- Rating:
- PG-13
- House:
- The Dark Arts
- Characters:
- Severus Snape
- Genres:
- Angst
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Spoilers:
- Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban
- Stats:
-
Published: 04/05/2002Updated: 04/05/2002Words: 1,645Chapters: 1Hits: 866
Things Not Forgotten
Josh Swan
- Story Summary:
- This is a short story about Severus Snape. His life, how he feels about his position at Hogwarts, and the unresolved events in his past that have made him what he is today. Snape fans dig in!
- Posted:
- 04/05/2002
- Hits:
- 866
Caution: This story is for 14 year olds and above. It contains angst, and topics not suitable for those younger than 14 years of age. I hope you enjoy it. Cheers and happy schnoogling!
Dedication: This story is dedicated to Garth, the world’s greatest math teacher.
The sound of heels clicking on the cold, wet cobblestones that led down to the dungeons below. Specifically, to one section of the dungeons in particular. Eventually, the feet reached their destination, the office of one Severus S. Snape, Hogwarts Potions Master.
The figure paused before the door to look at the name inscribed on it. Over all the years, he had never once taken the time to actually look at the door, really look at it. But if he couldn’t make time for it now, he never would.
The words S. Snape, Potions Master stood out in a stark green contrast to the polished black wood of the door behind them. So simple, so elegant. Nothing more or less than what was needed. Just another prisoner in the dungeon.
Snape smiled thinly at this metaphor. It was also quite fitting for the occupant, soon to be former occupant of the said office. Without another glance, he turned the door’s glass handle, and slipped inside for the last time.
The torches lit instantly, as he had charmed them to do so on his first day on the job. But now, for some strange reason, he found this light too harsh, and too clear for what needed to be done now, which truthfully, was not that much at all.
He removed his wand from somewhere within the folds of his robes, and muttered “Dim Lumos” and the torches light dimmed promptly, leaving the corners of the room in shadow.
Snape sighed loudly as he heaved a rather large, intimidating looking black leather attaché case onto the desk. It made contact with a loud thump! He was looking forward to the prospect of leaving this blasted school once and for all. That was, of course, assuming that Minerva didn’t decide to call him back for guest lectures once in awhile.
At this, he laughed loudly, booming chuckles escaping his throat, and reverberating off the office’s damp stonewalls. The possibility of Minerva ever asking him to set foot inside of her precious school again was about as likely as Creevy’s little brother becoming an Auror.
Thoroughly amused, Snape strode around his desk, and took a seat in the high backed leather chair. He paused for a moment to put on his reading spectacles, and then proceeded to open the mammoth desk drawers, which slid out silently.
A loud gurgling noise came from the open attaché case on the top of the desk. Snape’s head whipped up, and he pushed his spectacles up on his nose, while giving the bag his best * Just try it. * look.
The bag instantly fell silent. “That’s better.” The Potions Master amended as he rifled through the desk’s contents, determining what he needed to keep, and what he did not. Portfolio, keep, Neville Longbottom’s Final Essay, throw out. And here-
Severus jerked ramrod straight in his chair, startled by what lay before him. Side by side was Harry J. Potter, and Draco M. Malfoy’s 6th year Essay Papers. Intrigued, he pushed his spectacles as far up as they would go, and bent over the papers to examine them.
He was not intrigued by the fact that he had somehow kept these papers over the years, he was intrigued by the fact that they had been written by the two of the most prominent students that had ever graced the corridors of Hogwarts.
These papers also had another significance about them, a significance whose meaning was not lost on Snape. These were the last papers that he had ever received from those particular students.
For a moment, just a moment, Snape felt the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, and then he roughly brushed them away. Not one to be distracted, he went straight back to the task at hand, and set the papers aside to be viewed later.
He shut the case with a snap, and it let loose a small burp. Satisfied, Snape pushed his chair back, stood up, and carried the case to the edge of the office door, and then set it down.
Then he turned back, and picked up the papers. He closed his eyes, and held the loose sheets of parchment under his nose, smelling the musky odour of the parchment, the pungent smell of ink, and, yes… the faint, but detectable scent of bubble bath.
He smiled again, something that he did quite rarely these days, if at all. He gave the papers a cursory glance, his suspicions already confirmed. Slowly, he made his way to the high backed leather chair for the last time. He sat down heavily, feeling a funny flutter in his stomach.
These papers were almost exactly identical, down to the last comma and period. They had copied each other. Snape removed his spectacles, and closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him.
Potter and Malfoy as they had been in their last year alive, that had been Snape’s 16th year of teaching, as it had been the 16th year of their young lives. Draco, tall, thin and supremely arrogant. Potter, short, dark haired. Still very much the unsure, unconfident boy he had been when he had first come to Hogwarts.
Although Potter had never known it, he had been one of the more competent students in Potions. Nowhere near the level of Granger, to be sure, but competent none the less. In a way, Snape had had a sort of respect for him, he thought. He had borne his burden with dignity, and Snape had never once seen him call another student down, or deride another for their shortcomings, as he himself had done as a youth.
