The Wounds That Never Heal: The Boggart by Woodrow M

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Drama
Relationships: Lily & James
Book: Lily & James, Books 1 - 5
Published: 08/01/2005
Last Updated: 01/02/2005
Status: Paused

Quasi-Sequel to 'The Wounds That Never Heal'. Snape deals with a Boggart in his
ingredient chest, and it brings back a slew of memories from his fifth year Yule ball. Snape's
POV. Reading the original TWTNH advisable, but not necessary.




1. Part 1
---------

**(A/N: This is a Quasi-sequel to The Wounds That Never Heal, as it shares the same theme that
TWTNH does…though little else. This is going to be a two or three chapter story…we’ll see how long
it is as it goes. I will hopefully get chapter 2 out this coming week…no promises though.)**

Severus Snape strode briskly through the halls, his cloak flaring up behind him like the wings
of a bat. After lunch, he swore, he would go down to the dungeons when he did not have a class and
finally get rid of the boggart that had been occupying his ingredient chest for the past several
weeks. Such creatures have been wandering through the lower dungeons since time immemorial, and,
occasionally, one would climb the steps into the upper dungeons, where Snape held his classes. They
only rarely went as far as to infest one of his personal effects. The creature had been lurking in
there unchallenged, and Snape felt more than a little reluctant to face it, and he fleetingly
wondered if it had not been planted there. It would be something that Potter would do.

And, almost on cue, Harry Potter came up the corridor in the opposite direction, and they would
invariably brush past each other unless one of them veered away. Of course, Potter did not. He
nodded and grunted a short greeting "Snape" and went on his way.

Severus, in turn, gave the required response of "Potter" and they bother went on their
separate ways. He had long stopped caring whether Potter had addressed him as ‘sir’ or ‘professor’.
Such titles were meaningless, anyway. Besides, the headmaster had ordered him to address Potter as
‘Mr. Potter’ or renounce his own title. Seeing as giving Potter any sort of respect would be
unacceptable, he chose the latter.

Making his way through the dungeons at a slightly slower pace now, Snape found himself absently
studying his hands. They have been aching for some time now, and even the most potent of numbing
potions did not ease the sting. However, as a Potions master he knew that the body would not accept
what the mind could not, and that the pain was merely a manifestation. Looking at them now, he saw
that there were five small scars on his palm; memories of the open wounds that were once there.

It was an old family tradition for Snape’s not to cry, and, as with some pureblood families, he
was taught at a young age that emotion was weak and something to suppress.

*What good is it to show pain?* He remembered his father saying. *Do tears return what
was lost? There are only two emotions of any value: Hate and anger, and both of those must be
controlled to be of any use.*

So, following family logic, the lesson was beat into him; the idea behind this being that you
would lose a little of your ’pure blood’ every time you showed emotion, both figuratively and
literally. So Severus learned on his own to express his emotions in different ways. Unusual ways.
When an urge to demonstrate despair overcame him, he dug his nails into his palms. These scars were
tributes to his ingenuity.

And stupidity. And ignorance. And naivety.

Albus once asked him why he did this to himself, and he answered honestly that he did not know.
The headmaster responded with one of his sad, sympathetic frowns, the twinkle in his eye faltering.
Exuding pity. Snape hated pity.

"Why the hands, Severus?" Dumbledore asked sadly. More pity.

Again, Snape could not answer. How could he explain something that he had subconsciously
developed? But he saw some wisdom in his father’s words. Emotions only lead to pain, a bizarre,
cruel kind of mental self-mutilation that life oh-so-much enjoyed inflicting upon him. Now he was
beginning to pity himself, and rage frothed up in his brain.

*To think that I once thought you could be a man*, father said.

*Shut up you old demon.*

Snape wrenched open his classroom door and advanced upon the chest with the determination of an
executioner. Holding his wand stiffly in hand, he stopped in front of the chest, listening to the
Boggart shake its home as it sensed the presence of another.

Why should he be unnerved by a Boggart? Severus was better at the Dark Arts than he was even at
Potions. His proficiency at hurling curses and hexes was exceptional. Even Lupin had once commented
on his skill…the werewolf who in a lot of ways was the worst of the quartet.

