This story was originally written as part of the wonderful 2017 Snapecase Fest on LJ; my thanks to iulia linnea for granting me the extra time to write it, lena1987 for a encouraging read through, and Lolly for the brilliant beta job.

The notion and indeed, the tone for this piece came to me the night that Leonard Cohen passed away. If you've read any of my other works, then you know that I'm quite a fan of his music, and 'Hallelujah' is easily my favourite song. Before I went to bed I put on one of his albums, and as always was struck by the power and poetry of Mr. Cohen's lyrics. Listening to the music made me also reflect on the life and recent passing of Alan Rickman, and how the ambiguity of the song could reference not just the span of a single relationship, but the entirety of a life as well. Once I fell down that particular rabbit hole, I couldn't help but sketch out the bones of this story.

Other than some minor fiddling, this story is complete and will be posted in three chapters over the next week or so. Let me know what you think, lovely readers!

Finally, a warning. This isn't my usual EWE, HEA tale: major events stay true to canon.

With Nothing On My Tongue

August 1981

A piano appeared in the staff room on his third day as a professor.

The old upright replaced a sagging red velvet two-seater that had been languishing in the far corner of the room. Severus had made the mistake of sitting on the monstrosity only once; fearing that he was in imminent danger of being eaten alive and belched out the bottom in the form of woollen dust bunnies, he had gracelessly extracted himself and never attempted to sit there again. Oddly, the fabric of the padded piano bench was of the same worn velvet as the sofa, and Severus wondered if the House Elves were being simply tight-fisted or if he was justifiably paranoid in imagining some sort of cryptic message about the meaning of life.

He ignored the piano for weeks; it smelt strongly of one of Dumbledore's more ham-handed traps. Still, the instrument beckoned like a siren upon the rocks, the brazen oaken curves gleaming seductively with the promise of music.

It was a blustery, blue-skied Wednesday when he finally gave in to temptation. As the youngest member of staff and a mere two years removed from his own graduation, Severus found himself adrift and friendless, neither fish nor fowl to the other denizens of the Castle. And so when he strode into the faculty lounge—something that still rather felt like trespassing—to find himself blessedly alone, Severus made a beeline for the piano, all marking forgotten.

To his great surprise, the piano was not only well tuned, but the padded bench contained a wonderfully thick stack of Muggle sheet music. Cautiously, he sat down, running a long finger over the keys.

C, D, E, F…

The notes were bright and pure, mixing with the sunshine streaming through the mullioned windows to create an altogether different sort of magic. A shiver slid down his spine, loosening some of the knots: here, at least, was something that he knew how to handle with confidence.

His first measures of Schubert were halting and rough; it had been over five years since Severus had even seen a piano, never mind played one. With a grimace, he rose again, stripped off his robes and frock coat, and flexed his narrow shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he began again.

Sit up straight, he recited, whispers of the past filling the room like errant sunbeams. Play at the shoulders, not the wrists. Don't hit the keys, caress them…

One note, and then two; a chord, then an entire measure... and just like that, Severus was utterly lost.

The music flowing from his fingers dipped and soared, somehow contriving to loosen the tight Occlumentic shields that had frozen everything but his fury and fear; each tumbling arpeggio chipped away at the ice until the sound and the sentiment were one glorious mess rippling through the air.

Abruptly, the magic ended.

The room had gone gloomy and chilly, the sun having sunk below the mountains at the far end of the Black Lake. His wrists and fingers ached abominably, and his neck had the most peculiar crick in it. Shifting gingerly on the bench, Severus peered behind him and froze; the room was packed with silent, staring staff members.

In an instant, Severus felt his face flame red and scrambled to shore up his shields. He had never meant to expose himself in such a fashion, and never would have continued to play if he had known that there was an audience…

"That was magnificent, Severus." A stout form detached herself from the wall, and with a wave of a wand, lit the lamps in the room. Aurora Sinistra—a professor who had never so much as given him the time of day—granted him a warm smile. "I had no idea that you played, nor that you played so well. We've all been sitting in the dark for the better part of an hour because we didn't want to disturb you."

"My apologies. I did not mean to monopolize the space…" Severus began, hastily donning his frock coat and wondering how quickly he could flee to the dungeons without looking foolish. Idiot! You should have at least taken enough care to cast detection charms…

The astronomy professor's countenance turned wry. "Oh, don't misunderstand me, lad. Your playing was a pleasant treat after a trying day. I do hope that we will get to hear you again."

