My First Gift Exchange and a Work in Progress called "Mine"
I'm excited because I got my assignment for the Gift Exchange. Either of two of my gift-ee's requests will be fun to do, I just have to choose which one:)
I am going to post a story here that I am working on, just to help me decide how to chop it up, and get a feel for how it flows:)
Hope everyone is having a wonderful day:)
Fizzabella
Section One-Chapter One: Severus Snape’s Journal
The slender figure races into the darkened room, and a moment later the torches flare to life, revealing a sparsely furnished bedchamber with walls and floor of ancient grey stone. The woman who lit the torches looks around herself in bewilderment, and an expression something very like desperation crosses her face. She looks around one more time, then turns in a circle, and draws in a deep breath. Waving a wand, she cries out, “Accio Severus Snape’s diary.” When nothing happens, she tries again. “Accio Severus Snape’s notebook.” Nothing. Several more tries, and finally, a book bound in heavy black leather with silver tooling flies across the room and she catches it in eager hands. In a moment, she whirls around, calling “Nox” back over her shoulder. The torches flicker out, and the heavy door closes. A moment later there is a “thunk” as a heavy bolt slides into place.
~OoO~
Section One, Chapter Two: Severus Snape’s Journal
Moonlight streams through the windows of the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, frosting everything in silver. The cots are empty except for one at the very end of the wing, closest to the nurse’s desk. This cot is surrounded on three sides by fabric screens, and the moonlight is bright enough to cast the silhouette of the cot’s occupant onto the screens. A slender woman is seated at the desk, robed in the dusky periwinkle blue of a senior healer. She is hunched over a book bound in black leather, and it’s obvious she has been crying-her eyes are red-rimmed, her face is tear-stained and her nose appears swollen.
Every few minutes, she looks over at the screened cot, and quite often she gets to her feet and crosses the distance from her desk to the cot, where she pushes back the screen, looks anxiously down at the patient, takes his pulse, then sighs, and shoulders slumped in disappointment, returns to her desk. Seated, she continues to read, one slender finger tracing her progress down each page. From time to time, her eyes tear up again, and she sniffles and wipes the tears away, continuing to read long into the night.
~OoO~
Severus Snape’s Journal, June, 1998
I don’t know with any certainty what day it is and can only judge the time by the angle of the sun as it streams in through the windows of the hospital wing at Hogwarts. I am still amazed to be here at all, expecting that my life would surely have been forfeited by now, a consequence of the dangerous double game I played the last years of the war. But I lived. Young Mr. Potter vanquished the Dark Lord, which is astonishing. Even more astonishing, and of far more personal import to me, Dumbledore left a letter about me with Minerva McGonagall before his death. He also left memories of all his assignments to me, concealed from her conscious mind by a memory charm keyed to the wards of Hogwarts. When the wards fell, the memory was restored and Minerva learned, to her great consternation, that I was not the black traitor I had been painted to be. The restored memory directed her to a letter Albus had concealed somewhere in the school. The letter contained a key to a vault in Gringotts, and in it Minerva found a Pensieve and several memory bottles. The memories were copies of the memories he had given Minerva, including the order to kill him rather than allow Draco to do so, if it came to a moment of such dire necessity. There was also a kind of ledger written in Albus’s handwriting, recounting each memory stored in the vault. Albus had done all of this to ensure that, if I lived beyond the defeat of the Dark Lord, I would be safe. I learned later the same memories were implanted in the minds of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Arthur and Molly Weasley and others, as a failsafe against the entire order being incapacitated and unable to help me. I was unconscious when the Aurors opened the vault, luckily, and missed all the fuss over the discovery. Apparently I was hailed as a hero by wizarding Britain, and Poppy Pomfrey told me that Rita Skeeter sent a reminder owl every hour on the hour with a request for an interview, for three days. Bloody Merlin, three days! I am so glad I missed all the excitement.
