Of Pensieves and Snivellus

Of Pensieves and Snivellus

It is the eve of Harry Potter's death, and I have the best seat in the world.

"What a waste," Minerva had moaned, when I told her the news. "Why are you doing this now, Albus? Couldn't you have waited, at least till..." she trailed off. All the same, she need not have continued. I knew what lied unsaid in her mouth, as she had said them so many times till I was amazed that she actually left the sentence unfinished. Each time I brought the subject up, the good witch fought tooth and nail - a metaphor, of course - with me, and each time, I shushed her up by agreeing to remain mum.

I was feeling particularly headstrong that day, not to mention unusually belligerent, and so, I persisted. "Till what, Minerva?"

"Till things are safe, of course!" she expostulated. "Till You-Know-Who is gone for good! Till he's ready!"

I watched her patiently, and took it all calmly. She was a very competent teacher, an outstanding member of the Order and the best confidante one could have, but when it came to Harry Potter, she can be astonishingly protective. Severe and imposing in his presence, of course, but when he was out of earshot - goodness, sometimes I'd wonder why she did not adopt him herself.

"He is ready," I said serenely, with a twinkle in my eye; I knew that my eyes were twinkling because of a strategically-placed magical looking glass across the room.

"In fact, he would be more confused than he already is, if he was not informed. Would it be fair for him to remain frightened and angry for the rest of his life?"

Minerva stared at me as though I had grown horns. And a pointy tail, as a matter of fact. And turned bright red. "Frightened and angry?" she repeated. "That is an exaggeration, Professor."

Now she was calling me 'Professor'. I thoroughly understand. "No, Professor," I replied in the same conversational tone. "That is a euphemism. Now, would you like a lemon drop?"

Yesterday's conversation with my Deputy Head resonated in my head, but I know that it is time. There is absolutely no need to put things off, and if Harry chooses to become angry instead of glad, I have prepared a number of throwable items in my office.

There is still ample time before Harry is due to meet me. I walk over to the Penseive, and sigh.

"So?" asked a handsome boy with dark hair to a morose-looking boy who wore a Prefect badge on his breast. The handsome boy was batting his eyelids, and had an embarrassingly sweet smile on his face. "Please go to the ball with me, Jill. Pwease?"

The Prefect batted the other boy off, and returned to his notes. "Drop it, Sirius," he said warningly, before the both of them exploded with laughter. Sirius nudged his friend, and jerked his head over to another boy, tall and bespectacled. "Ol' Prongs's going for it, eh?"

The brown haired Prefect smiled. "Yeah," he agreed. "Good luck to him."

James Potter tucked his hands into his pockets - he couldn't believe that he was actually capable of sweaty palms! Then again, he thought with a silly smile on his face, I never realised that I was capable of so many things till I met her.

He walked with what he hoped was a swagger, but annoyingly enough, somebody was casting a shadow above him. Without warning, James stopped abruptly, and turned to face the nameless student who had been following him.

"Go away, Snivellus!" he roared, making the other students jump. "I'm not a freakin' big vat of anti-grease potion, so would you please scram?"

Severus Snape's lips curled into an ugly sneer, and he played with his wand with a glint in his eye. "Following you, Potter?" he echoed sarcastically. "Do not flatter yourself. I was merely going where you were going."

James crossed his arms across his chest. "And that would be?"

A redheaded girl who had been watching the scene all along shoved Snape aside, and glared at James. "He was coming to see me."

As a member of the faculty at Hogwarts since the day Tom was a brilliant Prefect, I have seen many characters. Some faded away, some died, some invited me to their weddings and some became omnipotent sorcerers with a corrupted mindset. There are a few incidents that still remain clear in my ageing mind, and though the people involved may be long gone, the memories of them will never.

Snape shoved Lily Evans back, but before he could do anything else, he was slammed against the wall of the Great Hall by an invisible force. "Don't touch her!" shouted James, his outstretched hand holing his own wand. "How dare you-"

Snape was pressed against the wall with his breath gone, but his lips were moving, spitting incantations learnt from thick books in the dead of the night. Lily was still yelling at James when black symbols of indecipherable scripture appeared on his neck. Slowly, the symbols became brighter, and at the zenith of their brightness, James dropped to the ground, clutching his neck in pain. He was choking, and the symbols seemed to be suffocating him. James's face was dangerously bluish, and he was on the verge of being asphyxiated.

Snape smirked as he approached his nemesis. "Do you honestly think," he snarled, "that I'll let you get away with what you did to me last time? Hanging me upside down, like a perverse puppeteer? That I'm forgiving you for everything that you did?"

I sigh again. Harry will be here any time now. I return to my chair, and my hand automatically gives Fawkes a stroke.

Any time now.