had only learned Potions to help Lily.
Foolish wand waving…
Snape remembered the day James proposed to Lily, and she, with shining eyes, accepted. It was after the Quidditch finals, Gryffindor had smashed Slytherin, and James was intoxicated with elation. He took her off to the side of the pitch, knelt down, and asked her the pivotal question. Neither of them knew that Snape was eavesdropping. Severus was listening from the stands, straining his ears.
"Lily," James said in a serious voice that he only rarely used. "I've-"
Snape shut the rest of James's speech out of his memory. Potter had spoken of love and it physically pained him to recall the exact wording. All that mattered was Lily's response.
"Yes."
The word was spoken with such joy and love that Snape felt delirious for a minute, and everything around him seemed unreal. Was he really at Hogwarts? He must wake up soon…any minute he would open his eyes and see the acid-green blankets that covered each bed in the Slytherin dormitories. The moment never came. Severus owled his father asking for the Dark Mark that day. It was the first time he had asked his father for anything.
It was also the first time he used an Unforgivable. His father never believed his intentions and demanded that he prove it. So he did. On a muggle. On three muggles. Or was it four? He could not remember. He seemed to be unable to remember many things, these days.
But he could remember Lily and James's escapades with undue clarity.
When he made his rounds as a prefect during his seventh year, he could scarcely make a full round without stumbling upon Lily and James kissing each other passionately in a broom closet. He never interrupted them, of course. He turned and pretended to have not seen. They were so enraptured with each other they never noticed Snape's presence. So entrenched was Severus's phobia that he would never open broom closets that rattled from its occupants, in fear of what he would find. He would instead find a professor and another prefect to investigate that area, and he would then disappear.
And the professors, for the most part, found the entire situation unbearably ironic. Who would have thought that the school's worst prankster and the school's most stringent prefect would have ended up together? While they tended to ignore some of the minor discretions as they did with most couples, they would put a halt to the more severe excesses immediately, for which Snape was eternally thankful.
Professor McGonagall would sometimes smile almost nostalgically when she came upon them, but would instantly put on her strict façade as she broke them apart. What professor could possibly not be affected by the two? They were so in love that only the exceptionally thick never noticed. Snape acknowledged that James, indeed, loved Lily with his complete being, and she loved him as well. This, perhaps, was the only thing that kept Snape from using the most powerful of his curses to turn James into dust; and he could have, no matter what James boasted.
Snape would watch the two of them, during meals, from over at the Slytherin table. Sometimes Lily would laugh at something James said, and he would grin. The way they looked at each other…it was nearly celestial or divine or whatever word one uses to describe something so transcendental. It was the manifestation of what Severus could never have, and, for that, he resented it strongly. But he bore it.
Present-day Snape paced around his office, the shattered glass crunching underfoot. He never minded the perpetual chill that was part of the dungeons but now it seemed to have become colder. Did Harry Potter have any idea of the myriad of emotions and memories that he had just sent warring across his mind? Snape began to hate the boy even more.
The boy. Harry Potter. Another manifestation.
As part of the Death Eaters, it was Snape's duty to spy on Lily and James. The Dark Lord knew of their strength, and, as he also knew of Snape's deep hatred of James, ordered Severus to keep a careful eye on the two of them. Of course, he never physically spied on them; that would be simply reckless. He would gather information on them, and sometimes, though very rarely, would catch glimpses of them on the street. He always used polyjuice potion when he did this. No use taking chances.
Yes, they still loved each other with a passion that remained foreign and alien to Snape. Before they went into hiding completely, Snape managed to see them in Diagon Alley. Lily looked happy, so did James. That was the last time he ever directly spied on the couple. He left that duty to others.
The Dark Lord once demanded a report, personally, from him on the status of Lily and James Potter. Snape remembered this meeting with a shiver.
The tall, moldering form of the Dark Lord sat high on his throne, his red eyes boring into Snape's body, and Snape groveled. He was never one to grovel. The Dark Lord suspected.
Commanding Severus to get to his feet, the Dark Lord rose and met Snape's gaze, his eyes piercing his skull and reading his thoughts. The scene where Snape saw Lily and James at Diagon Alley surfaced in his mind, and, despite his extensive Occlumency training, he failed to keep the emotion out of his thoughts. He still felt love for her, and the jealously that shook him was physically and mentally painful and exhausting. Why was she doing this to him? Why did he do this to himself?
When the Dark Lord finished, he saw back down on his throne, laughing in his high-pitched voice. Snape looked up. He had never heard the Dark Lord laugh before, and it threatened to shatter ever bone in his body from the sheer chill and ice in it. The laughter abruptly stopped.
"Severus," the Dark Lord said. "What is this with the mudblood? The filthy one?"
It took all of Snape's willpower not to strike out at this remark. The memory festered on the inside of his skull. "I feel nothing, Lord. I will kill her myself, if you so desire."
The Dark Lord laughed again. "You lie, Severus. You believe yourself to be a skilled Occlumentist? Crucio!"
Pain surged through Snape's body, attacking his brain and slicing at the gray matter with white-hot knives. He had been subject to it many times before, but it was not something he got used to. He did, however, find some pleasure in it. For a few blissful seconds his mind was completely empty of all rational thought and Lily was no longer there. He wished more than anything the Dark Lord would just use the killing curse and end it all. Again, the pain stopped and Snape lay in a fetal position on the floor.
"Now what is there to report?"
