Things Unacknowledged

I couldn´t seem to get away from you. From our first year at Hogwarts the onslaught of you began. Popping up everywhere I went, never leaving me alone... but more than that, clinging to the back of my mind like a shadow. Always in the back of my mind. Why couldn´t I get rid of you?

I took me a while to see that you weren´t just any hanger-on hoping to be my friend. There was nothing friendly about the way you behaved. Not at all.

Unpleasant? Even among Slytherins you were unpleasant. Residents of your House never enjoyed anything, except taking advantage of someone. Even without its Dark reputation, those who came from that house couldn´t be likable if they tried. At least that was what my father said. But you put your housemates to shame.

For a while I wondered if you were a dementor, for I could feel my soul sinking whenever I looked into your eyes.

Which thankfully wasn´t often considering how many times I unwillingly found you in my space. You scared the living daylights out of me, following me around like that. It seemed you took every opportunity to be near me, and you didn´t care how perturbed I got.

My father said it was also typically Slytherin to have no social graces, no respect for boundaries. Too damned insensitive.

I especially dreaded that look--like you were calculating, taking in every detail of my body. I thought about all sorts of things I didn´t want to whenever you looked at me. One of those I found too disturbing to think about. My complaints to the Heads of House fell on deaf ears because I couldn´t offer any proof. Forget your own Head of House--Slytherins, they stick together.

Everybody thought that I was the most self-assured being on earth. That I just radiated joy. If only they knew I did because I had to. I couldn´t take it anymore, that hunted feeling. I was starting to lose my confidence, my concentration. The only way to get rid of it was to surround myself with my friends, and to throw myself into mischief and adventure, which I always loved.

You didn´t stop looking at me like that--but thankfully, I did stop being affected. It was more a matter of determination than anything else. You weren´t going to drag me into your cesspool of misery, whatever its cause. No making like a dementor on me.

Yes--in some strange way, I owed my bonhomie to you.

What did you want with me anyway? Why me? Why didn´t you pick on James? Well... you did, because he was a much better Quidditch player. To some extent you picked on everybody, at least everybody who wasn´t a Slytherin. But you never looked at anyone else as if you wanted their soul.

Imagine my terror when it hit me... you looked like me.

A lot like me. Except for your being thinner, pale, and sour enough to curdle milk chocolate, there was an amazing resemblance. Your hair was smothered under a layer of grease, but it was long and luxuriant, just like mine. The eyes, the jawline, the broad shoulders... And the nose. Yours was bigger, of course, but still... the same hook, curve and flare of the nostrils.

I was one of the most popular boys at Hogwarts, that was true--but my looks may have been the biggest reason for that. Pretty shaky foundation on which to build a following. My looks probably would have been lost if I hadn´t made an effort to stay healthy and active. I made sure to eat plenty of meat and dark green vegetables, and spent lots of time playing sports outdoors to stay toned and tan; and I was adamant about choosing the right cut of clothing. (Not to mention, I went through tube after tube of Sheldon Shaughnessy´s Tooth-Whitening Potion because I wanted to have my coffee and cigarettes, and my white teeth too.)

After that you were, indeed, a lot less bothersome. At least in that way. But you and your gang of future Death Eaters continued to plague my, and my friends´, existence. Becoming prefect at the same time James did, nipping at our heels for the spotlight, trying to outdo us in every sphere... you academically, and some of your friends athletically. Showing off your Dark Arts knowledge, as if that was something to be proud of. Sneaking around trying to get us punished when you knew very well that your cronies were even worse troublemakers.

Yes, our rivalry was huge. But my gang was one step ahead of yours. James got to be Head Boy, not you, and Remus and I were not expelled. So there.

When we were sixth-years, we attended a concert by the London Philharmonic. I wasn´t sure I was going to like it since I preferred rock music to classical, but when they started playing Beethoven, I was mesmerized. It was the 7th Symphony, I think. During the slow movement I glanced over... and there you were, a few rows to my left, sitting next to a Slytherin girl I had seen you with a few times. I braced myself for the sickening chill I felt whenever you entered my mind.