A chorus of agreement met her words and Severus paused, briefly taking in the expressions around him. For once, people were eyeing him with blatant approval rather than icy disgust; even McGonagall had relaxed enough to not appear as if she was sucking on lemons.

Maybe, he mused, just maybe I can use this to my advantage…

Then the coldly calculating blue gaze of Albus Dumbledore collided with his, and he nearly shuddered at what he saw; a pet Death Eater he might be, but he would not willingly hand the Headmaster any more of his soul than he already had.

"I must agree with Aurora. That was quite the performance."

Visions of being trotted out to play for the students, or worse yet, the Ministry, filled Snape's head. Never! "It was a one-off, I assure you," he said, snatching his marking from the table and turning for the door.

"That's a pity," the older wizard murmured. "Clearly, the Castle saw fit to move the piano into the staff lounge for a reason. And as you well know, help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

For all that his words were conciliatory, there was a threat lurking just under the surface. Don't get any ideas. Your job here isn't to make friends…

Snape sneered. I know that, you bastard!

In a swirl of robes, he left.

Naturally, it wasn't a one-off.

Two weeks later, Severus snuck into the staff room after the evening rounds and played for nearly five hours; when he finally fell into bed, he slept like the dead and awoke more clear-headed then he'd been in months.

Something had to break, he knew; one could not dance on the knife's edge between two masters—on top of teaching and Head of House duties!—and not slip without some kind of outlet. Occlumency could only go so far, and he already had been ordered to stop assigning so much detention to the little bastards. He resolved to continue his nocturnal concertos, the unspoken reproof from Dumbledore be damned.

However, a conversation overheard several days later radically changed his approach. Severus hadn't been lurking, precisely—he had a right to be on the fourth floor balcony just like anyone else—but had declined to announce his presence as McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey meandered by. Their inattention made it clear they were having a juicy chinwag, and he slipped further into the draperies when it became obvious that the chatter was about him.

"Has he played again?" Pomfrey asked.

"Not so you'd catch him at it. Several of the portraits have heard him playing in the wee hours of the morning, however."

"That's a shame. I must say, I think it's sweet that he's too shy to play in front of anyone. It shows how much it means to him."

"Merlin knows he's not the bashful sort about anything else."

Pomfrey gave an amused snort. "Still sore that he outscored every one of your Gryffindors at the N.E.W.T.'s, dearie?"

"Hardly. The only thing that's sore is my hand, and that's due to the sheer length of his papers that I graded over the course of his student career. Still, I imagine that he's getting a taste of his own medicine now that he's teaching."

The women went quiet before Pomfrey spoke again. "Albus didn't seem very pleased with the reaction to his playing."

"No. He wasn't."

"So it was the Castle that moved the piano into the lounge, then?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"Why?" Pomfrey's voice dipped as they moved further away, and Severus strained to hear her next words. "If he's to be trusted now, why would Albus object?"

"I don't know, Poppy, truly. The two of them have always been at odds. Besides, you know Albus. Can't stand anything that he can't control."

"Men…"

"Indeed."

Severus mulled over the conversation for several days. He was loath to reveal himself further, and playing the piano had always been an intensely personal act. But there were other considerations to take into account; he must be seen making allies in the Castle, or the Dark Lord would replace him in a manner most painful; the usual punishment of a summons were bad enough as it was. Getting caught playing the piano had noticeably softened attitudes of the staff, and would be a good start to forming more positive connections. That the action would also ruffle the feathers of Albus Dumbledore was an unexpected boon…

I'll have to be careful and not let myself get lost in the music. Hex the bench, perhaps?

Unexpectedly, he found himself nervous as he settled down to play; Severus could practically count on one hand the number of times he'd played for others. Flipping through the sheet music, he was annoyed to see that not only was his hand a tad unsteady, but it was not completely dry, either.

Some big, bad Death Eater you are… why do you care, anyway? They thought you were nothing better than scum as a student, and their opinions are hardly better now!

The caustic and bitter flow of resentment at the thought calmed his nerves: truly, he did not care what they thought. Severus wasn't doing this for accolades—it was merely a means to an end. He didn't trust Dumbledore to keep up his side of the bargain, and if he was going to ever make up for what he had done, he had to have more supporters than a single, poncey, judgemental old poofer.

Right. Some Bach, perhaps? Chopin? No, I need something showier. Khatchaturian, I think…

Shockingly, it worked like a charm.

