"Everyone suffers wrongs for which there is no
remedy."
- Edgar Watson Howe
"Please."
That firm and unyielding tone masked by a twinkle of amusement in
the blue eyes and a twitch of the silver mustache indicating a smile.
Snape was not fooled. This was a conversation that would be neither
amusing nor worthy of a smile. A sneer on the other hand was sure to
remain firmly on his face until he left the Headmaster's office and
returned to the dungeons. Fixing his sneer in place--which never
fooled Dumbledore, but it was a habit and somehow
life-affirming--Snape began the walk to Dumbledore's office.
The Headmaster was right behind him, moving just as silently as a
shadow would. Snape could feel those eyes boring into his back, the
smile fading to a disappointed frown, maybe the smallest shake of the
head... That broke him, and he hated that feeling, that Dumbledore
could do it without even needing to look at him. "My reaction was
perfectly--"
"Severus, we shall discuss it in my office," said Dumbledore.
Not even a readable reaction from the old man. Snape found his
hand clenching into a fist, and he forced it to stop. He could play
this little game as well; he had been for as long as he had been at
Hogwarts. First as a student, and then especially as a teacher,
hiding anything that could be considered vulnerable. Once more, his
hand started to clench into a fist.
Some slights, some insults, some injustices refused to remain
behind that wall of indifference. Some experiences--ah, the office
finally. For once, Snape vowed not to be cowed into submission by
any pitying looks, kind words, or subtle orders. This time, he would
have his say. If nothing happened to the murderer and the werewolf,
surely nothing would come of him delivering a few choice words.
Words that had been waiting a very long time with no one to hear
except himself.
"Now, Severus." Dumbledore closed the door and crossed the room,
looking as completely unflappable as ever. He sat and leaned back
slightly in the chair, the creak of the wood filling the room until
the older man spoke again. "Would you care to explain yourself?"
Snape snorted--at Dumbledore's words, the chair he was expected to
sit in, the school and all its students, life in general. "Explain
myself? I hardly think it's necessary." His lip curled into a more
vicious sneer, heartfelt this time and tinged with true anger. A
lingering remnant of his state of mind just a day ago.
That twinkle again, but this time it was not of amusement. It was
hard and bright, like a diamond. It had no playfulness in it. This
was the look, with its diamond shine in pools of clear blue, that
could cut through anything. "It is."
For a time that Snape measured by counting backwards from one
hundred, the Potions master breathed heavily through his nose.
Breathe, count, relax, don't let it get the better here in front of
the Headmaster. "I..." No, not yet. Keep counting. Closing his
eyes, Snape actually said in a slightly choked tone, "A schoolboy
grudge." He swallowed thickly, his mouth dry and a rancid taste on
his tongue. "They called it a schoolboy grudge."
His efforts at self-control helped, but only in a temporary
capacity. Every word he spoke caused that rush, that burning
tightness to come back threefold. Explain himself? "It was their
fault!" The volume of Snape's voice shook him, and he returned to
counting and breathing, this time to simply regain an even tone;
yelling at Dumbledore would not do.
"Severus--"
"This wasn't a classroom prank or a detention!" Snape barked, all
semblance of control lost. "Do they actually think I would be so
petty..." The look on Remus' face in the Shrieking Shack answered
his question before he had finished thinking it. Yes, they would
think he was that petty. "Schoolboys," Snape began, and now his
voice was dangerously quiet, "hold grudges because they don't know
better. They don't know what waits for them outside their childish
dreams and their well-protected lives of school and home." His eyes
glittered in the soft light of the office, bordering on madness once
again. "A man holds a grudge because he has been grievously
slighted."
Snape leaned on the desk, peering very intently into Dumbledore's
eyes. "I have left my childish dreams and silly notions of
protection far behind." The fingers of Snape's left hand spasmed
momentarily. "I know what lies beyond them, I know evil. I was part
of it. And you think I need to explain myself."
"Please do." Dumbledore acted completely unaffected by it all, as
if Snape had said nothing.
"You're a fool, Albus, if you think that I will drop my 'schoolboy
grudge' simply because it's unpleasant for those-those Gryffindors."
Relaxing a little, his voice now sounding tired and devoid of anger,
Snape fell back into the waiting chair. "I wish it were simply a
schoolboy grudge, because then it would imply that something innocent
had happened and I was merely humiliated."
No sound emerged from his mouth, though Snape's lips moved.
Now it was Dumbledore's turn to lean forward. "What was that,
Severus?"
