- Rating:
- G
- House:
- The Dark Arts
- Ships:
- Lily Evans/Severus Snape
- Characters:
- Severus Snape
- Genres:
- Angst
- Era:
- The Harry Potter at Hogwarts Years
- Stats:
-
Published: 06/16/2007Updated: 06/16/2007Words: 675Chapters: 1Hits: 610
That Cold January Night
rebelchild090
- Story Summary:
- It's a cold night at the beginning of January, and Snape goes to pay his annual visit to someone he loved. (one shot)
That Cold January Night
- Chapter Summary:
- Its a cold night at the beginning of January, and Snape goes to pay his annual visit to someone he loved. (one shot)
- Posted:
- 06/16/2007
- Hits:
- 610
The dark halls of Hogwarts were cold and barren with the exception of one on that cold January night.
Silently, a black form swept through the corridors, neither word nor sound emanating from it. Slipping around
the corner, carefully treading on the stone floor, the figure flicked a pinpoint of light into existence.
Shadows cast along his face, Snape slowly, hesitantly approached a large pane of reflective glass, the focal
point of the entire stone room. Closing his black, soulless eyes he pressed his hand against the Mirror of Erised, taking a deep breath before opening his eyes again. The ebony wand chasing away the darkness around him, he stepped back with a small, sad smile to view the mirror's contents. He could hear her voice again, as sweet and clear as the last time she spoke.
"Happy Birthday, Severus."
His cold, thin, pallid lips parted momentarily, whispering a thank you to the image he saw. The woman before
him smiled broadly, placing a loving hand on his reflection's arm. The corners of his lips turned up again,
chill bumps rising on his arms at the imaginary touch. He reached to place his white hand on top of hers and as
so many times before he felt only the coarse, heavy material of his robes. He cleared his throat, chasing the
salty tears away from his eyes and wrenched his hand back to his side. In the radiant white glow he could see
the imaginary woman's bright red hair tickle her rosy cheeks, tempting him, calling to him to try and touch the
playful locks of auburn. For a moment Snape let himself believe she stood beside him, unfamiliar warmth
cascading over his corpselike body until reality made itself plain again, the warmth retreating. He licked his
lips nervously and allowed himself another moment to bask in his imaginary bliss, to enjoy the moment where for
once he was not entirely alone. At least there was an image. He bowed his head slowly, his long greasy black
hair spilling past his hooked nose and somber expression, then turning around found the horrified, confused
expression of a black haired boy who dared to be out of bed at these hours.
"Potter!" Snape choked, stumbling back in a startled surprise and crashing into the mirror. Thick bolts ran from the impact to the edge of the glass pane's frame, thinner fractures branching from the initial cracks. Within that brief second of impact the mirror was in shards on the floor. Snape dropped to his knees, not even attempting to rescue any scraps of composure he may have been able to salvage at that moment. He grabbed
desperately at the shattered pieces of glass, tearing his calloused hands as he tried with pointless exertion to piece together the magic mirror. The reality began to creep into his mind though his hands were rapidly moving
over the pieces to the unsolvable puzzle. "Get out," Snape bellowed, not willing to turn and face the boy, "GET
OUT!" He could hear Harry's feet pound against the floor as he ran from the scene. Thin trails of crimson ebbed
from Snape's cold hands as he clutched what was left of his dream, the alternate reality he had made a point to
visit every year at this time. In moments it had disappeared just as she had, the auburn haired goddess he had come
to the mirror to see. "Lily," he murmured, the tears finally escaping his eyes. He pressed the broken shards against the floor as though they would float away without him protecting them. Momentarily the dark potions
master lingered there, letting all regret and loneliness drain from his being. Silently he rose once again to
his feet, taking his wand in his bloodied hand and tucking the other under his robes. Just as he had come he
left without a sound, his characteristic expression of stone etched on his face, leaving the broken pieces of a
life he had longed to lead in the darkness mingled with tears and blood.