But I was greeted with something I did not expect. You seemed almost... softened. Your eyes were closed and you were breathing deeply, as if drinking in the atmosphere. You were not like a dementor at all... you looked enraptured. From time to time you grabbed the hand of the girl next to you, and opened your eyes, but kept them on the stage. I saw that they glittered like black diamonds. I don´t know what I would have done if you had turned those eyes with their rarely seen spark on me. Probably run out of the stands.

Because I didn´t want to think about it. Did we have the same taste in music? You were rumored to have a taste for punk rock too.

Sitting there, I thought of that time I had looked into your eyes. The time I finally showed you I wasn´t going to be cowed. We were both standing up to full height, for just a few seconds, and we were exactly on level. I overlooked the soul-sinking feeling long enough to gaze right back in defiance. You seemed to look up and down the length of me, as you had done many times before... and then, miraculously, you backed off.

You had said nothing to me. There was nothing exactly malicious in your look, and I saw no trace of the very perverted ideas I feared I´d find. And yet... there was something very strange about your expression. Unless I missed my guess... it was almost as if you were asking me for something important.

I shivered in my seat as memories and previously overlooked details crept into my brain... The way you carried yourself. The way you seemed to radiate nobility even in the way you positioned your head. The way I´d heard you give answers in class... the cultivated, silky tone you had to your voice even when you were--eleven? Twelve? The way your whole aura seemed to say, I mean business and I know exactly what I´m doing. The graceful movements of your hands. Your dignified walk. Your sarcastic sense of humor. Your keen intelligence. Your thirst for knowledge. Oh my God, those eyes...

For my peace of mind, I did not need this. How do you tell someone you consider not worth scraping off the bottom of your shoe, that you feel that somehow you´re like him? The answer is you can´t.

*****

This was a matter to discuss with the person I trusted the most--my father. He was not only an upstanding member of the Ministry and a stable presence throughout my childhood, he was so different from the horror stories of parents I´d heard from some of my friends. He even allowed me to wear my hair long without any fuss. And unlike some wizards out there, he remained devoted and loving to my mother.

I sent an owl to him as soon as I got back to Hogwarts, detailing everything that had been going on in my mind since the concert. The state of my mind must have been equally loud and clear. My hands were shaking, my handwriting was awful. Would Dad be able to decipher it?

The reply, which came a few days later, was a nice, soothing letter about unimportant topics-- what basically amounted to "blah, blah, blah." He hadn´t answered my questions at all.

I sent back another letter. I guess it must have been even more fretful than the first one, for this time Dad seemed to be trying very hard to soothe me. The gist of the message was that I didn´t need to waste my time fretting over such a thing... that I would better spend my energy getting more O.W.L.´s, that I was over-analyzing the situation. That I should just calm down, it was an anxiety attack from the shock of going to London, from being around Muggles.

I felt like I´d been slapped in the face. First of all, I never got "shocked" from going to strange places and commingling with Muggles--in fact I enjoyed it, and always have. I was his son-- how could he overlook that. Secondly--why was he quite blatantly dodging my questions? I came to him with something important, and here he was, basically telling me it was hogwash. What if it really was hogwash? He did have a nasty little habit of being right, given time...

I could talk to him about anything, absolutely anything. Politics, controversy, literature, even sex and other so-called "uncomfortable" topics, he and I were perfectly at ease discussing. Why could I not talk to him about this particular topic?

*****

That Christmas season I went home, to my family´s usual splendid Christmas dinner. My father, who resembled me but with his black hair cut short, his brothers and their families; all in all a boisterous bunch. My golden-haired swan of a mother, and her relatives from France, just as chatty but more dignified. A fireplace was roaring, the air was spicy-smelling, and the food was heavenly. But I was not in the usual mood of Christmas cheer. I wasn´t about to give up on my questions yet.

My five-year-old Parisian cousin greeted me and tried to start a conversation with me in French. I knew not a word, and clumsily tried to tell him so. He looked a little annoyed. I have never been very confident in my ability to pick up foreign languages.

I sat next to Mum at dinner as everyone chattered. She wasn´t talking to anyone that moment. I turned to her and asked, "Mum? How come you hardly ever spoke French to me?"