*He would be good at throwing hexes too if he had to fend off his father’s drunken friends
from touching his mother,* Snape thought bitterly.

But Severus knew that there was only one reason he was reluctant to face this Boggart, and it
had little to do with talent.

He would be seeing *him* again; dressed resplendently in his damned dress robes. Banishing
a Boggart, Snape knew, required the victim to laugh. How could he laugh when James Potter was
standing before him, complete with his trademark overbearing arrogance?

The chest shivered as the Boggart slammed heavily into the side. It was becoming excited.

Strange how a person’s worst fear and a person’s worst hate are oftentimes inextricably
intertwined. Snape hated Potter more than anything else; even the Dark Lord. So then why was he
also his worst fear? Where was the logic in that?

Of course, no mind ever obeys logic. That is one of the first lessons he learned during his
Occlumency training. The brain erects barriers and facades and shields to ward off the suffering,
sometimes blanketing certain emotions with other ones; fear with hate, love with-

*Stop that line of thinking Severus,* his father warned. Snape did not bother to reply. His
father’s voice, rarely ever surfacing, was painful to deal with.

Regardless, only the most professional of Legilimentists can uncover the mind’s core, that is,
its true feelings, thoughts, and hopes. Breaching the core is nearly impossible, and usually
results in the subject becoming irrevocably unstable. For that reason, Legilimentists scan the
outside of the core, reading the clues and guessing what is inside without actually entering.

And here Severus was, procrastinating, still blankly staring at the chest.

The dress robes. James Potter’s dress robes.

Snape felt the urge to destroy the chest with a powerful curse, destroying the Boggart and the
ingredients along with it. But that was unacceptable. He had a small vial of vampire blood in
there, and its value was measureless…especially in a powerful Resurrection fluid.

The chest itself was once his father’s, and elder Snape had once used it to store various dark
artifacts and treasures. It had come into his possession after his father passed away many, many
years ago. For awhile, he planned to use it for kindling, but the ornate design on its outside was
too exquisite to destroy.

Severus stared hard at the archaic symbols that were carved into the chest’s lid, trying to make
them out. He was never one to take interest in such classes as Ancient Runes, (which he understood
the Granger girl now took) but he knew enough to read this sign. His father had explained it to
him, long ago. It meant ‘Reckoning’, or ‘The Divine Battle’, depending on how you chose to
interpret it.

He felt a stir of uneasiness deep in his bowels.

Reaching out, he jerked the lid up and leapt back, his wand drawn and at the ready. Instantly, a
figure uncurled and rose up from the chest, first feature the disheveled raven black hair, then the
startled green eyes. That was all Snape needed to see for him to know who it was.

"*Potter*," he said softly, black eyes becoming wide and temporarily forgetting
that the shape was a Boggart and not his worst enemy.

"*Snivellus*," Boggart-James snarled back at him. He wore extravagant dark jade
dress robes, the edges exquisitely folded back. The material, undoubtedly velvet, hugged his form
quite tightly, and made him intimidating and towering. The dress robes…

"*Ri-riddickulus*!" Snape incanted weakly. His mouth was sagged open and he was
now stepping backwards, knocking over a chair in the process. His chest became tight, and he wanted
desperately to get out of the room. He had not seen James for years upon year; and the effects that
he could once easily conceal, now manifested themselves in every one of his body movements. A
trembling hand…a quaking foot…

The Boggart was not affected in the least by Snape’s incantation, and advanced upon the Potions
master like a monarch. "Something wrong, *Snivellus*?"

Snape tried to laugh, picturing Potter tripping over his robes, but it came out forced and
fading. Still, it was enough to fool the Boggart. It stopped, confused.

"*Riddickulus*!" Severus said loudly, and the Boggart cracked and vanished in
smoke, leaving Snape stunned in his classroom, eyes focused on the place where Boggart-James had
occupied only a moment before.

Cheat heaving, Snape staggered over to one of the desks, falling onto a seat as if he had run
ten miles in ten minutes. Closing his eyes, he tried to reel in the whirlwind of emotions that
swirled about in his chest and skull. What had made him break like that?