The new Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley, has delegated protecting my privacy to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, being the head of that department, has been very diligent, for which gift, much thanks. My recovery has been very peaceful and uneventful. Poppy Pomfrey tells me I was in shock from blood loss, convulsing from repeated casts of Cruciatus and some other unknown curse, but I don’t remember it at all. I remember killing the snake, Nagini, just as she left her nest in the Shrieking Shack, and I remember being part of the circle around Potter as he faced off against the Dark Lord. I remember seeing Lucius Malfoy recognize me in the circle around Potter, and I saw him nudge Crabbe and Goyle. Then one of them pointed his wand at me, and it grows very hazy, very fast, after that.
I have been given the back issues of the Daily Prophet to read, and Miss Granger tells me that the factual articles written by Miss Lovegood and Mr. Longbottom, published in the Quibbler, are actually extremely accurate. Mr. Creevey’s photos are frightening to behold, and for the most part are only available in Ministry reports, but Arthur Weasley got me those to read, too. I feel profoundly sad, and my heart lies heavy in my chest at the thought of the dreadful losses we suffered. There are even some followers of the Dark Lord whom I shall miss, and whom I remember with fondness. Regulus Black, for one. He fell very early in the reign of the Dark Lord, but he was my friend at school, and I am so sorry that his life was cut so short. We were so blind, all of us. My heart truly breaks for the innocents who didn’t follow the darkness OR the light, but who were simply caught in the middle. I am especially mindful of the Muggles who were killed to serve as examples, or to punish their magical children. Miss Granger was smart to hide her parents after Albus…died. Merlin! Even more than a year later, it’s hard to write that.
I will turn my mind to more pleasant things. Yes, I am referring to Hermione Granger.
I will not apologize for my thoughts of her. For three long years, she has been a shining beacon in a storm of darkness. For each time I have written her name in this journal, she has been in my thoughts a hundred-no, a thousand times. The night of the Yule Ball, she caught my attention-the plain, shy little duckling, hesitantly, yet joyfully, transforming into a beautiful swan. Her innocent delight in the furor she caused was so touching, so genuine, that I think my heart melted entirely, and I could not help but adore her. Yes, me, Severus Snape, the Greasy Git, Bat of the Dungeons, former Death Eater, current double agent-brought to his knees (figuratively speaking, of course) by a fifteen year old girl. Not that I would ever admit it. Nevertheless, it’s true.
The Sorting Hat will talk to some of the teachers from time to time, and it confided once to me that it had almost put her in Ravenclaw. But then it admitted, “I really had to shift her to Gryffindor when I saw the passion she has for everything. Can’t have such passion and courage buried in Ravenclaw under a mountain of parchments.” And of course the Hat is right. Miss Granger would not have been comfortable there. She is too straightforward for Slytherin, too ambitious for Hufflepuff, too passionate for Ravenclaw. She graces Gryffindor house.
I don’t remember feeling this strongly about Lily Evans. At 17, I thought Lily was the love of my life and I would never be able to feel that strongly about any woman, ever again. After she died, I decided I would NEVER allow anyone myself to care for anyone as much as I had for Lily. It hurt too much to lose her, and I could see no future for myself that wasn’t heavy with losses that had simply not yet happened. I would be a fool to go through it again. More than that, I could not risk anyone else being hurt because of my stupidity. But Lily had been my perfect woman, no other could ever be anything more than a pale shadow of her, anyway.
Had I not been so positive of that, Fate would not have worked so hard to prove me wrong. That’s my story, anyway, and I intend to hold to it.
I certainly have never felt this way about any student of mine, and there have been a good number of those over the years. Impossible as it sounds, I have actually suffered my share, and then some, of teenage crushes. It’s fairly typical of adolescent females, especially as I am the youngest teacher on the staff at Hogwarts. Usually it’s my Slytherin students who develop crushes, but I have never been remotely tempted by any of them.
What is it about Miss Granger that is so different?
I have asked myself that any number of times, and have teased out bits and pieces of the answer to that question, but the bits and pieces don’t seem to be enough to provoke feelings as strong as those I feel for Miss Granger. The Sorting Hat hinted to me on one occasion that my “soul mate” was at Hogwarts, but since I did not, at that time, expect that I would survive the War, I discounted the Hat and went about my business. I have never put much stock in twaddle like soul mates, nor is it within the bounds of reason to expect that Miss Granger would ever return my feelings.