She looked at me, a little surprised. "Why should you ask me that, Sirius?"

"Because it´s a little embarrassing to have French relatives and not be able to speak their language."

"Oh, but Sirius, I´m in England. When I met your father I didn´t know English at all. And when you´re in a new country, you´re supposed to learn the new language, and that´s that." She looked at me as if she were surprised that this fact was not universally understood and accepted.

It certainly wasn´t by me. She had always been so eager to please my dad. But I thought giving up one´s native tongue was a bit excessive. Even her accent was practically gone. James´ mother wasn´t like that. She was fluent in four Muggle languages and Gobbledygook, and quite often spoke them around her family. But James, like me, was decidedly non-talented when it came to picking them up. It was the one thing the two of us were absolutely miserable at.

After everyone finished eating, my relatives resumed their lively banter. I noticed Dad going up to his room by himself. This was my opportunity.

He was in his bedroom and his back was to me when I called to him. He turned around. "Sirius, what do you want?"

"Dad," I said. "I need to talk to you."

"What do you want to talk about?" I detected the faintest glimmer of suspicion.

"Dad, have you been paying attention at all to what I said in those letters?"

"I thought our discussion on this was final."

"No. It´s not final. I´ve got a feeling and I can´t shake it. I´ve tried to shout this feeling down, but it won´t be."

"You should try harder then." He was starting to look extremely uncomfortable.

"I can´t try any harder."

"Has everything I taught you about mind over matter gone to waste, Sirius? Are you to be undone by this... neurosis?"

"Neurosis? Dad, this is a sign. A sign I think I should bloody well pay attention to!"

"I say it´s a neurosis if it´s causing you to imagine things that aren´t true, and to get worked up about things you shouldn´t."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. He was supposed to be my confidant. "Dad, take a look at me. You´ve gone to Hogwarts before. Haven´t you even seen what Snape looks like?"

He twitched at the mention of "Snape." Suddenly it hit me. He always had a particular look whenever that name was mentioned. It was subtle, probably something only detectable by the most astute wizard... forget a naïve teenager. I must have seen that look dozens of times... all the times I commiserated with him about my nemesis. And I recognized that only now-- far too late.

"No, and I don´t need to know what he looks like. He´s a Slytherin, a filthy Slytherin. You think you are like that?" He grabbed my arm and forced me to look at him. "Answer me, Sirius. Do you cheat? Do you lie, swindle, and connive? Do you?"

"Dad..."

"Do you hear me, Sirius? You do not do those things. If you did those things you would not be my son. I would not have a son who is a good-for-nothing con man like the ones in that house. You are my son. Therefore, you are not Slytherin. You are nothing like Slytherin. You will banish all thoughts of this from your head, for that is not you. Understand?"

His stern gaze made me want to dissolve into the floor. I knew he was being irrational, but he was bigger and more powerful than me. I managed a weak yes.

"Good. Now go downstairs, enjoy the dessert and eggnog, and have fun with your relatives." His face looked jovial again. But I was not the least bit comforted.

For the rest of the night, I saw Dad being very affectionate to Mum. Their hands barely unclasped all night, they danced with the closeness expected of a long-in-love couple, and her passionately kissed her several times. They looked the way I´d seen them in their wedding photos. I was puzzled. He wasn´t usually that demonstrative. Mum did not seem to find it strange. Maybe he had too much eggnog. Mum knows best.

I hadn´t asked him about her not speaking French. What I really wanted to ask was if he loved her. But I probably would have ended up as a cockroach.

I left the house and walked to James´ place, even though it was quite late. The Potter family house was only a short jaunt away. We had known each other since we were toddlers. A little later on, Remus and Peter emerged from the fireplace. We all had a real Christmas celebration with games and pranks and laughter--my family´s party now felt downright stiff by comparison. The exchange with my father was quickly forgotten.

I somehow felt more a part of James´ family than my own. Don´t get me wrong, I loved my parents. I was proud of how they brought me up. And my father was not usually that intractable. He was no tyrant.