Boggart-James was worse than the real one, granted, as most Boggarts are worse than their
realities…depending on the fear. But nothing justified this sort of weak outpouring of shock. He
had faced the Dark Lord countless times…lied to him to his very face…spoke deceptions even during
the Cruciatus Curse…and yet his fear remained firmly locked onto Potter.

Oh, yes, he knew the reasons behind the bizarre mingling of hate and fear that he felt now. He
was not wearing those dress robes by accident. Snape tightened his eyelids, as if shutting them
would block out the memories. He promised himself that he would stop doing this to himself, but he
could not…would not.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Dumbledore had once asked. Pity.

Severus did not have the answer then, but he did now. "I deserve it for what I have done in
my lifetime."

Muggles writhing in dark, isolated chambers.

Watching, smiling, as wizards were executed before him, sometimes even enjoying it.

Being far too slow when Wormtail had revealed the location of Godric’s Hollow.

Another feeling welled up inside his chest and he suppressed it immediately, wanting it to end.
Irresistibly, his father’s voice spoke in his head.

*You aren’t my son*, he said scornfully.

*And I don’t care.*

Looking around, he decided that he would have some time. After all, there was another hour to go
before the second years would come for their Potions class. It was time to pry open old wounds
again…let the pain that had been building up to flow out once more. He would do this from time to
time…when the burn on his arm and the hurt in his skull became too much…and simply remember what
had happened. For a while afterwards, he could almost continue on with his life almost
normally.

*What life? You’ve left Hogwarts grounds only four times in sixteen years…and that was only to
go to Grimmauld Place and see your dear old friend Sirius.*

Time to break open this old niche…time to experience it all over again.

And so Severus opened his eyes, closed them, and brought the images of the fifth year Yule ball
back into his mind.



2. Part 2
---------

**(A/N: Sorry for the ridiculously long wait. I will try to be quicker than that next
time.)**

“Well, Severus,” said Lucius Malfoy in his customary drawl. “I must admit that I don’t
understand why you insist on dressing so resplendently for this trite ball, but it is very
agreeable.”

Severus looked himself over. Yes, he agreed with Lucius’s assessment. His dress robes, made
completely out of black velvet, were among his family’s finest. They fashionably hugged his chest
and hips, while flaring out a little near the feet. They were unadorned, but the fabric was
exquisite and the sheer simplicity of the style made them all the more imposing. Precisely the
effect he wished to achieve.

“I can’t be outdone by Potter, can I?” said Snape absently, adjusting his sash. They both were
standing in the boy’s dormitories and were preparing for the fifth year Yule Ball.

Lucius smirked. “Dear me, absolutely not. Especially when he’s pining away after that
mudblood.”

Anger stirred in Snape’s bowels but he suppressed it. Instead, he spoke in a stiff and formal
voice. “Where did you acquire those robes, Lucifer?”

Every student in Slytherin house called Lucius ‘Lucifer’. It was sort of an insider joke, or,
more likely, a subtle show of respect. The elder Malfoy had already begun teaching his son
Unforgivables, and, supposedly, Lucius proved to be exceptional at the Cruciatus Curse. He openly
bragged about torturing a family of muggles to madness, and that, combined with his proficiency at
the before mentioned curse, led to the creation of his nickname. Additionally, he was held very
highly in the Dark Lord’s favor.

“They were woven by hand by our elves,” said Lucius offhandedly. “For just this occasion.
Narcissa will be most pleased.”

Under most circumstances, Lucius’s arrogance would be insufferable, but this time, Severus found
it to be tolerable. He had the ball to look forward to, after all. “Yes, most pleased.”

“I just hope this ball ends quickly,” said Lucius vaguely. “I can’t stand these school events.
Encourages too much intermixing between the classes. It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t have to
share the floor with mudbloods and mugglelovers.”

Severus did not respond.

“Anyway,” continued Lucius. “Where’s Rodolphus?”

“Perhaps he’s already in the Great Hall with Bella,” said Snape. He was beginning to tire of
this conversation. Speaking with Lucius was never enjoyable, but this one was starting to test his
patience.

Lucius shot a furtive glance at Snape and lowered his voice, as if afraid to be overheard. “You
know, I heard he earned the Dark Mark.”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “You aren’t serious.”

“I am,” said Lucius with a knowing smirk.