It should go without saying that I have carefully kept my feelings hidden, and can’t imagine any circumstance in which Miss Granger will catch me out. I shall keep her in ignorance of how much I care for her, and I daresay, after a decade or two, my feelings will eventually fade. My feelings for Lily are nowhere near as strong as they once were. My feelings for Hermione will dim with time.
Poppy is ushering in Arthur Weasley himself, along with Kingsley Shacklebolt and several Aurors. I shall put away this journal till later.
~OoO~
Later that same day:
Well, I have some interesting events to record, to ponder later. Arthur Weasley, as I mentioned before, is the newly-appointed Minister of Magic. The man is a political dunderhead, but we have had more than our share of excellent politicians and look at the mess they’ve created. I trust Arthur, but I have no doubt that the Wizarding world to which I will return when I get out of this hospital bed is not going to be the same one that I left only a month ago.
Arthur brought Kingsley with him, as I mentioned; also several Aurors. I watched as all of my teaching colleagues who happen to be here at the school today, and Headmistress McGonagall, entered the room. Potter and Weasley, Miss Weasley and Miss Granger accompanied Minister Weasley. Miss Granger is looking well, and more beautiful than ever.
As an aside, I am relieved to see that she has regained the weight she lost when she and Potter and Weasley were in hiding, hunting for the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes. I know she was captured and held for a time at Malfoy Manor; and it makes my blood run cold to hear that she was tortured at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, but she seems to have recovered from that. Her eyes are as bright as ever, her conversation as sparkling, her hands flutter about expressively, as they always have. If she wears an air of maturity now, and if I sense something thoughtful in her gaze from time to time, it’s not unbecoming.
Her dress, on the other hand, is very becoming. She swept into my room wearing a rather elegant dress, in a silky deep gold, tea-length, with a sheer robe over it. The robe has what my mother used to call ‘angel’ sleeves-fitted to the elbow then belling out into long points that trail gracefully over the skirt. This robe is patterned in pleasant shades of rose and gold and green, with just a touch of violet, and reminds me of paintings by the Muggle artist, Monet. I have never seen her wear anything like it, and it’s very flattering to her. She wears soft, ballet-type slippers on her feet, and seems to float lightly over the stone floor, barely making any sound. I know she is there, though. I can smell her light perfume-lemongrass and lavender, sweetened by just a hint of vanilla.
The sight of Potter and Miss Weasley hanging all over each other is not entirely unexpected. Distasteful, but not unexpected. I was braced for the sight of Mr. Ronald Weasley pawing Miss Granger, as well, but the two of them kept a more than decorous distance between them. In fact, I had the sense they were avoiding one another, and only according one another the barest of civilities. I learned something about that, later, but I will record it after I finish my account of Arthur Weasley’s visit.
He waited till everyone had gathered around my bed. Then he motioned towards the door, and someone I could not see opened it to allow several reporters into the room, including that dreadful Skeeter woman. I was about to protest when Arthur called the room to attention, and held out his hand to me. I shook it, not knowing what was going on, and heard him speak the words I never expected to hear.
“Severus Tobias Snape, on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, and the entire Wizarding community, I have the honor to present to you the Order of Merlin, First Class, which is given you in recognition of your bravery, honor, and service to all of us. Without you, the Light would never have defeated The Dark Lord. This medal comes to you with the gratitude of an entire nation of witches and wizards.”
And before I knew it, he was raising his hands and draping a wide loop of ribbon around my neck, a silver and green ribbon from which hung the ornate, heavy Order of Merlin. Things got very confused after that, as everyone shook my hand. Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey both grew teary and hugged me, as did Molly Weasley. Ginevra Weasley offered me her hand. Miss Granger had been standing to one side, but when I had shaken hands with Miss Weasley, she leaned in from the other side, and bashfully kissed my cheek. I have no idea what prompted her to do that, though it was certainly pleasant. An order of Merlin and a kiss from a lovely woman. My quality of life is definitely improving, no doubt about that.
I was as prepared for what came next as I had been for the kiss on my cheek from Miss Granger, which is to say, completely unprepared.