"You heard me. You heard me, and you know how I feel," Snape
said. He passed a hand across his forehead, carelessly pushing the
hair from his face. "If I can't hold a grudge over a threat on my
life, then what? When am I allowed one? When I'm dead?" He laughed
mirthlessly. "It'll be too late then."
"A joke, Severus. You've known that the entire time," Dumbledore
said, and there was a sickening gentility to it that made Snape want
to gag.
Snape stood and looked down at Dumbledore. Both their faces were
neutral. "That doesn't mean my life wasn't threatened. Now if
you've finished shielding your precious Gryffindors, I believe I'm
going to nurse my stupid, little, schoolboy grudge alone, as I seem
to be the only one to realize that I was fortunate to survive that
joke." He gave a mocking half-bow. "Good evening, Headmaster. I
hope I've explained myself to you to your satisfaction." With a
swirl of his robes, Snape turned and walked to the door, ignoring
everything about the office that normally brought peace in him.
At the door, holding the handle, and staring down the moving
staircase, Snape said, "I owe you, Albus, and you know how much.
Your disappointment cuts me, but the fact that you hold my life in
such low regard is the cruelest of cuts. Just like they did, and
still do." Snape turned, and the barest flash of hurt was visible in
the gaze that otherwise appeared steady and guarded. "I wanted
recognition of the injustice that was done to me; it would help a
schoolboy sleep at night to know that he was not to blame for his own
brush with death. Even after twenty years."
The door closed, and the office was plunged into silence. The
Headmaster's eyes were no longer twinkling as he watched the door.
Slightly more than fifteen minutes had passed. Fifteen minutes of
counting and breathing, but not to hold back the anger this time.
A joke. Even the Headmaster considered it just some triviality in
life. Just once, it would have been nice for someone to understand,
but it was obvious no one ever would. Another burden to bear on his
own, or continue bearing; no one had listened to him before, so now
was no different.
And now, Snape was too tired to get properly riled up. That was
really why he hated meeting with Dumbledore: the old man was able to
just suck all of that angry energy out of him. Without that, Snape
had little left.
Absently, he rubbed the worn wood of the desk, his palm not
feeling the soft, smooth texture. He took comfort in it though; he
couldn't say why. Perhaps it was just a familiar thing that never
judged or talked back or melted cauldrons.
Start counting backwards from one hundred again.
Eighty was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Enter." Snape almost rolled his eyes, but that was a thing to be
hidden or he'd be doing it everyday at the students. That was not an
image he wanted to present.
"I don't think our conversation was quite finished, Severus."
Dumbledore entered the room and closed the door, mindful not to trap
the cranberry robes covered with half-moons in it.
"So my explanation was not adequate. Fine. What more would you
like me to say?" A bitter smile touched just the corners of his
mouth. "Perhaps you think it appropriate for me to apologize to
Potter in front of the rest of the students for not wanting to die at
the hands of his father's friends. Is that it?"
"Stop, Severus."
That tone again. Backwards from one hundred since there was
little else for him to do when the old man was getting ready to
lecture.
"This is personal--"
"Of course it is!"
Dumbledore leveled his gaze at Snape, and under his breath, Snape
began counting backwards from fifty this time.
"This personal vendetta worries me."
Oh yes, now the old man says it. Too late though, far too late.
Dumbledore was only worried because of the way it might affect
Potter. Why was it always Potter? Whether James or Harry, the name
would always taunt him with the simple things that he had been
denied.
Snape, sitting in a rickety chair with little padding that smelled
of walnut, hung his head. "It worries you? It worries you that I
might do something to Potter, you mean to say. I repay my debts,
Headmaster."
"Yes, I know."
To avoid the sight of his hands gripping one another in his lap,
causing the tendons to bulge, Snape closed his eyes. This
conversation was going nowhere; the Headmaster didn't understand at
all. He just wanted to go to bed, to try and hold it all back for
another twenty years, but this old man was--
"I worry about you, Severus."
A hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed.
"I worry about you, but I know how you frown upon such frivolous
sentimentalities, so I refrain from showing it. If you ever need
anything, don't hesitate to talk to me. I'll be there to listen--"
There was always power when Dumbledore spoke Snape's name, a
rather unsettling sensation that the old man weaved every single
secret he held into those three syllables that twisted at the guts.
Snape hated it.
"--son."
The hand passed quickly across the back of Snape's neck, the touch
comforting and familiar like that of a cherished parent, and then was
gone.
"You old fool," Snape whispered, and he slumped, defeated, in the
chair. Not even that one word could make things all right. Not
after so long favoring his schoolboy grudge.
End