Potter and Malfoy had been in love, no question about it. The papers in front of him, and their faint bubble bath smell only proved what he had long suspected. Proved it beyond the shadow of a doubt.
It couldn’t have been going on for more than a year. It had most likely started near the beginning of their sixth year, and had ended abruptly on the last day of school when… But he didn’t want to think about that just now, it would do no good.
He hadn’t seen much, only the occasional holding of hands in detention, or the shared joke in class when they thought he wasn’t looking. Other than that, he had only had his own intuition to go on. His intuition was rarely wrong.
It was rather ironic that two who were so different from each other could grow to love one another so much, thought Snape. He sighed loudly. There were so many things he would have liked to tell the both of them, but now, because of fate, he would never get that chance.
He looked towards the ceiling, and opened his eyes. Slowly, he looked around the walls at the pictures of all the Potions Masters that had come before him. It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn that they were all looking away, as if deliberately ignoring him, now that his time had come.
The prisoner has finally left the dungeon, he thought bitterly. * But not without the required amount of baggage. * As he got up, he removed the last item on the desk that held any significance to him. It was photograph. A photograph of the only Hogwarts Drama Production that he had ever directed, signed by all the cast members, including himself. Now, for his pleasure, he looked it over. * Back when I cared. *
It had been a production of Titanic, which he had directed at Draco’s insistence. It had been during Draco’s 5th year, and, most strangely, Draco had insisted on being Rose to Harry’s Jack.
Here were Fred and George Weasley, dressed as seamen. And there, Seamus Finnigan as the butler. And here! Snape smiled again, in spite of himself. Himself, Snape, in a French style hat, dressed entirely in black, with a rather sour expression on his pace.
“Slimy git.” He muttered. Finally, his eyes settled on front row and centre, where a charismatic, tousle haired Harry stood in a torn white shirt and brown calf length pants, with Draco, dressed in a long white gown, in his arms, both of them smiling and laughing as if there were no tomorrow.
Snape felt something heavy pull at his heart. * I can’t do this anymore, I’m too old. * He thought as he gently, almost reverently placed the picture in his black case. Finally, he came to the mirror by the door.
It was wall length, and Merlin only knew what strange things it had seen in its time. For a moment, Snape regarded himself in the crazed smokiness of the glass. Long black hair, slowly greying at the roots, hooknose, sallow cheeks. * The Slytherin Poster Boy has retired from the building folks. * He thought bitterly, as he made his way towards the door.
As he reached the door, and put a hand on it, a single tear slid down his cheeks, and made a hollow tap as it hit the stone floor below. * God I miss you James. * He thought, closing his eyes once more, the prisoner leaving the dungeon for the last time, carrying with him some things not forgotten.
Fin
Dedication: This story is dedicated to Garth, the world’s greatest math teacher.
Things Not Forgotten
The sound of heels clicking on the cold, wet cobblestones that led down to the dungeons below. Specifically, to one section of the dungeons in particular. Eventually, the feet reached their destination, the office of one Severus S. Snape, Hogwarts Potions Master.
The figure paused before the door to look at the name inscribed on it. Over all the years, he had never once taken the time to actually look at the door, really look at it. But if he couldn’t make time for it now, he never would.
The words S. Snape, Potions Master stood out in a stark green contrast to the polished black wood of the door behind them. So simple, so elegant. Nothing more or less than what was needed. Just another prisoner in the dungeon.
Snape smiled thinly at this metaphor. It was also quite fitting for the occupant, soon to be former occupant of the said office. Without another glance, he turned the door’s glass handle, and slipped inside for the last time.
The torches lit instantly, as he had charmed them to do so on his first day on the job. But now, for some strange reason, he found this light too harsh, and too clear for what needed to be done now, which truthfully, was not that much at all.
He removed his wand from somewhere within the folds of his robes, and muttered “Dim Lumos” and the torches light dimmed promptly, leaving the corners of the room in shadow.
Snape sighed loudly as he heaved a rather large, intimidating looking black leather attaché case onto the desk. It made contact with a loud thump! He was looking forward to the prospect of leaving this blasted school once and for all. That was, of course, assuming that Minerva didn’t decide to call him back for guest lectures once in awhile.
At this, he laughed loudly, booming chuckles escaping his throat, and reverberating off the office’s damp stonewalls. The possibility of Minerva ever asking him to set foot inside of her precious school again was about as likely as Creevy’s little brother becoming an Auror.
Thoroughly amused, Snape strode around his desk, and took a seat in the high backed leather chair. He paused for a moment to put on his reading spectacles, and then proceeded to open the mammoth desk drawers, which slid out silently.
A loud gurgling noise came from the open attaché case on the top of the desk. Snape’s head whipped up, and he pushed his spectacles up on his nose, while giving the bag his best * Just try it. * look.
The bag instantly fell silent. “That’s better.” The Potions Master amended as he rifled through the desk’s contents, determining what he needed to keep, and what he did not. Portfolio, keep, Neville Longbottom’s Final Essay, throw out. And here-
Severus jerked ramrod straight in his chair, startled by what lay before him. Side by side was Harry J. Potter, and Draco M. Malfoy’s 6th year Essay Papers. Intrigued, he pushed his spectacles as far up as they would go, and bent over the papers to examine them.