But still I often found myself nudged into a role I was not at all suited to... the prince, the over-privileged young scion. I was a punk-rock-loving rebel, a free spirit. I did not really want an estate and a beautiful wife who bent over backwards for me. I wanted to ride my motorbike around the world with a wild girl like... like... like James´s girlfriend. Or like his mother. Or I might have been perfectly happy never taking up with anyone at all.

James´s mother was special. She had something the mothers of my other friends didn´t. I didn´t want a wife unless she could be like that and stay like that. I knew such a wife would be too rare.

If my only choice was to end up in a relationship like the ones so many of my friends´ parents found themselves in... well, I would choose to remain blissfully unloved for the rest of my life.

*****

After that, of course, came the prank James and I pulled on you, and I forgot about our imagined kinship. You retreated to your circle of friends, and for the first time at Hogwarts, we barely saw each other. Voldemort was certainly gaining power, and there were rumors that your gang, being amateur Dark Arts practitioners, supported him, but that´s all that I considered them to be at the time-- rumors. Many people were indifferent, because the killings and tortures hadn´t started yet. Even a good deal of non-Slytherins thought Voldemort might bring good to the cause of wizard blood preservation. There was a small but vocal group of people back then, putting forth the fear that marrying Muggles diluted magic powers for future generations.

Later on, when I discovered that the Voldemort-supporting on your part was not a rumor but the truth, most people finally woke up to the fact that the Dark Lord was not some benevolent messiah come to restore pride and supremacy to wizard-kind, but a terrorist and a petty dictator. But by then, he was too powerful to be stopped by anything but an all-out war.

Dad was one of those Ministry members who was assigned to be an emergency Auror should backups be needed. Mum and I thought he would never see the field of battle. Then... a few years after my graduation, attacks had intensified. I was living on my own then, and one evening I received the owl telling me that my father had gone to fight the Death Eaters. I wished him luck, and gave my parents my prayers.

A month after that came the Manchester Meltdown--one of the deadliest battles of the fight against Voldemort. Almost three thousand witches and wizards died in one week--and my parents were two of them. That battle was a Death Eater victory, and things looked bleak for the Aurors after that.

The day before my parents died, James had let me know that Lily was pregnant.

You know what happened next--more fighting, more killing, Harry´s birth, James and Lily´s death, and my time in Azkaban.

At the first mirror I came to after escaping, I looked up and gasped. To say I was a wreck would be an understatement. Ghostly pale face, filthy hair, ribs practically poking through my skin. What a far cry from the Adonis everyone knew back at school, he of the wolfishly handsome good looks, supple body, silken black hair and bronze glow. I had always been fastidious about my appearance. My old friends wouldn´t have found me less recognizable, if I´d had green skin and antennae sprouting from my head.

I looked in the mirror again--and this time I nearly fainted. My eyes, gleaming and hungry. Drawing in everything from the outside like a black hole. The expression of someone who had been driven to the breaking point, but came back through grabbing and holding on to some inexplicable idea.

I had seen those eyes before. The eyes of a person I was not to mention... Those eyes and mine were one and the same.

Where were Dad´s eyes?

Dad. He had been so proud that I was a Gryffindor, like him. When I had first started at Hogwarts he told his friends that I would be placed in his own House. In doing this he was confident, even arrogant. But I knew that inside, he was not all that confident. He had a deep dread of my being placed in Slytherin. Why, I wondered, should he be afraid of that? The Sorting Hat knows what it knows; it only puts into Slytherin those who have Slytherin characteristics.

But I never told him that the Sorting Hat complimented me on my panache, my cunning, my independence, my talent and my intensity... `all things that would make you an outstanding member of Slytherin House´.

Thinking like my father as always, I had asked the hat not to put me in Slytherin. And so I went to Gryffindor. `The kind of person you are, dear, there is really only a choice between two. And since you don´t want the one, we´ll have to go with the other...´

How eerie it was to later discover that Harry, my godson, had done the exact same thing. He said that Dumbledore later admitted that he had qualities Slytherin himself admired in his students. Hearing that, I thought... they don´t strike me as particularly different from Gryffindor qualities. I always did suspect that the two houses were rather similar. Slytherins might have passed for Gryffindors if they´d been a bit jollier, and vice versa... so if I´d been a bit darker in disposition I would have indeed gone to Slytherin...