“Professor Snape, I have also been asked by the Hogwarts Board of Governors, at the request of Headmistress McGonagall, to offer you the appointment of Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. Every one of us is aware of the lengths to which you went to protect the students here during the War; your dedication and devotion, coupled with your professional qualifications, make you our first choice to fill that post.”
“Minister Weasley…” What can I say? Of course I will take the job, I love Hogwarts and this is a terrific professional opportunity. The Deputy Headmaster post comes with a larger apartment in the castle, a sizeable pay raise, and best of all, will mean that my first and second level classes will be taught by somebody else. Having fewer classes means fewer papers to mark, fewer hexes to reverse, or fewer cauldrons melted. I never expected to survive long enough to be invited back to teach, so I don’t even know what subject I shall be offered, but I would be a fool to turn down this chance. “Minister Weasley, Headmistress McGonagall, I will be honored to serve.” I say that with as much dignity as I can, but I know that Minerva can see I am happy to be asked, grateful to be given the opportunity.
There is a round of applause, and Minister Weasley produces a contract with a flourish of his wand. The appropriate parties, all being present, sign it on the spot.
The contract specifies that I will serve as Deputy Headmaster and as advisor to both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. As I wait for my signature to dry, I read the contract over again. Adviser to both classes. Who will be teaching them?
Headmistress McGonagall tells me after everyone else has gone that Advanced Potions-5th year and up-will be taught again by Horace Slughorn, while Elementary and Intermediate Potions will be taught by Fleur Delacour-Weasley. Defense Against the Dark Arts will be taught by her husband, William. He’s a good choice for the job. I wonder what he is giving up in the way of prestige and money choosing Hogwarts over Gringotts. Hogwarts is lucky to get them both, though I can’t help but wonder how Madam Weasley will keep all the boys from falling in love with her.
Reading over this entry to see if it is complete reminds me that I noted I would record the cause of the coolness between Miss Granger and Mr. Ronald Weasley. Headmistress McGonagall confided in me, unprompted, that she was concerned about Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley becoming too close, too fast. I must have looked askance at her, because she laughed and said she was merely thinking out loud as she had often done with Albus, and if I disliked it I should tell her now so she could set to work immediately on trying to modify her behavior. I told her I was not bothered by it, and indeed I am not. One can learn a great deal simply by listening to others when they ramble, after all. Minerva then confessed that she had been thinking of the coolness between Miss Granger and Mr. Ronald Weasley, which she sees as a good thing.
“But you’re quite fond of them both. Surely a match between them is something to be happy about?”
She hesitated for a moment then smiled a little ruefully. “Mr. Weasley is quite as good as he should be,” this said with a grimace, “but he is not really good enough for Miss Granger. She has the intelligence and drive to become … well, anything she wants to be. Mr. Weasley may go on to play professional Quidditch now that the war is over, but even if he becomes an Auror, he will expect her to curtail her education to marry him and have children. And while a witch has plenty of time to continue her education once her children are grown, I can’t see Miss Granger being happy following in Molly Weasley’s footsteps. Meaning no criticism or disrespect of Molly, of whom I am extremely fond, as you know.”
“Indeed. I quite agree with you, Minerva.” I replied. The idea of Miss Granger sublimating her intelligence and drive to bear a Quidditch team of Weasley babies is enough to make me lose my appetite. All that brilliance buried under a mountain of nappies? It doesn’t bear thinking about. A treacherous little voice in my head whispers that I would be quite happy if she sublimated her brilliance to bear a child or two for me, but the stars would have to spin backwards in their course for that to happen, so I stuff the treacherous little voice into a bottle and cork it savagely, to avoid allowing such thoughts to root themselves in my mind.
Here, the delicate hands holding the black leather journal began to tremble.
Instead, I muse for a moment over the expression “as good as he should be.” I am not quite sure what it means even though it is something I remember my grandmother saying to my mother. Whatever Grandmother actually meant, the tone of voice she used told me it was not a compliment.”
“Poppy Pomfrey is dimming all the candles in the hospital wing, and has come to stand just inside the curtains surrounding my bed. “Severus, you’ve recovered very well, but it is getting late and you need your rest, especially after such a busy day as this.” She smiles apologetically, so I close this journal entry, to resume later.”