Snape is aware that he is not alone, but he does not allow it to disturb his meditation. He has no idea how much time passes before the visitor speaks, nor does he care. His only concern is that it does not cause him to question his resolve.
"It happens to us all, you know, death."
Snape's brow rises, but he doesn't bother to open his eyes. "Perhaps," says he, "but that need not happen to them now. Nor to me."
There is no sound from the visitor, no indication that they have moved, yet Snape senses that they have. "And you believe, do you, that you have control over their fates? That you can keep the three of them safe through this when you do not even know where they are?" Snape will not give the visitor the satisfaction of knowing that they have disturbed him. He does not give a snap reply; he takes his time and gathers himself before opening his eyes and finally answering.
"For the time being," says Snape, "their fates are in their own hands, and I have the utmost confidence in them to keep themselves alive." There is a sound that could be a soft chuckle, but Snape doesn't wait for a response. "Potter is both stubborn and clever, Weasley has the courage that is a trait of his family, and Granger has a keen and insightful mind--" Ah, there, Snape knows he heard a chuckle, yet he refrains from frowning.
"You sound as though you actually like them," the unseen visitor says, and Snape sits up straight, folds his arms, and actually puts his nose in the air. His reply is tinged with a slight arrogance.
"They have had the benefit of six years of education at the foremost school of magic, from some of the most qualified instructors in the Wizarding World." Relying totally on his sharp senses he detects movement ahead of him and fixes on that area, waiting.
"You place yourself within that group of esteemed witches and wizards, no doubt."
Snape squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. "Of course. And why shouldn't I? From me they learned more than just brewing. They learned to be resourceful, and to draw on the inner strength they did not realize they had when they first arrived at Hogwarts."
There is a soft snort and Snape is sure the visitor is sneering. "Thinking of poor Neville Longbottom now, are you?" The corner of Snape's mouth twitches, but he does not respond. "If you can sit there Severus and say that you don't hate those two boys, you're lying to yourself." Drawing himself back in, Snape issues a carefully measured reply.
"I have no reason to hate either of them, nor am I required to like them. I gave them what they needed, what they were sent to Hogwarts for: an education. If you feel I have slighted either of them in some way, I suggest you take that up with them."
The visitor moves closer, but not close enough for Snape to reach them even if he lunged. "Absolving yourself of guilt, Severus? Or simply ignoring the splinter in your eye?" Snape winces and frowns, then shakes his head. "You blame them both for her death."
For the first time since this began he feels unnerved; he has buried any feelings of blame so very deeply, he is truly shaken that anyone could have known. And yet... and yet... if Neville had been The Chosen One, Riddle might never have given the Potters a second thought, and Lily would have been spared; if Harry had never been born... Snape rises slowly and turns away from the visitor he can not see and moves toward another bench, his mind racing. How many times over the years had he thought this? Thought this and hated himself for thinking it? How could he possibly wish upon Neville Longbottom the fate that befell Harry? Does he truly believe Harry Potter is happy with his lot?
Certainly not. But he can not help the awful, agonized, writhing thing deep inside himself that will haunt him forever, no matter how much time passes, or how much happiness he has in his life. He wanted revenge.
He'd had a lifetime of rage and twelve years of grief to deal with, twelve years he, and everyone else (including Remus Lupin), had thought Sirius Black had betrayed the Potters--no, he thinks, gritting his teeth, James Potter be damned! He bites his lip as he sits down again. For twelve years he'd believed Sirius Black had betrayed Lily to the Dark Lord, and he'd dreamed of the day he would get to give his enemy all the pain and anguish he'd felt for so very long. And then that chance was ripped away from him, and right under his nose as well. Snape frowns uncomfortably; he doesn't want to think about this old hatred, nor what he did to Remus out of spite, which he sorely regrets... his feelings toward both men have changed, though the animagus is beyond knowing that.
But there is still the other issue...