By the second week of October, he was no longer an island upon himself; several of the more experienced teachers had decided to mentor him in the more arcane methods of student management, and could be counted upon to back him up when Dumbledore tried to blatantly favour his House in matters of discipline. Best of all, it meant a ready-made reason to play the piano, and Severus was gratified at how quickly his lessons were coming back to him.

He had been fiddling with a particularly tricky passage when a slim hand slid past his own and elegantly picked out the melody. Glancing up, Severus was startled to see that the limb belonged to none other than Minerva McGonagall.

She smirked slightly when she saw his expression. "You're not the only one who can play around here, you know."

"And here I thought I was the only one who benefited from a more… polyphonic approach to early education."

"Our numbers are few but mighty," McGonagall retorted. "And I'll not let you butcher Tovey like that. If you are going to play something by a Scotsman in my hearing, you'd best do it right. Budge over and I'll show you how it's done."

Despite himself, Severus was amused at the older woman's manner; he knew that she wasn't nearly as haughty as she put on, but it felt odd to have her interact with him in such a congenial fashion. Obligingly, he scooted over and she sat at the padded bench, wincing.

"Nimue's nickers, but this bench is uncomfortable. It feels like someone has hexed the bloody thing…"

Severus aimed for blithe innocence. "And who would gain pleasure in committing such a petty, puerile deed?"

"Oh, I can think of one or two people," she said dryly, and pulled out her wand. In a flash, she had cancelled his hex and transformed the surface into something far more supportive and comfortable, giving a sigh of contentment as she did so.

"Now, pay attention…"

It was a strangely agreeable way to spend a quarter of an hour; Minerva had challenged him to a duet at the end, and they proved to be well-matched as partners.

"Where did you learn to play?" Severus asked, surprising the both of them with the question.

She gave the fallboard a fond stroke. "From my father. He was a rather musically disposed vicar, and I played most Sundays in the kirk until I came to Hogwarts. After that…" Sorrow deepened the emerald of her eyes. "Well, after that things became a great deal more thorny, and I played only occasionally."

Severus had forgotten that she was a Half-Blood just as he was, and her regret at paths untaken tugged at something within him rather uncomfortably; it was too close to the circumstances of his own past to sit easily.

"Our duality causes all sorts of complications, doesn't it?" he mused rhetorically. "Far easier to be one or the other, I would think…"

McGonagall cocked her head, staring at him for a long moment. "Perhaps." Her voice turned sardonic. "Alas, as both a woman and a witch, I've found that one can never escape the inherent complications of societal dichotomies, however much one tries."

"Freud had quite a few things to say on that subject…" Severus retorted slyly, unable to resist poking at the woman.

"Freud was full of shite, and you know it. Far better to read Mary Wollstonecraft if you are going to waste time on Muggle philosophy."

He tsked disapprovingly. "For shame, Professor. Isn't the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge's sake a sacred duty?"

"Oh, don't lay it on too thick…" With admirable swiftness, she changed the subject. "Speaking of education, how on earth did you to learn play? I don't remember your Mam being musically inclined."

Snape looked down at his pale hands, still curved over the alternating pattern of black and white keys. For all that it was a simple question, the answer was anything but; he could lie, or he could answer it truthfully and risk giving himself away. Minerva McGonagall had long known who and what he was—and more importantly, what he had been. She was a smart woman, and the thought of her piecing together the truth of what he had done was terrifying.

Ah, but the time for pride has past, hasn't it? She's as good as Dumbledore's second, and you need her to see you as something other than a monster and a Death Eater. This isn't about you. It's about protecting Lily, and if McGonagall believes what you have to say, then Lily is all the more safer…

"No. My mother had no love for music. My father did, although that wasn't something I learned until well after I started playing." Severus swallowed, forcing the next sentence out. "Lily… Lily's mum taught me, actually."

For the second time that afternoon, his words surprised McGonagall. He saw the myriad of questions that his reply provoked, but to his own astonishment she gave him an easy out.

"That must be quite the story."

The dominant smells of the Evans' parlour rushed back to him then: lemon cleaning oil and fresh baking, with just a hint of starch from the wash. Then there was the ever-present burble of the kitchen radio and Lily turning the pages of a book as she sprawled out on the floor next to the piano…. He'd never been a happy child, but those stolen moments had been the closest thing to bliss he'd ever experienced.

"I suppose it is."