Part 2- Opening the Eyes of a Madman
Notes: This piece was really fun to write…I hope you enjoy. It was enriching to me. Very angsty.
Severus Snape smiled, lightly, over his cup of tea. Harry reenacted the entire deal with Sirius Black and the Dementor, his hands motioning in the air as if he were dancing them across a complex symphony. His voice was excited, and when he paused, he was breathless. Perhaps it would have been taboo to speak of before, but now it wasn’t-and it was easier to speak of. Since Voldemort’s downfall, secrets had been revealed to the spotlight, feeding rumors and fulfilling empty spots in history. That was the media really was-an empty, porcelain teacup waiting to be filled with tea. All it wanted was to be asked how many lumps of sugar it wanted after, and it would drain as much as it would be given.
All Severus could watch was the light trail of Harry’s fingertips upon the air, obviously telling him he was sleepy, but he didn’t care. Entranced with this young man’s voice, he felt as if he could stay awake forever.
“And that’s how it happened-weird, huh?” Harry stopped, for a long drink of his cocoa. He was quite the chatterbox when he got into talking, and Severus didn’t have to encourage him to speak. Harry’s cheeks were wonderfully flushed, with a light, flowerpetal pink color. “I still haven’t asked you about how you got into wandering around Diagon Alley. Is everything fine up at Hogwarts? I heard Hermione had snagged a job up there.”
“Everything’s fine. Hogwarts has become boring.” Severus shrugged his thin shoulders uninterestedly. “I never enjoyed holidays.” His bodily language told Harry to stay away from the subject, and the young wizard took the hint. Severus watched him for a moment, interpreting his expression. It seemed to be a mixture of confusion, excitement, and enthusiasm, all bundled into one. Even though Severus never really approved of these emotions, they seemed to fit the teenager, and Snape had no objections to listening to him. The reason for the confusion was obvious-he hadn’t expected Snape to want to talk or listen to him. Severus could see it in his mind’s eye-what he could have done with the conversation in the alleyway. He could have completely given Harry the cold shoulder. But there was something about him not giving himself a chance…perhaps a little Christmas gift to myself, he mused, gazing at Harry’s mug. Harry stopped speaking for a long while, just sipping at the cup of cocoa Snape had purchased for him a few hours ago. Black eyes swept over the empty café, looking through the windows to the black night outside. Severus lifted his tea cup and pressed the cool porcelain to his lips, sipping lightly at the hot liquid. The cups kept the drinks within hot, no matter how long they sat upon the cold tabletops. It was almost natural, he thought, to sit with Harry.
“What job did Hermione get? I know you’re still potions master,” Harry’s voice trailed off, almost as if the question had been a last resort of conversation. Severus has mostly sat there, just listening to him, and he had acquired quite an ache in the bottom from the hard chair.
“She took the Dark Arts position…not much use for it now, but it’s an important teaching position. The wizarding and muggle world is safe now, but one day it might not be,” dark robed shoulders shrugged again, carelessly. Harry knew that Snape had always wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, but had never knew the answer to why he was never granted the position. Harry’s black boots clicked onto the floor as he leaned his chair forward, with a light scraping sound. He had been leaning precariously back in the wooden chair, and one kick to the brown legs would have sent him flying. Snape put down his cup and brushed his robes off, looking at crumbs while picking them away from the silken black cloth.
“I never knew why you didn’t get the job, though…you were always set up for it, and you always wanted it. So why didn’t you?” Harry’s voice was tinged with curiosity as he leaned forward, messy black hair falling into green eyes that were only lightly misted with sleepiness. Teenagers had too much energy, Snape said to himself, mentally. Only nineteen and successful, Harry had been guaranteed that he would prosper from the moment Voldemort had traced the scar down his forehead.
Severus’ dark eyes shot up at the question, narrowing a little. Harry flinched at the slight movement, having been gazing at his face intently. A slender eyebrow rose, and a fingertip traced upon the rim of the white cup. A long silence passed between them, and Harry’s eyes pulled away from his. “Why? It isn’t anything to talk about here.” Severus’ voice had slipped into a chilled tone. He paused, and waited for Harry to answer. When he didn’t, Severus tapped a finger against his lips. Harry’s hand crept from his mug to his sleeve to look at the time, and before he could sweep his sleeve away from his slender wrist, Severus opened his mouth. He recognized the action, knowing it was a way to avert attention from a question, and to escape. The movement of his lips made Harry look up, since Snape hadn’t moved for a long while. “You deserve to know, I suppose. It’s not something I want to be spread around, though,” Severus looked up, his expression implying that he didn’t wish Harry to tell this to anyone or anything. Harry nodded lightly, brushing his black hair back. “I was a Death Eater as a youth,” Before Harry could say anything, Snape continued his narrative, “not realizing what I was in. I was a child of a Death Eater as well, my father having been an early follower of the Dark Arts. Voldemort was not as powerful when he was a youth, having been one of his friends. Once they had graduated they had started the creation of the institution of dark magic. My father and he were from Slytherin, and I was destined to be in that House, even though I didn’t desire to become a Death Eater like he.” Severus spoke softly, his voice brushing against memories within his own head. It was something that had ached for years, an unhealed, infected wound within his heart.