There was a time when he thought that Harry was the bane of his life, but he doesn't hate Harry, not really; it's irrational to hate a child because of who its parents were, it's like hating the sky because it's raining and you have to be out in it. The sky didn't intentionally rain on you. Harry didn't choose his father, nor did he determine his mother's fate. Sighing deeply he forces himself to face the truth, as he knows he must. When he sees or thinks of Harry and feels that unstoppable wave of anger sweep over him, it's not the child he's hating. It's James Potter. Snape knows it's a terrible thing, but he can't help it. Harry's not the bastard his father was, and yet, he is so much like his father. But, Snape counters himself, Harry would never, ever do to an innocent person what James delighted in doing to others; in fact, Harry would have been the one coming to the victim's aid. How many times in the past had he seen Harry stand up to Draco in someone else's defense?
But there is a deeper reason he resents the boy, a dark reason for which he is a little ashamed. He's certain any man who'd been in his situation could appreciate it, but he can't speak of it...not ever. James Potter tortured and tormented him, and as if that wasn't bad enough, that rotten bastard got to fuck the woman he loved. Snape clenches his teeth so hard they could shatter. The edges of the bench could crack under the strain of his grip. His head throbs and he tries to slow his racing heart, release his grip, taking deep breaths, but the image of Lily appears in his mind and his breath catches in his chest as his heart skips a beat.
Oh, Lily...
A single, heart-wrenching sob escapes him and he hangs his head. It always comes back to this.
So many times he wonders if she's looking down on her son, so many times... Every victory Harry has, deep down inside of himself Snape wonders if she can see. Every time he has stepped in and helped Harry, and Harry's never known, he's wondered if Lily has seen. Does she know how much her son is loved? Does she know how much she's missed, and not by just her son? Gods, does she know?
That was one of the few things he was actually almost happy about, when Remus was teaching; Harry had another protector. Snape regains himself and his breathing becomes more normal, the throb in his head fades, but not the pain in his heart. He remembers thinking that Harry wouldn't need so many protectors if he didn't take so many risks. Oh, yes, Dumbledore would always say, "let the boy test himself," but even Remus knew that Harry was far too reckless. And therein was the greatest reason he would get so bloody damned angry at Harry. How many times had he wanted to grab him up, take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him? He wanted to tell him, "your mother sacrificed herself for you, died for you, and this is how you repay her, by taking such stupid risks!?" But those words would slam into the back of his teeth, and all that ever came out was another blistering tirade against James Potter. How would any sentiment about Lily sound coming from him?
Oh, so many tears, never cried; where would he be now if she had never died? He clenches his teeth again and cringes. Where, indeed? And where now is the unseen visitor to torment him with questions? There is a sigh, and Snape looks up. He can see the mysterious shape near him now, but can not see a face; they wear a mask, but before he can make a snide comment about hiding their identity, the figure reaches up a hand and pulls off the mask. With a chill, Snape realizes, he's looking into his own face. He looks at himself, dumbstruck, then sighs, suddenly understanding. He had to face this darkest truth before he could continue to grow. His other self nods and smiles softly, as if to say, "well done." Snape closes his eyes and runs his hands through his hair, and when he opens his eyes again, his doppelgänger has gone.
He moves slightly on the bench and would rise, but he has the feeling he is not quite done here. He waits only a few moments before his confirmation of that feeling comes.
There is a light, one that's faint at first, then it grows brighter as it comes nearer to him. He is angry initially, he's vulnerable right now, but that anger evaporates almost immediately. He follows the urge to rise, and the two wizards look at each other for some time. There are so very many things Snape could say right now, so many cutting comments he could make, but he knows what an awful mistake he would be making if he gave in to such pettiness. This is an incredible thing, it's happening for a reason, and in truth, he knows it is a vital part of his own growth. He knows it's not all about him, though; there is a benefit for the other, and really, he never wants to be in this wizard's place. He's dressed just as he had been the last time Snape saw him, and while he looks much happier, Snape knows he is not at peace.
