Fic: A Valediction Forbidding Mourning
Title: A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
Summary: A funeral in the Forbidden Forest and a conversation afterward. This kind of sentimentality would have got Severus killed years ago.
Word count: 1,000
Rated: G
Characters: Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore
Notes: This was written last summer, an epilogue to a series on Snape I never had the chance to complete, but I think it stands on its own. Happy birthday and farewell, Severus Snape.
A few days after Severus' death, there was a quiet funeral in a clearing deep in the Forbidden Forest. A hard-faced Eileen and then Minerva said a few words over the simple grave. Filius and Pomona stood together, whispering. Potter was there, as well as that imbecile Weasley, comforting a weepy Granger.
As the ceremony finished, Potter placed a bouquet of white lilies on the grave.
Severus snorted. Lilies, indeed. He would not be rid of those children, even in death. Granger had been sniffling so loudly he hadn’t been able to hear what Minerva had to say about him.
Next to him, Dumbledore chuckled. "He's grasped something essential, Severus, you have to admit."
"Even a broken clock is right twice a day," Severus replied, sour. Potter had caught his memories in a phial, but in the end he had stared at Severus blankly, taking his last words literally, searching for something meaningful in a dead man's eyes.
He would not be the one to tell Severus' story.
The idiot.
As Harry stood up and rejoined his friends, the group of survivors moved back toward the castle, disappearing one by one into the forest.
"That's that," Severus said once he was certain they were alone. He and Dumbledore had been sitting side by side on a fallen tree trunk, watching the funeral from a distance. Neither moved to get up.
"I thought it was touching," Dumbledore said, turning to face him, eyes wet. It would be flattering if Severus did not know the old man so well; funerals always affected him this way. His kind of sentimentality would have got Severus killed years ago.
"Touching." Severus sighed. His head hurt. "That's one word for it."
"What did you want?"
Severus shrugged, still annoyed by the way events had played out. "I don't know, a white tomb and a mourning party?"
Dumbledore smiled, but Severus hadn't meant to joke.
"The Order of Merlin, First Class, perhaps?" he asked sharply. "For the greatest possible sacrifice? Does one have to be a bloody Gryffindor to make it into the history books?"
"Perhaps Horace has some connections in the afterlife," Dumbledore said.
"Don't patronize me," Severus said.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Dumbledore said immediately, but Severus was just warming to his topic.
"I don't think it's so much to ask," Severus said. "Haven't you ever thought of yourself? Haven't wanted something of your own? After all those years? After all that effort? I deserved so much more."
Severus glanced sideways at Dumbledore, half-expecting to be reminded again of his early support of the Dark Lord or his hatred of Muggles, lectured once more about what he might have done differently. But Dumbledore sat mutely, staring past him into the forest, and Severus was reminded of his portrait's silent presence. For the first time, Severus realized the portrait had kept its word; not once had Dumbledore's likeness reproached the new headmaster. In fact, toward the end, it had looked at him with something like respect.
Finally Dumbledore sighed. "Yes," he said, nodding at Severus. "Yes."
"Right," Severus said, feeling vaguely mollified. "This last year has been difficult, and I have made some mistakes, but I deserved more than that. If Potter thinks a bouquet of flowers will honor my memory, he's even dimmer than I'd always suspected."
Dumbledore did not reply.
"Headmaster?" Severus prompted. Dumbledore appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, his expression thoughtful, his hands folded in his lap.
"No, that's not what I meant," Dumbledore said after a few moments. "Though I do see your point, of course. About your legacy, among the living. No, I meant to say that I have wanted something for myself."
This was such an extraordinary, unexpected statement that Severus did not know what to make of it. "You have?" he asked.
"I have. Several times over my long life. Once quite recently. But there was never...things were always...I never asked."
"Why not?" Severus asked. He couldn't understand this kind of attitude. Severus had spent his whole life asking for something more, trying to be heard. He had always assumed that Dumbledore was deaf to his pleas because he could not understand them himself.
Instead of answering, Dumbledore reached out and took Severus' hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. It was the first time they had touched since the headmaster had returned to the castle, cursed, and Severus saw that Dumbledore' hand was wrinkled and gnarled but healthy again.