But what was really dark anyway? How many outwardly good-humored people are concealing dark secrets? At least with a dark demeanor you know there is no secret...

The Slytherins are so infatuated with mind over matter. Sounds an awful lot like you, Dad! Hate to burst your bubble...

*****

I should have known that it was inevitable I would see you again. Dumbledore has just ordered us to shake hands. You are as surly as ever. And yes, there it is... that searching look in your eye again. You cock your head... your eyes fall on our hands for a split second as we shake and immediately disengage. Your palm is surprisingly soft, and your fingers long and graceful... how very like mine.

Night comes and I am dreaming. I am in my early twenties again, invisibly watching my parents at our house. Far from being affectionate, they are in the midst of a terrible argument. Dad is shouting that he never really loved my mother, that she bored him. Mum is jabbering in rapid French. I know that when under extreme stress, a person from a foreign country will often revert to their native tongue. Then in the next moment, I am revisiting the scene of my parents´ death. The leveled section of town, the smell of cinders, my parents´ bodies burned but otherwise wound-less, indicating that they had been killed with Avada Kedavra.

It have a really strange attitude. Instead of being devastated like I had been in real life, I am coolly rational. I survey the scene, just as crisp as a cucumber, and then I say, "I´ll bet it was Severus." Then off in the distance, I see you. You fix me with an intense gaze, and... is that a smile? And you say, "Took you long enough!"

Took me long enough??

I wake with a start. My heart is pounding at what you and I have just said. I am at Hogwarts in a flash. I have to ask Dumbledore some questions.

"Sirius," he says sleepily, finally getting to me. "It´s after three in the morning."

"Professor," I say, looking him straight in the eye. "I just had the strangest dream of my life, and I´ve just got to get some answers on this." I describe my dream, and then ask, "Dumbledore, did he do it? When he was a Death Eater? Did Snape kill my parents?"

Dumbledore flinches at that. Then he gives me a sad look. "No, Sirius. He did not kill your parents."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I am positive. Regrettably, Severus did kill a few people in his time... but he absolutely no part of the Manchester Meltdown, Sirius." To prove it, he shows me through the past twenty years´ annals. There are the names of about sixty Death Eaters implicated in the killings and tortures of that battle. Your name is not on the list.

"He could still have done it and not gotten caught," I say, unbelieving.

"He didn´t do it, Sirius. Trust me. Severus is fighting for our side."

I hold my breath. If I am going to get answers, I might as well try now. Dumbledore would be patient with me, at least.

"Headmaster? There´s something else. Something about Snape. Something to do with my father. There was something between them. There must be..."

Dumbledore´s eyes are suddenly shining brightly. "Well...I must say I´m surprised that you never asked me about this sooner, Sirius," he says.

My eyes widen. So he knew something all along?

"You and Severus... you thought of him as nothing but malicious and cold-hearted."

"Damn right."

"He likewise felt you were too frivolous to amount to anything."

"Why the hell should I care what he thinks? Now, then, or ever?"

He looks sad again. "It´s really a shame the two of you have to hate each other. He´s had a harder life than you think, Sirius. You ought to have some compassion for him."

I am disappointed. This is not news to me. "He as much deserves compassion, as I deserved to go to Azkaban. There is no excuse for how he´s been to me."

"True on the last one," said Dumbledore, frowning, "but I say this because you grew up in a loving family, Sirius. Did you ever stop to think about what was said in your family? As well as the things that may not have been said?"

I don´t know.

"They say that those who begin with a head start, have an edge down the road. That´s what close families are for. I have seen the results of that head start, in you. You have a glow, an unshakeable confidence, that protects you from many of the hardships of life. But what of those who don´t have that head start? The families that aren´t so loving, for instance. Or the ones where the struggle for survival is ever-present, and so burdensome that there is no time for enjoyment of life. Severus grew up in that kind of family.

"You might think that since he started out so poorly, that he was doomed to live in squalor and futility. Yet he never lost his passion for life. He still entertained thoughts of glory, of elegance, of personal success--even when most in his position would have considered that too much of a luxury. He never believed he should settle for just surviving, or for having a comfortable but mediocre life."