If he were, he wouldn't be here.
"Severus," the wispy wizard says, "I owe you an extraordinary apology..."
"It happens to us all, you know, death."
Snape's brow rises, but he doesn't bother to open his eyes. "Perhaps," says he, "but that need not happen to them now. Nor to me."
There is no sound from the visitor, no indication that they have moved, yet Snape senses that they have. "And you believe, do you, that you have control over their fates? That you can keep the three of them safe through this when you do not even know where they are?" Snape will not give the visitor the satisfaction of knowing that they have disturbed him. He does not give a snap reply; he takes his time and gathers himself before opening his eyes and finally answering.
"For the time being," says Snape, "their fates are in their own hands, and I have the utmost confidence in them to keep themselves alive." There is a sound that could be a soft chuckle, but Snape doesn't wait for a response. "Potter is both stubborn and clever, Weasley has the courage that is a trait of his family, and Granger has a keen and insightful mind--" Ah, there, Snape knows he heard a chuckle, yet he refrains from frowning.
"You sound as though you actually like them," the unseen visitor says, and Snape sits up straight, folds his arms, and actually puts his nose in the air. His reply is tinged with a slight arrogance.
"They have had the benefit of six years of education at the foremost school of magic, from some of the most qualified instructors in the Wizarding World." Relying totally on his sharp senses he detects movement ahead of him and fixes on that area, waiting.
"You place yourself within that group of esteemed witches and wizards, no doubt."
Snape squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. "Of course. And why shouldn't I? From me they learned more than just brewing. They learned to be resourceful, and to draw on the inner strength they did not realize they had when they first arrived at Hogwarts."
There is a soft snort and Snape is sure the visitor is sneering. "Thinking of poor Neville Longbottom now, are you?" The corner of Snape's mouth twitches, but he does not respond. "If you can sit there Severus and say that you don't hate those two boys, you're lying to yourself." Drawing himself back in, Snape issues a carefully measured reply.
"I have no reason to hate either of them, nor am I required to like them. I gave them what they needed, what they were sent to Hogwarts for: an education. If you feel I have slighted either of them in some way, I suggest you take that up with them."
The visitor moves closer, but not close enough for Snape to reach them even if he lunged. "Absolving yourself of guilt, Severus? Or simply ignoring the splinter in your eye?" Snape winces and frowns, then shakes his head. "You blame them both for her death."
For the first time since this began he feels unnerved; he has buried any feelings of blame so very deeply, he is truly shaken that anyone could have known. And yet... and yet... if Neville had been The Chosen One, Riddle might never have given the Potters a second thought, and Lily would have been spared; if Harry had never been born... Snape rises slowly and turns away from the visitor he can not see and moves toward another bench, his mind racing. How many times over the years had he thought this? Thought this and hated himself for thinking it? How could he possibly wish upon Neville Longbottom the fate that befell Harry? Does he truly believe Harry Potter is happy with his lot?
Certainly not. But he can not help the awful, agonized, writhing thing deep inside himself that will haunt him forever, no matter how much time passes, or how much happiness he has in his life. He wanted revenge.
He'd had a lifetime of rage and twelve years of grief to deal with, twelve years he, and everyone else (including Remus Lupin), had thought Sirius Black had betrayed the Potters--no, he thinks, gritting his teeth, James Potter be damned! He bites his lip as he sits down again. For twelve years he'd believed Sirius Black had betrayed Lily to the Dark Lord, and he'd dreamed of the day he would get to give his enemy all the pain and anguish he'd felt for so very long. And then that chance was ripped away from him, and right under his nose as well. Snape frowns uncomfortably; he doesn't want to think about this old hatred, nor what he did to Remus out of spite, which he sorely regrets... his feelings toward both men have changed, though the animagus is beyond knowing that.
But there is still the other issue...
