After the Star Fell into the Waters

The ancient halls of Hogwarts had emptied once more. For the first time in months, there was not a whisper of a laugh or shout--just silence remained. Granted, the students had been shaken by Cedric Diggory's death the term before, but that had been a momentary shock that had abated after a quiet summer. While the last month or so following that Skeeter woman's article had held a sense of greater awareness among the Hogwarts residents, the full reality of the evil waiting outside of this sanctuary had not quite hit the majority of the school's population. And even now that that fool of a Minister finally acknowledged the Dark Lord's return--though it had taken an Azkaban break-out and an attack within the Ministry itself to convince him--only a handful of students truly understood the danger.

This new generation was too soft. The entire wizarding world had grown too soft. He had suspected that this would happen ever since he passed the first group of wizards celebrating the Dark Lord's demise on that fateful Halloween night. His first urge had been to shake them by the shoulders, to scream at them, "BUT HE IS NOT DEAD! HIS SPIRIT STILL REMAINS!" The battle was still far from over. The evil had been temporarily suppressed, but it was still biding its time, waiting till it was strong enough to return. And it had. Oh God, it certainly had.

In those stolen years of peace, the fear began to die. True, no wizard save one--Dumbledore himself--would call the Dark Lord by his true name, always opting for the now-sinister phrase "You-Know-Who". But he was generally spoken of as a "was", not an "is". Good and evil became themes fit for story books. Murder was a vague threat that only occasionally occurred, and always to some far-away stranger. Death was no longer something that could lurk behind every corner.

He could see that same sense of complacency even among members of the Order. That Tonks-girl--an Auror!--was entirely too green, too innocent. The fight against the Dark Lord was just the stuff of idealistic dreams; no one could truly get hurt. Though perhaps now that had changed slightly. He had been her cousin, after all.

Severus Snape's boots echoed through the Great Hall as he made his way back to his dungeon retreat. Damn that Sirius Black. He should have known better. His best friends had been murdered, he had been imprisoned in a cell in Azkaban for years...he had to have known the danger. And yet, the brash fool had run off to the Department of Ministries and had gotten himself killed. How typical.

The Snape-Black hatred had been the stuff of legends since their first day at Hogwarts, surpassing even the notorious Snape-Potter conflict. Most outsiders attributed it to petty childhood rivalry--"That nasty Snape must just be jealous of handsome and clever young Sirius Black." And as for Sirius Black's hatred for him--well, Severus Snape had never exactly been the most popular of students. It was all so simple and understandable. Snape snorted.

Perhaps it had begun that way. But did people honestly believe that those reasons could sustain the burning rage in his heart for so many years? Even Snape was not that shallow or petty. Oh no. The true hatred had begun the day Black nearly killed him via Whomping Willow and werewolf.

It irked him that for so many years, no one could possibly understand. Dumbledore had sworn him to secrecy to protect Lupin, and so the rest of the world continued in the delusion that Snape really was just a jealous, "slimy git". He could have DIED. If that Potter--Snape's lips twisted darkly at the memory--hadn't come along, he would have been immolated and scattered to the winds in proper wizarding fashion long ago.

Snape heard repeatedly--from Dumbledore and Black himself--that Black didn't really mean to try to murder him. It was just a joke. A potentially deadly joke. If anything, that only made it worse. His life was merely something to be played around with.

And Lupin! How the werewolf ever managed to forgive Black was beyond Snape's comprehension. Snape prided himself in being a good dueler--a couple of well-thrown hexes might have hurt Lupin as well. And by simply taking advantage of Lupin's condition to play a prank on Snape, Black had reduced the werewolf--his "friend"--to a mere tool. Once again, Black ignored the value of life.

It was that--Black's total disregard for the meaning of Life and Death--that truly incensed Severus Snape. It was the one thing that was completely unforgivable. Snape realized full well the similarities between him and Black. They were both tall, dark, clever, born to Dark wizards (which automatically implied unhappy childhood), and fiercely passionate--however well Snape managed to keep himself under strict self-control most of the time. But there was one key difference--a difference that could easily (and appropriately) be compared to that between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Slytherins often are called cowards. When the Dark Lord was temporarily defeated, countless former Slytherins such as Lucius Malfoy claimed that they had acted under Imperius. A Bellatrix Lestrange was truly a rarity. When given the choice between ideals and saving their skin, most Slytherins overwhelmingly choose the latter. Self-preservation is common among members of Slytherin House.

Gryffindors, on the other hand, are often considered "brave". Snape sneered at the thought. "Brave" was generally a euphemism for "brash" and "foolhardy". It wasn't that Slytherins could not be "brave"--did it not require courage for him to continuously betray and face the Dark Lord?--but Slytherins would only attempt a task if there was a chance of survival. Gryffindors lacked that particular quality--no matter how great the risk, no matter how likely it was that they would be killed, they would continue to rush into danger. A Slytherin knew Death (often intimately) and feared it, but a Gryffindor ignored it completely and did not give Death the respect it was due. In that, Black had been a perfect Gryffindor.

Damn the man. If he had thought just for one second, had stayed behind, allowed the other members of the Order save his precious godson...but of course not. That would be too Slytherin.

Then there was Harry. That boy truly had entirely too much Gryffindor in him. If the child had waited just a bit longer to determine if Black was actually captured... And now Potter blamed him for Black's demise. Snape honestly could not follow the boy's logic. While perhaps he was not completely guilt-free, the choice had ultimately been up to Black. As much as he had loathed the man, it had been Black's choice to tempt Death. Snape grimaced. No doubt Harry's godfather would become a martyr to him, someone to emulate--as if Potter needed more encouragement to be "brave". It appeared that the fate of the world lied in the hands of a boy likely to get himself killed at any moment.

Snape silently whispered the password to his private rooms, "Ho absinthos." Within moments he was pouring himself a drink with slightly shaking hands. Damn that Sirius Black.