“I grew up the way my father wished me to, immersing myself into the Dark Arts. I retained all of the information within my head, even until today, because if I did not remember it was beaten into me. To impress my father and escape from his tyrannical desires, I joined the Death Eaters so that I could be granted the freedom to roam on my own. Hogwarts on its own was a prison for me, and I wished to be away from everything that lingered from my father’s past. Lucius Malfoy-Draco’s father-was a person whom understood my desires, and eventually helped me to crawl out of under my father’s hand. But as some say, one falls from the frying pan into the fire,” He took a light sip from his cup, his eyes fixed on the liquid as he paused for breath. His reflection within the dark brown was troubled, shimmering in the surface.
“Through this entire ordeal, one of my closest friends was your father, James. He warned me against listening to Lucius, because he saw the murderous tendencies behind him. Not all Malfoys are the way he was, and Draco proved that fact. Cunning, dark, mischievious, dangerous, destructive-that was what Lucius Malfoy was. I never saw the truth behind James’ words. Lucius had always tortured me in his own way, acting cruelly and pulling away my comforts until I was bare enough for him to strike. He knew exactly when I was vulnerable. I wasn’t a strong child.” Harry’s eyes were wide, listening closely. This was a rare occurance-to get anything from Severus Snape, even a secret such as this, was a miracle. Severus drank again, the sip a gentle sound in the silence. “You saw Draco’s defiance in the face of Voldemort. You know that in his heart, through the suffering he inflicted upon others, he was pure in his own way. He was empty inside, so he had to fill it with something. His father was supposed to provide something for him that he did not have.” Feeling he was wandering too far from the main subject, Snape kept on speaking. “Lucius pulled me into something I didn’t know was wrong. I believed, and this was a severe illusion, as you can tell, that this was right. I graduated as a full-blown wizard and became a devout follower of Voldemort. I made a mistake, and I was too blind to see it.
“Two or three years later, we were searching for our prey. I viewed it as a cleansing process, and Voldemort had burnt the belief into my head. One stormy night, we chose one particular prey-he refused to tell me whom it was, or who we were going to kill.” Severus closed his eyes and stopped speaking, the rush of emotions too great for him to continue. His hand wiped at his eyes, and Harry studied him intently.
“You don’t have to tell me the rest, you know, Professor…” Harry’s voice was hushed, and he cradled his mug within his hands, staring at him. Snape’s eyes unfocused as he opened them again, his mind falling back into the past as if one were falling against cold concrete, the pain and grief shattering as if it were the breath falling through shocked lungs. He didn’t answer for a moment. It had only hit him at this exact moment that he had never gotten over the deaths…it had haunted him continually…the broken bodies, the blood…
“It was around the time that snow started to fall, the very brink of winter…I remember it being an odd night, since it was raining. I remember it being too cold, freezing…not wanting to complain. We unlocked the door of the large house; silently…I felt this feeling of foreboding...my master…I would never call him that now…lead me along, drawing me up the long staircase. I only thought about how familiar it all felt, how warm and welcoming it was. It was like a hurricane outside, and I remember flinching at the sound of lightning and thunder, rain beating against the roof. Then he stepped into the hallway, and I saw the wand within a hand, rising to stop us. I realized who it was, and I screamed at him to stop. I tried to grasp at his wand, but I was knocked back. I knew who it was…and I tried to stop him. He knew I would. And he laughed at me. It was the cruelest sort of laugh- a raspy, amused sound. And with a flash, Voldemort had raised his wand and whispered the words of the most Unforgivable of the three curses…the one that ensures instant death.” A shiver visibly passed through his former student, and Severus pushed relentlessly on, even though he was trying to desperately hide what he was feeling. It was reflex-to hide what hurts the most. Severus swallowed hard and gave him a look of complete unsureness.
“That man…Harry…that man was your father.”