"I--" Severus said, thoroughly confused. He stopped, not knowing how to respond to this gesture. "You--I mean--sir--"
At the last word Dumbledore chuckled. "That's why," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry, Severus. I don't mean to offend. An old man's flight of fancy, at the very end of his life...presumptuous, I know. For someone whose life has truly been blessed, I've had very little luck in affairs of the heart. But that is not a situation for which you are responsible." He started to pull his hand away, but Severus held on, mind racing.
"Don't," he said.
Dumbledore smiled. "I'm almost hundred years older than you, Severus. You don't need to worry about my feelings. Life goes on. Or, in our case, death."
"Don't," Severus repeated fiercely. "I'm not thinking about your feelings."
They sat together, Severus still holding onto Dumbledore's hand with a vice-like grip, trying to make sense of it all.
Not once in all those years--
He remembered sitting in the headmaster's office as a child, feet dangling, still young enough to smart under his disapproval.
Had he ever--
The endless owls, the orders, the requests.
Even begun--
The final please.
To think of himself as this man's colleague, friend, equal.
And yet their lives had been intertwined, though chance and defiance and regret and responsibility, for years. And something dormant deep inside Severus stirred.
It occurred to Severus that the headmaster was asking one more thing from him, the only thing he had not yet required, and the only thing Severus had ever had for his own. Then again, Severus had not been offered so many opportunities in his life that he would turn one down when it was there, for the taking.
There might yet be something better than what he had.
"Right, then," Dumbledore said at last, eyes smiling. "I suppose we don't need to sort things out right now. Shall we walk on, then?"
Severus nodded silently, keeping hold. They stood up together, first Dumbledore, stiffly, then Severus, who glanced once more at the grave with a mix of emotions he couldn't quite name.
"May you rest in peace, Severus," Dumbledore said.
Severus grimaced at the thought. "Never. What fool settles for that?"
They walked off into the forest together, hand in hand, leaving the clearing and the grave and the lilies behind.
*
Thy firmness make my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
- John Donne, A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning.
Full text of the poem here.
Summary: A funeral in the Forbidden Forest and a conversation afterward. This kind of sentimentality would have got Severus killed years ago.
Word count: 1,000
Rated: G
Characters: Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore
Notes: This was written last summer, an epilogue to a series on Snape I never had the chance to complete, but I think it stands on its own. Happy birthday and farewell, Severus Snape.
A few days after Severus' death, there was a quiet funeral in a clearing deep in the Forbidden Forest. A hard-faced Eileen and then Minerva said a few words over the simple grave. Filius and Pomona stood together, whispering. Potter was there, as well as that imbecile Weasley, comforting a weepy Granger.
As the ceremony finished, Potter placed a bouquet of white lilies on the grave.
Severus snorted. Lilies, indeed. He would not be rid of those children, even in death. Granger had been sniffling so loudly he hadn’t been able to hear what Minerva had to say about him.
Next to him, Dumbledore chuckled. "He's grasped something essential, Severus, you have to admit."
"Even a broken clock is right twice a day," Severus replied, sour. Potter had caught his memories in a phial, but in the end he had stared at Severus blankly, taking his last words literally, searching for something meaningful in a dead man's eyes.
He would not be the one to tell Severus' story.
The idiot.
As Harry stood up and rejoined his friends, the group of survivors moved back toward the castle, disappearing one by one into the forest.
"That's that," Severus said once he was certain they were alone. He and Dumbledore had been sitting side by side on a fallen tree trunk, watching the funeral from a distance. Neither moved to get up.
"I thought it was touching," Dumbledore said, turning to face him, eyes wet. It would be flattering if Severus did not know the old man so well; funerals always affected him this way. His kind of sentimentality would have got Severus killed years ago.
"Touching." Severus sighed. His head hurt. "That's one word for it."
"What did you want?"
Severus shrugged, still annoyed by the way events had played out. "I don't know, a white tomb and a mourning party?"
Dumbledore smiled, but Severus hadn't meant to joke.