“*Lucifer*,” called a voice from the common room. Narcissa.

Lucius sent Snape one last glance. “I’ll see you in the Great Hall, then, Severus,” he said,
then added, “If you need help with Potter, just come to me. We’ll deal with him together.” He
winked and then swaggered out of the dormitories, leaving Snape behind him.

“Tonight,” Snape said to himself, looking over himself once more. “Tonight I will ask her,
regardless of Potter,” and, for good measure, he added, “I swear it.”

***

The Great Hall proved to be nothing exception. Snape studied with a hint of disdain the icicles
and frozen baubles that hung along the walls, with a lone Christmas tree standing in the corner,
decked with glittering dust and small globes that shared the colors of all four houses. A band that
Severus did not know (or care to know) was playing on stage, currently blaring some annoyingly
inane rhythm. Essentially, to Snape, it looked cheesy.

The double doors were open to the outside, and cold gusts of wind were blowing in, sending bits
of snow inside. A few of the more daring couples bundled up in cloaks and wandered through them to
the outside, where they would meander about on the grounds. Mostly, however, everyone stayed
indoors.

Snape hovered by the punch bowl, not really caring about his surroundings, his eyes focused on
Lily Evans as she spoke with what’s-her-name. No date.

*I bet Potter’s fuming*, Snape mused.

And, sure enough, standing in the corner with the rest of the Marauders, was James, his eyes
straying to Lily nearly every second, as if to make sure she did not disappear. He, of course, was
the first to ask her for a date, but she refused him. More than anything else, Snape was glad that
it was not just Slytherins who thought James Potter had a big head.

Lucius and the rest of the Slytherins were dancing in their own corner of the Great Hall, away
from the rest of the student body, intent on separating themselves from the ‘mugglelovers’ and
‘mudbloods’. Snape’s eyes drifted onto Nott’s forearm, and he wondered absently if Lucius was
correct when he said that Nott had received the Dark Mark. There could only be one reason for the
Dark Mark being given prematurely. Nott was having second-thoughts.

Granted, Severus had his doubts too, but then again, who didn’t? Except for maybe Lucius, no one
was truly eager to accept the Mark on their arm, but, when it was finally burned onto the skin, it
was irreversible. After that final, unalterable act, it was almost impossible to turn away from the
Dark Lord. Where else was there to go? Not only did the Dark Mark connect the victim directly with
the Dark Lord, but it set the wizard upon a path that did not branch.

Severus could only imagine what his father would say if he could hear his thoughts.

*You’re no son of mine!* he would probably shout.

Snape finished the drink in his hand, downing it in one gulp, sincerely hoping that no one
spiked it like last year. The Marauders were infamous for pulling one of their juvenile pranks
during school events. Warily, Snape looked once more at Potter, who still stood in a far corner,
watching Lily longingly. Then Black told some childish joke, and Potter’s face broke out with one
of his vapid grins.

Severus could have broken the glass in his hand without even thinking, but, instead, he
carefully set it down, and, throwing caution to the wind, strode determinedly up to Lily. When
Potter saw what he was doing, his mouth gaped open in horror. That look alone would have made it
worth it to Snape, but he continued with his intent. Lily was simply too lovely for him not to try.
And besides, he swore to at least make an attempt.

“May I have this dance, Lily?” Severus asked in his most polite and agreeable voice, bowing very
formally. One of his greatest childhood lessons he received was in courtesy, where his father told
him that civility was what separated the purebloods from the animals. Of course, Snape disagreed,
but that did not keep him from appreciating the knowledge.

Lily turned to him, looking rather surprised, then smiled and said, “Yes you may, Severus.” Her
friend, what’s-her-name, vocalized something like a giggle, but Snape forced himself to ignore her
and bridled a snide remark.

Again, Severus was eternally thankful for his childhood training. His dancing was excellent, and
that was not just pureblood arrogance speaking. He was *exceptional*. He twirled her and spun
her in an extraordinarily elegant fashion, making her long red hair sweep around in the air.
Several nearby couples paused to watch, though from Snape’s style, or from the fact that a
Slytherin and Gryffindor were dancing together, Severus could not tell.

