 |
|
|
The Internet was not created for children, and I see no reason to hand it to them now |
|
| ||||||
|
Recollection By Taleya
Chapter Eight
The other, darker part of him, the part that had had grown in betrayal and secrecy, fattened on the darkness during his years as an Auror knew in exquisite detail what such a foolish urge would bring. //He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t want the child// And what did he expect? A voice inside him he’d thought long dead and buried had tried to convince him that it would all be ok, that there was nothing to it, all it would take was for Severus to see him again and it would all heal miraculously, it would all melt away and they could go back to what they had. And it had been wrong. // This…THING is a mistake. // He felt his stomach clench and rebel. How could anyone say that. And of a child? An innocent, just like the dozens he had failed to save, the dozens of tiny, perfect faces smiling at him from endlessly moving pictures, the tiny bodies twisted in death. Wanted children. Loved children. Why was she the one that was saved? Why save one out of all the others who was considered a *mistake?* Why was the one he had saved the one he had failed, all her life? Why hadn’t he been there? Why hadn’t Severus told him? Why did he feel this way? Why did he find these feelings, like something hidden behind a rotting log, these feelings, this love, this thing he’d left behind, dead and gone, why did he find them still here, in his mind, in his heart? Why couldn’t he make it all better, make it the way it was? Tears, hot and bitter scalded down his cheeks and he pressed his face into the cool stone of the wall. His hands beat a lone note on the unforgiving rock, mind screaming a single question. WHY
It was a worried, weary, and above all hungry Albus Dumbledore that slowly made his way down the corridor from the medical wing. It seemed of late that all they did was to trade one worry for another. And when that concerned was allayed, another rose to take its place. He stroked his beard, feeling the grease that had built up in it, the chocolate crumbles from eager toddler hands. A simple cleaning spell would suffice, but what he craved most was a long soak in a hot tub. A long soak, a good meal, and a dreamless sleep. The first two were easy to achieve. The last, alas, was not so simple. So intent was he on his musings that he almost walked past the figure hunched in a cul-de-sac, hands pressed desperately to the timeless stone, as if seeking an anchor from insanity, shoulders shuddering with wrenching tears that threatened to become screams. “Harry!” Very much taken aback, the headmaster hurried forwards and turned the shaking figure into his arms. Truth to tell, he had been expecting this, but not so soon! The boy had been running the thin edge for so long a fall was inevitable, but surely it would take something other than a simple meal to trip him. The Boy Who Lived was white as a corpse, eyes darting about at nothing, hands clenched so tightly that beads of blood appeared where his nails had broken through the skin of his palms. He was ice cold and shaking, sure signs of shock. Dumbledore looked about, hands resting against the other man’s forearms, steadying him. What Harry needed most right now was somewhere warm and safe, far from prying eyes. Rumour easily ran rife through the school, flittering from ear to ear, sometimes it seemed, without even the benefit of lips. Certainly without the benefit of brains, but the last thing they needed was for some enterprising student to put two and two together and get four. Wrapping his arms a little more tightly around the younger man, he gently urged him up the stairs and to his own office. Once safely inside, he swiftly settled Harry into a comfortable chair by the fire and watched him worriedly. While letting emotions bleed free was a good thing, this was not the time, not the place, and the young man was making himself sick. A calming potion soon had Harry back in control, hands jerking over his face to mop it dry, the tracks of tears still stark, but for now, abated. He sat there for a long moment, staring into the fire, battles of some fierce war raging behind his eyes. Dumbledore proffered a cup of tea. Sometimes that was all you could do. Harry took it without enthusiasm, letting it lie limp in his hands. “He hates us..” he whispered. “Who does?” The cup of tea spilled onto the floor as Harry finally tore his eyes away from the fire. “The pope, who do you think I mean??” “The pope? Who is the pope? Why does he hate you?” of course, he’d found being deliberately obtuse also helped matters along. “Not the pope, the pope is a muggle. Severus. Severus hates me.” Distress drove his muscles and he pushed himself out of the chair, pacing the office in quick, nervous steps. “He hates me!” “Has he told you this?” The headmaster’s voice was calm, but there were shadows of worry behind the kindly eyes. “He didn’t have to…” Harry sank back into his seat, cradling his head in his hands. “He didn’t want this. He doesn’t want this child - I spoke to Professor Trelawney, she said that when he found out Snape said it was nothing but a mistake - that we were nothing but a mistake…he hates our child…he hates me...” “ah.” Dumbledore relaxed a little. “Harry, I can assure you Severus does not hate your daughter.” “But he said - Professor Trelawney told me -“ “Sibyl simply told you the start of the story.” Dumbledore said mildly. “A story does not end where it starts - or even where it does end. Would the Professor Snape she began to tell you of have borne a child he hated so much? Would he have raised her to be loved? Surely the Severus Snape Professor Trelawney told you of would have handed his hated, unwanted ‘mistake’ child gladly over to the Death Eaters rather than them forcing them to rip her from the unconscious arms of his beaten body - “ “He wouldn’t have done that!” Harry burst out angrily, “Not to a child!” “Ahh, so you do know the real Severus after all.” The headmaster got to his feet and patted Harry gently on the head. “Let me show you something my dear boy…” padding over to the black cabinet behind his onetime student, he pulled out a stone bowl, silver thoughts flickering in its depths. Seating himself once more he settled it down on the desk between them. “Severus was very disturbed when he first discovered his condition, I will admit you that....” Rocking the stone bowl gently in his hands, he peered into the