Severus straightened, the ache not completely gone from his joints. He tried to avoid his master's eyes. "The two are deeply in love, and there is no doubt the female will be bearing a child soon. It would be best to strike while she is pregnant."
The Dark Lord glared. "That is it?"
"No, Lord," Snape continued. "They are also preparing a home with the Fidelus Charm."
"Get out, Severus," The Dark Lord commanded. "Never return to me until you become worthy of the title 'Occlumentist'."
And Snape complied instantly. The Dark Lord was in a good mood that day, and Snape remembered Lucius commenting that he was fortunate that he did not receive death. Severus merely nodded.
And now here Snape was, working for Dumbledore. It had started when the Dark Lord ordered him to assassinate Lily and James; to kill them and so eliminate the two Order members. Snape could waste no time. The Dark Lord wanted it done within a day. Snape did not know why the Dark Lord wanted him to do it alone, but he had the sinister feeling that it was for the Dark Lord's personal taste of sick amusement.
Snape had found them in Godric's Hollow, alone, deciding a home to live out their lives in. Snaped watched from afar. James was affectionately placing his hand across Lily's shoulder, and she smiled; Severus did not have the faintest idea of how he would execute his plan, but he knew it had to be done. James cupped Lily's chin in his hand and kissed her.
With the determination of one with newfound will, Snape apparated with a crack, appearing a meter away from them. He drew his wand, trying to picture Lily and James with different faces, trying to pretend that he did not know them. Snape pointed his wand rigidly at Lily and opened his mouth to speak but found he could form to words. The incantation for the killing curse died on his tongue. He lowered it slightly, and was instantly hit by a curse from James. He landed roughly on the ground, his wand now several meters away. Severus tried to leap to his feet but found that he could not. Lily had put a full body-bind on him.
"Severus," James spat. "I knew you would crawl up from somewhere some day. You've killed enough people. The ministry will veil you for what you've done." He took a step closer. "I'm going to contact the ministry; they'll put you out of your misery."
"No!" Lily suddenly cried. "James you can't!"
"Can't what?" James demanded. "You know what he's done?"
"The ministry isn't legitimate anymore, James," Lily said in almost a whisper. "They kill people now."
James looked shocked and incredulous simultaneously. "It's no more than what he's done!" He thrust his wand in Snape's direction. "He's used them all, Lily. All of them. The very worst."
"And how does doing the same thing make us better?" Lily said. "They'll throw him through that veil without a second thought. That's what they're always doing now."
James hesitated, his face furrowed in introspection. "Let's talk about this away from…him." He led her away.
They both began speaking quickly and quietly in hurried whispers, Lily's expression betraying anxiety and concern while James appeared to be stony. Lily placed her hand gently on his arm and James looked away and shook his head. He seemed almost embarrassed. Their movements, the way they spoke to each other; their love was nearly tangible. Eventually, James's face softened and he turned to Snape.
"Fine," he said hollowly. "You're going to Dumbledore and he'll decide what's to be done. You might find that you'd rather be in the veil." And with that, he made a portkey and all three of them landed in Dumbledore's office, the headmaster staring at Snape with undisguised disappointment.
It was then when he went turncoat. Snape returned to the Dark Lord with lies and deception; his entire body now devoid of any emotion. He told them Dark Lord that Lily and James had already entered their home with the Fidelus Charm and had disappeared off the face of the Earth. Needless to say, the Dark Lord was displeased and Snape suffered much…discomfort that night.
Severus had once told Harry that he owed his life to James because of a prank Sirius tried to perform on him that involved Lupin the werewolf. That was, in his mind, an utter lie. Severus was armed with his wand, and he was more than capable of dealing with a renegade werewolf. He could crush the wolf in three different ways without thinking twice. No, that was simply a cover story. The true reason why he owed James his life was because James had spared his life. And no one knew except Lily, James, Dumbledore and himself. Isn't life terrible?
And they loved each other…so much that they died for it. His reaction when he heard Lily died was hazy and unclear. Indeed, he only remembered asking Dumbledore to remove all of those memories and place them in a pensieve where he could never see them again. The headmaster complied, and he could only remember bits and pieces. His only rational thought was: If the Dark Lord sees this memory, I am dead. I cannot possibly hide this.
So he destroyed it.
Snape fell back into the hard, unforgiving chair and closed his eyes. He had never cried since he was five. That was the first lesson father had beaten into him. Now, rather than cry, he simply dug his nails into his palms until they bled. He allowed his brain to race with chaos and pain, but he would never, ever, show any physical signs of sadness or remorse. That was unforgivable.
His eyes abruptly opened, and he locked away the pensieve without drawing out the memories again. What use was it, anyway?
Snape licked his lips and began gazing at the vile liquid in a flask on the shelf. Suspended within it was a frog, and he found it oddly fascinating. He wished he was the frog.
Severus sunk to the floor, feeling dazed and sick. His eyes burned with nonexistent tears and his palm was now bleeding freely onto the floor…the red liquid mixing with the stains and filth on the dungeon's stone floor. He had never been so close to tears, but he would not let himself weep. No, he would never let himself do that.
Did Potter know what he released when he gazed into the pensieve?
Probably not.
Did he hate him for it?
Absolutely.
Someday, Snape promised himself, there would be an end. The Dark Lord would kill him, or a Death Eater would, or maybe it would happen by accident. Who knows. But what would he do when he met Lily again on the other side of that tantalizing veil? It took him a moment to fully register to the question.
He sat there several minutes, pondering the question, before he realized that it was useless.
A few men die early. Most die late.
Some are born that way.