Air whipped around them as he gracefully guided her across the dance floor, sometimes performing
a sporadic move with the music. He had not expected Lily to be able to dance on the spur of the
moment like he did, and, for a moment, he was surprised, which is no small feat for Severus
Snape.

Out of the corner of his eye, Snape saw Potter in the corner, his face burning with jealousy.
Severus allowed himself to inwardly smirk, and looked down at Lily. She was smiling, though it
seemed somehow uncertain. Something like fear crept into Snape’s chest. Did he foul up on a dance
move? Maybe he stepped on her foot without realizing it.

Then, slowly, it turned into despair. Though his composure remained intact, his heart dropped.
Lily was enjoying the dancing, but Snape could tell that she was somehow uncomfortable. It was
nothing specific or tangible, but Severus could feel it all the same.

At the end of the song, Snape released her and, formally, kissed her hand. “Thank you for the
dance.”

“You are a wonderful dancer, Severus,” said Lily, but Snape could still sense that slight
awkwardness in her tone. He suddenly felt like his entire plan was a mistake.

Snape just barely saw Potter’s approach before he was already upon them. “Hi Lily,” he said,
smiling, ignoring Snape. “Would you like to dance?” he asked, offering her his hand. A few
bystanders looked curiously at them.

“Actually,” she said, the dislike in her voice obvious. “Me and Severus-”

“No,” said Snape, his voice sounding withdrawn. He turned to Potter, his black eyes turning into
ice. “one dance was sufficient, Lily.”

And, before either of them could say anything, he bowed to Lily and walked away, hoping the hurt
did not show up on his face. Faintly, he heard Lily reluctantly agree to James’s offer, and the
music began.

Snape once again hovered by the punch bowl, filling up another glass, swallowing it, then
repeating the process. While Potter was no where near as proficient a dancer as Snape was, he could
tell that Lily was genuinely, almost irresistibly, enjoying herself. Her eyes were alight and her
smile seemed truer. Despite the fact that Lily apparently despised James, there was a connection
there that Snape could not breach, and this, more than anything, made him want to return to the
dormitories.

“Severus,” said a voice next to him. It was Lucius, with Narcissa around his right arm.
“Enjoying the ball?”

The tone in Lucius’s voice instantly sent Snape to full alert. It was dangerous and threatening,
though overtly it was benign. Classic Slytherin speech. “As much as I can,” said Snape dryly. He
really wanted Lucius to leave. “And you, Lucifer?”

A curious smile twitched at Lucius’s lips. “I didn’t know you had a taste for mudbloods
Severus.”

If there was one wrong thing to say to Snape at that moment, Lucius had said it. It took all of
Severus’s training not to lash out on the arrogant Slytherin. “I take it you enjoy the
scenery?”

Lucius blinked. Obviously, this was not the response he was expecting. Almost as quickly as it
happened, his mouth changed back into its usual condescending smirk. “It’s not as good as some of
the parties my father hosts, but it’s good if you’re looking for some mudbloods. Cheap decorations
attract them like flies to honey.”

Narcissa gave an unnecessarily loud shriek of laughter.

Snape’s eyes had never left Lily and James, who were still dancing rather clumsily across the
floor. (due completely to Potter’s ineptness) The Marauders had mostly split apart, with Lupin and
Black finding a few girls to woo and Pettigrew standing foolishly alone. Not that either Black or
Lupin could stay with any one girl for more than two weeks, of course.

Lucius, however, remained oblivious to Severus’s gaze. “I was talking to Nott,” continued
Lucius. “And me and him think Potter is due for a curse. I think we can grab Crabbe and Goyle for
some muscle and then ambush him when he’s alone with Black and Lupin,” He furtively drew his sleek,
ebony wand. “Rodolphus and Bella are willing too. Are you ready?”

Severus did not reply, no longer able to trust his own voice.

**(A/N: If you don’t think Lily would accept Snape’s invitation to dance, read the original ‘
The Wounds that Never Heal’; Snape was sort of Lily’s tutor for Potions, so it’s not like he was a
total stranger to her.**

**And if you’re wondering why Lily agreed to dance with James; she didn’t *realllllly*
hate him until…well, I’ll be getting to that.**

**Hopefully the next update will be faster; but remember: reviews feed the fervor.)**