There was a time when he thought that Harry was the bane of his life, but he doesn't hate Harry, not really; it's irrational to hate a child because of who its parents were, it's like hating the sky because it's raining and you have to be out in it. The sky didn't intentionally rain on you. Harry didn't choose his father, nor did he determine his mother's fate. Sighing deeply he forces himself to face the truth, as he knows he must. When he sees or thinks of Harry and feels that unstoppable wave of anger sweep over him, it's not the child he's hating. It's James Potter. Snape knows it's a terrible thing, but he can't help it. Harry's not the bastard his father was, and yet, he is so much like his father. But, Snape counters himself, Harry would never, ever do to an innocent person what James delighted in doing to others; in fact, Harry would have been the one coming to the victim's aid. How many times in the past had he seen Harry stand up to Draco in someone else's defense?
But there is a deeper reason he resents the boy, a dark reason for which he is a little ashamed. He's certain any man who'd been in his situation could appreciate it, but he can't speak of it...not ever. James Potter tortured and tormented him, and as if that wasn't bad enough, that rotten bastard got to fuck the woman he loved. Snape clenches his teeth so hard they could shatter. The edges of the bench could crack under the strain of his grip. His head throbs and he tries to slow his racing heart, release his grip, taking deep breaths, but the image of Lily appears in his mind and his breath catches in his chest as his heart skips a beat.
Oh, Lily...
A single, heart-wrenching sob escapes him and he hangs his head. It always comes back to this.
So many times he wonders if she's looking down on her son, so many times... Every victory Harry has, deep down inside of himself Snape wonders if she can see. Every time he has stepped in and helped Harry, and Harry's never known, he's wondered if Lily has seen. Does she know how much her son is loved? Does she know how much she's missed, and not by just her son? Gods, does she know?
That was one of the few things he was actually almost happy about, when Remus was teaching; Harry had another protector. Snape regains himself and his breathing becomes more normal, the throb in his head fades, but not the pain in his heart. He remembers thinking that Harry wouldn't need so many protectors if he didn't take so many risks. Oh, yes, Dumbledore would always say, "let the boy test himself," but even Remus knew that Harry was far too reckless. And therein was the greatest reason he would get so bloody damned angry at Harry. How many times had he wanted to grab him up, take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him? He wanted to tell him, "your mother sacrificed herself for you, died for you, and this is how you repay her, by taking such stupid risks!?" But those words would slam into the back of his teeth, and all that ever came out was another blistering tirade against James Potter. How would any sentiment about Lily sound coming from him?
Oh, so many tears, never cried; where would he be now if she had never died? He clenches his teeth again and cringes. Where, indeed? And where now is the unseen visitor to torment him with questions? There is a sigh, and Snape looks up. He can see the mysterious shape near him now, but can not see a face; they wear a mask, but before he can make a snide comment about hiding their identity, the figure reaches up a hand and pulls off the mask. With a chill, Snape realizes, he's looking into his own face. He looks at himself, dumbstruck, then sighs, suddenly understanding. He had to face this darkest truth before he could continue to grow. His other self nods and smiles softly, as if to say, "well done." Snape closes his eyes and runs his hands through his hair, and when he opens his eyes again, his doppelgänger has gone.
He moves slightly on the bench and would rise, but he has the feeling he is not quite done here. He waits only a few moments before his confirmation of that feeling comes.
There is a light, one that's faint at first, then it grows brighter as it comes nearer to him. He is angry initially, he's vulnerable right now, but that anger evaporates almost immediately. He follows the urge to rise, and the two wizards look at each other for some time. There are so very many things Snape could say right now, so many cutting comments he could make, but he knows what an awful mistake he would be making if he gave in to such pettiness. This is an incredible thing, it's happening for a reason, and in truth, he knows it is a vital part of his own growth. He knows it's not all about him, though; there is a benefit for the other, and really, he never wants to be in this wizard's place. He's dressed just as he had been the last time Snape saw him, and while he looks much happier, Snape knows he is not at peace.
If he were, he wouldn't be here.
"Severus," the wispy wizard says, "I owe you an extraordinary apology..."