"The Order of Merlin, First Class, perhaps?" he asked sharply. "For the greatest possible sacrifice? Does one have to be a bloody Gryffindor to make it into the history books?"
"Perhaps Horace has some connections in the afterlife," Dumbledore said.
"Don't patronize me," Severus said.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Dumbledore said immediately, but Severus was just warming to his topic.
"I don't think it's so much to ask," Severus said. "Haven't you ever thought of yourself? Haven't wanted something of your own? After all those years? After all that effort? I deserved so much more."
Severus glanced sideways at Dumbledore, half-expecting to be reminded again of his early support of the Dark Lord or his hatred of Muggles, lectured once more about what he might have done differently. But Dumbledore sat mutely, staring past him into the forest, and Severus was reminded of his portrait's silent presence. For the first time, Severus realized the portrait had kept its word; not once had Dumbledore's likeness reproached the new headmaster. In fact, toward the end, it had looked at him with something like respect.
Finally Dumbledore sighed. "Yes," he said, nodding at Severus. "Yes."
"Right," Severus said, feeling vaguely mollified. "This last year has been difficult, and I have made some mistakes, but I deserved more than that. If Potter thinks a bouquet of flowers will honor my memory, he's even dimmer than I'd always suspected."
Dumbledore did not reply.
"Headmaster?" Severus prompted. Dumbledore appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, his expression thoughtful, his hands folded in his lap.
"No, that's not what I meant," Dumbledore said after a few moments. "Though I do see your point, of course. About your legacy, among the living. No, I meant to say that I have wanted something for myself."
This was such an extraordinary, unexpected statement that Severus did not know what to make of it. "You have?" he asked.
"I have. Several times over my long life. Once quite recently. But there was never...things were always...I never asked."
"Why not?" Severus asked. He couldn't understand this kind of attitude. Severus had spent his whole life asking for something more, trying to be heard. He had always assumed that Dumbledore was deaf to his pleas because he could not understand them himself.
Instead of answering, Dumbledore reached out and took Severus' hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. It was the first time they had touched since the headmaster had returned to the castle, cursed, and Severus saw that Dumbledore' hand was wrinkled and gnarled but healthy again.
"I--" Severus said, thoroughly confused. He stopped, not knowing how to respond to this gesture. "You--I mean--sir--"
At the last word Dumbledore chuckled. "That's why," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry, Severus. I don't mean to offend. An old man's flight of fancy, at the very end of his life...presumptuous, I know. For someone whose life has truly been blessed, I've had very little luck in affairs of the heart. But that is not a situation for which you are responsible." He started to pull his hand away, but Severus held on, mind racing.
"Don't," he said.
Dumbledore smiled. "I'm almost hundred years older than you, Severus. You don't need to worry about my feelings. Life goes on. Or, in our case, death."
"Don't," Severus repeated fiercely. "I'm not thinking about your feelings."
They sat together, Severus still holding onto Dumbledore's hand with a vice-like grip, trying to make sense of it all.
Not once in all those years--
He remembered sitting in the headmaster's office as a child, feet dangling, still young enough to smart under his disapproval.
Had he ever--
The endless owls, the orders, the requests.
Even begun--
The final please.
To think of himself as this man's colleague, friend, equal.
And yet their lives had been intertwined, though chance and defiance and regret and responsibility, for years. And something dormant deep inside Severus stirred.
It occurred to Severus that the headmaster was asking one more thing from him, the only thing he had not yet required, and the only thing Severus had ever had for his own. Then again, Severus had not been offered so many opportunities in his life that he would turn one down when it was there, for the taking.
There might yet be something better than what he had.
"Right, then," Dumbledore said at last, eyes smiling. "I suppose we don't need to sort things out right now. Shall we walk on, then?"
Severus nodded silently, keeping hold. They stood up together, first Dumbledore, stiffly, then Severus, who glanced once more at the grave with a mix of emotions he couldn't quite name.
"May you rest in peace, Severus," Dumbledore said.
Severus grimaced at the thought. "Never. What fool settles for that?"
They walked off into the forest together, hand in hand, leaving the clearing and the grave and the lilies behind.
*
Thy firmness make my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
- John Donne, A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning.
Full text of the poem here.