pensieve. “Let me see….ah yes…” teasing a single strand to the surface, he beckoned Harry closer. “Let’s have a look at the next part of our little tale….” ** Snape burst into the headmaster’s office, books flying everywhere as the door slammed back on its hinges with such force it actually cracked the ancient stone. “Do come in, Severus,” Dumbledore said mildly. Snape stalked angrily forwards, robes fluttering midnight black like the wings of some giant bird of prey as he bore down on the older man, yanking forward a chair and throwing himself into it, every motion screaming with wrath. Dumbledore retaliated by pushing a small cherry-coloured bowl forward. “Gumdrop?” Snape stared at the gregarious little face beaming benevolently at him and felt something inside him crack. Shaking, he lowered his face into his palms, scrubbing roughly against his cheeks. He’d had enough. Too much, the anger that had kept him going so far had melted away, leaving him clinging to bare shreds of sanity. He hadn’t cried in years. At first it was the sullen refusal of a boy forced too fast to be a man to give into childish tantrums and wasted tears, in later years it became a wall that had to be maintained, a shield against the horrors and sorrows he had seen, the simple knowledge that if he let the tears loose now, they would never stop. He could feel them now, beating at the walls. And the face he finally raised to Dumbledore was that of a man who had flown over hell. “I’m pregnant. Merlin help me, I’m pregnant, Albus.” Dumbledore considered his next words very carefully. They would, after all, determine the path this entire conversation, an indeed the future would take. Congratulations did not look in order, although Severus might indeed desperately need the support they would bring. The who, although pertinent was a question best left for later. And as for the how….well, best to take things one step at a time. Dumbledore beamed. “My dear boy, are you sure?” “Of course I’m bloody sure.” The voice was dull, lifeless. “It’s been two months. The signs are quite evident, even to a blind man.” Ahh. Tact was called for. “There was no Mrs. Snape as I recall…” Dumbledore said delicately. “No.” Severus echoed dully. Just a mister Snape, and another mister Snape - as Dumbledore was well aware. His other father had died giving birth to Severus himself - he only knew the man from various photos of an honest smile and a handsome face - which, come to think of it, bore an unsettling resemblance to one Harry Potter. He felt a hollow laugh beating at his ribs, tumbling with the rising insanity. Love, thy name is Oedipus. There was a silence from the other man. Dumbledore was turning the information over in his mind, he knew. Looking at angles, at courses to proceed on. Not that he would mention half of them, the old wizard would sit there until Snape came up with a resolution of his own - which was NOT what he needed. He needed someone to tell him a way out, a way to make it better. Just a way to make it stop. “Severus.” He looked up to find kindly eyes looking worriedly at him. “I feel that this pregnancy is…unwanted. No doubt in your work you have become familiar with certain….herbs which can be used…” the headmaster let the sentence trail off, firmly crushing down any sign of his own distress. This was not his decision to make - Snape exploded out of his chair, nostrils tight and lips drawn back in a full-throated snarl. “Are you saying I should kill this child?” he couldn’t tell where this fury had come from - especially from him, of all people! - but there it was, howling from within. Dumbledore remained composed, a veritable rock. “It is a hard decision, Severus, but it is one that many women have made -“ “Many women can make it for themselves but I will not make it!” Snape was pacing again, one hand flexing and curling in agitation, the other unconsciously rubbing his stomach “So...You do want this child.” “Yes...No…” Snape collapsed back into the chair and stared at his hands, hair falling down in a black curtain around his pale features. Dumbledore folded his hands placidly in front of him. “It seems a simple enough question to me Severus, let me put this to you another way. Do you wish to be a father?” That one, at least, was easier to answer. “Yes.” “Do you wish to be one now?” A longer pause, but an honest answer at least, and a promising one. “Yes.” “Then I see no problem with your pregnancy Severus, perhaps it’s with the father of the child?” Ahh, he’d struck a nerve there, Snape was once more on his feet and pacing furiously. “Do not ask me that question Albus, it is one I will not answer. The father is immaterial, he is gone, without return, and has no bearing on this matter. Do not press me, I will not answer anything more on this.” “Then I won’t.” Acceptance. It was oddly soothing. He’d expected at least a token protest. The mild tone turned sudden steel. “But there is one thing I must ask you Severus, and I will hold you to the truth on this. Is the child Lord Voldemorts?” “No. And I hold to the truth on that.” The voice was clear, but the eyes held overtones of worry, overtones that cleared at the headmasters next words. “Then I believe you.” Snape collapsed into chair once more, like a puppet with its strings cut. That was it. A path was set, his road was chosen, all the simpering metaphors one could bring to mind. He would bear this child. But somehow, he couldn’t believe it was that simple, that easy, and he said so. Albus beamed at him, the daft old Headmaster once more. “I find that matters tend complicate themselves well enough without our interference. Let’s just take this as it goes, and deal with any other matters as they occur, mm?” “I’m not apologising to Trelawney.” “My dear boy, I believe that if you did the shock would be far too much for her to take.” Dumbledore took the potions master by the arm and gently ushered him out of the room. “And I’m not giving up my classes.” Snape held to as they made their way down the gently revolving staircase. “Of course not, it would be a great loss to our students to lose such a fine teacher. Only the other day Madame Maxine was saying to me how she wished that the potions master at Beau-Baxtons had such a mastery of the art…” Snape shot the older man a suspicious glance. “You’re buttering me up for something.” “Of course I am.” Dumbledore beamed at him. “Now, I think it’s time we paid Madam Pomfrey a visit…” *** |
|
All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
|