He was not intrigued by the fact that he had somehow kept these papers over the years, he was intrigued by the fact that they had been written by the two of the most prominent students that had ever graced the corridors of Hogwarts.
These papers also had another significance about them, a significance whose meaning was not lost on Snape. These were the last papers that he had ever received from those particular students.
For a moment, just a moment, Snape felt the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, and then he roughly brushed them away. Not one to be distracted, he went straight back to the task at hand, and set the papers aside to be viewed later.
He shut the case with a snap, and it let loose a small burp. Satisfied, Snape pushed his chair back, stood up, and carried the case to the edge of the office door, and then set it down.
Then he turned back, and picked up the papers. He closed his eyes, and held the loose sheets of parchment under his nose, smelling the musky odour of the parchment, the pungent smell of ink, and, yes… the faint, but detectable scent of bubble bath.
He smiled again, something that he did quite rarely these days, if at all. He gave the papers a cursory glance, his suspicions already confirmed. Slowly, he made his way to the high backed leather chair for the last time. He sat down heavily, feeling a funny flutter in his stomach.
These papers were almost exactly identical, down to the last comma and period. They had copied each other. Snape removed his spectacles, and closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him.
Potter and Malfoy as they had been in their last year alive, that had been Snape’s 16th year of teaching, as it had been the 16th year of their young lives. Draco, tall, thin and supremely arrogant. Potter, short, dark haired. Still very much the unsure, unconfident boy he had been when he had first come to Hogwarts.
Although Potter had never known it, he had been one of the more competent students in Potions. Nowhere near the level of Granger, to be sure, but competent none the less. In a way, Snape had had a sort of respect for him, he thought. He had borne his burden with dignity, and Snape had never once seen him call another student down, or deride another for their shortcomings, as he himself had done as a youth.
Potter and Malfoy had been in love, no question about it. The papers in front of him, and their faint bubble bath smell only proved what he had long suspected. Proved it beyond the shadow of a doubt.
It couldn’t have been going on for more than a year. It had most likely started near the beginning of their sixth year, and had ended abruptly on the last day of school when… But he didn’t want to think about that just now, it would do no good.
He hadn’t seen much, only the occasional holding of hands in detention, or the shared joke in class when they thought he wasn’t looking. Other than that, he had only had his own intuition to go on. His intuition was rarely wrong.
It was rather ironic that two who were so different from each other could grow to love one another so much, thought Snape. He sighed loudly. There were so many things he would have liked to tell the both of them, but now, because of fate, he would never get that chance.
He looked towards the ceiling, and opened his eyes. Slowly, he looked around the walls at the pictures of all the Potions Masters that had come before him. It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn that they were all looking away, as if deliberately ignoring him, now that his time had come.
The prisoner has finally left the dungeon, he thought bitterly. * But not without the required amount of baggage. * As he got up, he removed the last item on the desk that held any significance to him. It was photograph. A photograph of the only Hogwarts Drama Production that he had ever directed, signed by all the cast members, including himself. Now, for his pleasure, he looked it over. * Back when I cared. *
It had been a production of Titanic, which he had directed at Draco’s insistence. It had been during Draco’s 5th year, and, most strangely, Draco had insisted on being Rose to Harry’s Jack.
Here were Fred and George Weasley, dressed as seamen. And there, Seamus Finnigan as the butler. And here! Snape smiled again, in spite of himself. Himself, Snape, in a French style hat, dressed entirely in black, with a rather sour expression on his pace.
“Slimy git.” He muttered. Finally, his eyes settled on front row and centre, where a charismatic, tousle haired Harry stood in a torn white shirt and brown calf length pants, with Draco, dressed in a long white gown, in his arms, both of them smiling and laughing as if there were no tomorrow.
Snape felt something heavy pull at his heart. * I can’t do this anymore, I’m too old. * He thought as he gently, almost reverently placed the picture in his black case. Finally, he came to the mirror by the door.
It was wall length, and Merlin only knew what strange things it had seen in its time. For a moment, Snape regarded himself in the crazed smokiness of the glass. Long black hair, slowly greying at the roots, hooknose, sallow cheeks. * The Slytherin Poster Boy has retired from the building folks. * He thought bitterly, as he made his way towards the door.
As he reached the door, and put a hand on it, a single tear slid down his cheeks, and made a hollow tap as it hit the stone floor below. * God I miss you James. * He thought, closing his eyes once more, the prisoner leaving the dungeon for the last time, carrying with him some things not forgotten.
Fin
I wrote this in one night, as a short little Snape fanfic to get over my case of Writer’s Block, and guess what? It worked! Who ever knew that writing Snape could be such good writing therapy? I just went with what I knew, no real inspiration, just writing what I’ve always thought of him, and I daresay it turned into a pretty decent piece of short fiction. Thanks for reading. I hope you guys and gals enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.