"Don´t try to make me feel sorry for Snape, or warm and fuzzy toward him, Headmaster... because I won´t. And I don´t even see where I come in here."

"Sirius... when you and Severus were first-years, I received a letter. It was from a woman who was trying to scrape her way out of a rough life. She was not married, but she had a child, and they lived in dire poverty, to the point of nearly starving on numerous occasions. She was clearly in a good deal of distress, but her message was still coherent. It still moves me to think of what was in there... confusion at how she could be so easily cast away, anger at how her life had so miserably failed her.... you see, the father of her child deserted her, Sirius."

My heart sinks at this. "Why?"

"No one knows except him. But still... and this is where I really was moved... she was full of determination to rise above her bad fortune. She made it plain that nothing was going to keep her son from receiving a good education. She was so proud of him, went on about his intelligence and his self-discipline, how he could perform advanced spells at such a young age. And she instructed me--I can´t really say `pleaded´, for she was a lot more forceful than that--to provide a loving presence for her son. He wouldn´t require much supervision, he was independent enough--but I should be his safe place to fall when things went wrong. And there was something more: she also asked that he get to know you."

Did I hear that correctly? "Me?"

"Yes, you, Sirius."

"How would this woman know of me?"

"Through your father, Sirius."

What?

"He was a fine father to you, and a fine husband to your mother. But he had a secret all these years. Your mother was not the only woman he loved. In fact, this other woman happened to be in his life at the exact same time as your mother. Frankly, there was an even chance he would have married her instead."

I can see what´s coming and I don´t like it.

"Apparently, they both got pregnant at the same time. And being what he was, your father had to choose. And he chose your mother over the other woman."

I´m starting to feel a chill. "Dumbledore... was it her? The letter woman?"

Dumbledore nods. Now I am really cold.

In spite of myself I press on. "And the child?"

"He went to Hogwarts, Sirius."

I am not hearing this. "You mean..."

"Yes, Sirius," said Dumbledore. "That child was Severus Snape."

NO.

I cannot take this.

I absolutely cannot take this.

Dumbledore, though, is unfazed. "Like I said, Sirius, I´m surprised you haven´t come to me sooner about this. You two are extraordinarily alike, believe it or not. And you always were. Your passion, your confidence, your curiosity about the world... that is all in Severus too. Your names even sound a bit alike--doesn´t that make you stop and think as well? The big difference between you two was your childhoods."

Gods, stop torturing me. Turn off these memories and images NOW... Your questing looks. Our attitudes toward life. My father´s repeated attempts to blow me off. I had chalked it up to his intense dislike for Slytherins in general. How short-sighted I was.

You may not be a dementor, but... no, you´re worse than a dementor. My passion, my confidence, my curiosity about the world... my sense of humor. You have them and you cast a dark pall on them, so they are mere shadows of what they really should be!

You make a mockery of everything I ever liked about myself. You cause me to doubt myself and everything I stand for. You make me lose myself...

Somehow I found my way back to the here and now. My voice is shaking. "Professor? How did Sev..." no, damnit! "...Snape feel about my father?"

"He hated him, Sirius. He wanted to kill him. And I can´t say I blame him."

I swallow. I have regained a little strength. "But you say he didn´t kill my parents."

"He was no longer a Death Eater by that time. He couldn´t possibly have done it."

"I still can´t believe that," I hear myself say.

"I don´t expect you to, at least not now. Give yourself a little time." And with that the Headmaster turns away.

*****

Maybe you didn´t kill my parents. However, you have succeeded in killing something else-- my faith in them. I will never be able to look at my parents, or my childhood, in the same way again. What a desolate feeling, that my security and happiness came through my father´s cheating someone else out of theirs. You have succeeded in performing the final disillusionment of me--I may be doomed to forever wonder if in every loving exchange between human beings, there is a hidden agenda.

A mindset so very like you. I had wondered whether you would become joyful like me, since you have so many of my traits. Instead, Azkaban and now this revelation have made me like you.

Perhaps you are a dementor after all, for you have taken my soul at last...

But what am I saying. To say so is to shoot the messenger. You are a messenger, as it turns out, that I have avoided at my own peril.

FINIS