See end for some notes on the flower translation ect.
Severus Snape jerked a hand furiously towards the door, making it slam shut on the green-eyed menace fleeing his dungeons. He could barely contain the fury boiling in him, making his hands shake; mixing toxically with a familiar burning mortification. The brat knew! Potter's dunderheaded spawn knew! He knew and would use it against him and humiliate him, just like his misbegotten father!
And now it would be all over the school by morning! His shame! His humiliation. He grabbed the nearest jar and hurled it at the closed door. The jar was of cockroaches, (he kept especially for these moments.) They shattered, and the tiny brown bodies slid slimily down the door. He watched them go feeling slightly better, but still mortified, furious.
How dare he! He wanted to haul the brat back in there and make him scrub cauldrons until his fingers bled, until the day he died. How dare he play him! How dare he lie and manipulate him! How dare he treat him that way! How dare he know!
The brat was such an arrogant blighter, such a terror like his idiotic father. And how dare he know Severus's shame. How did the little blighter find out! Potter was dead and still he lived on in his son to torment Severus Snape!
He wanted to smash and break every jar in that room! He rained it in slightly and crossed to the door hidden behind the shelves in the wall behind his desk. He hurried down the tight spiral stairs behind the door and into his rooms housed below in the lower dungeons. It was blissfully quiet and deserted down there. He stalked across his rooms and out the door, exiting his rooms into the rest of the lower dungeons. It was even colder down there; silent. He stalked down a corridor, around a corner and into one of the old potions classrooms.
He didn't notice it was cleaner than it should have been for a long abandoned room, didn't notice the tables were freshly scrubbed, didn't see the fresh scorch marks. He would later. It would make him think later when he reviewed and sorted his memories of the day. Then it would make him think, make him go back and have a closer look. But now he dismissed it and let himself indulge in his fury.
Instead, he stormed across the room to grabbed the hearest chair, raising it over his head and bring it down with a crash. Upending the old desks, picking up chairs and throwing them, hexing every bit in sight. He let himself fume in a way he rarely allowed himself to. There are no potion ingredients down here, it was safe. Safe to smash things without wasting hard won ingredients and risking blowing up the castle.
He was humiliated and furious and mortified. He threw things and broke things only to mend them and wreck them all over again. It was hard exhausting work, trashing the place.
He was numbly aware of the wards around his office going off, but he dismissed it. They were warded to the high heavens. No-one would get in without his say-so.
He didn't want to be wrong! He didn't want Potter to be abused. He didn't want to have failed Lily. Potter was a menace, out to get him, use and humiliate him just like his rotten father! He didn't want Potter to be like him. Potter was an arrogant snot, and that made him justified in taking his resentment out on a child. It justified his harshness as Severus Snape never wanted to be the bully his masters wanted to make him.
He always resented Potter's carefree childhood and arrogance. And like Dumbledore said, he was the one who needed to teach the brat about the unfairness of life. But if the boy was like him... then that just made Severus Snape another one of a long line of abusers.
And he'd never wanted that.
Potter could not be abused.
He exploded the teacher's desk with uncontrolled magic, the likes of which had not escaped him in years. It rained shrapnel everywhere.
He wasn't a bully! He wasn't, he thought with furious desperation. He wasn't an abuser! He wasn't just like James Potter, Tobias Snape and Avery and Mulciber. He wasn't!
Was he?
He was a Slytherin after all. He knew where the line was and crossed it pointedly at times, but he never took it too far. Never.
Had he taken it too far? He'd been practically an adult at that age! He'd had a thick skin and had taken it any time an adult or child dolled it out on him. Why couldn't they do it too? If he had, they should have been able to! The little shits!
Had he miscalculated? Had he taken being a strict and harsh teacher, necessary for such a dangerous subject, too far? Had he become what he hated?
No, of course not.
He'd sworn to follow Dumbledore, to atone for not being able to keep Lily safe. He'd been fighting from the shadows for so long.
He'd wanted to do the right thing, to fight for the light, to be free. To do something right for a change. Had he got it wrong again? He'd just wanted acknowledgment. To be congratulated for once, but nothing he did for Albus was enough, and it always had to be the hard, harsh road.
Always in the shadows; forgotten and sneered at, loathed and condemned at with suspicion...
Was following really the answer when there was nobody trustworthy to follow? When no-one could be trusted with the safety of his soul?
He was so tired of fighting so hard all the time. He just wanted someone to sort it all out for a change. For it not to be him for a change.
He just wanted to get something right for a change.
He snared at himself for admitting the weakness, the need for approval he hated and had tried to squash out of himself since he had been a young child. It never got you anything but heartache.
Had he really been that bad? He looked back at his classes. What he thought was on the edge of reasonable, seemed less reasonable now. Longbottom, making that first year cry, the Weasley twins - they had talent, maybe it should be nurtured, even if they never brewed what they were meant to in class...
Goddess, what had he done?
And Potter, the little liar!
But her eyes, her eyes, her green eyes. They almost looked terrified on his face, almost looked hurt, lost as he'd ran from the room. But that story... so wild. It couldn't possibly be anything but a made-up lie.
But the boy never could lie.
So then...
There was a knock at the door.
He took a swift breath, drawing everything in behind Occlumency shields, boxing the raging emotions up tightly with a mere thought. He flicked his wand, before sweeping it across the room in a wide arch repairing everything and removing all traces of his meltdown.
"People don't often come down this far Severus," Filius Flitwick said, looking at him closely when he opened the door, "are you alright?"
"Fine" he lied shortly, "how did you find me?"
Filius raised an eyebrow, but said, "I know you better than you think, my friend."
Severus frowned but said nothing, so his colleague continued, "have you got a minute Severus?"
"Indeed," he drawled, taking a calming breath, "let us return to my office."
He led them back through the labyrinth that was the lower dungeons and back up to his office, avoiding crossing through his quarters.
With a quick flick of his wand, the jar repaired itself, and the cockroaches were back in their jar and returned to its place on the shelf. Hopefully, his colleague wouldn't notice.
"I gave those photos to her son, Severus," the small man said, as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Severus winced, and pushed everything behind his Occlumency barriers even further, so not to take his pain, fury and mortification out on his colleague. He actually liked Filius. He was one of the few exceptions to his general hatred of people, as Filius was one of the few who were not complete morons.
"I didn't tell him who you were, though I wouldn't be surprised if he worked it out, Severus. He's very bright, like his mother, truly." Filius continued.
Severus scowled. The brat knew alright. But he kept his lips pressed together in a thin line, to stop the vitriol he wanted to voice, from escaping his mouth. Potter knew! Potter knew who he was and what had happened. He didn't know how, but he knew Severus's worst memory. One of them anyway, unfortunately, the bad ones were far more numerous than the good.
Fuck!
After a pause, he merely said, "he has shown me nothing but arrogance and is as much a dunderhead as his father was," he spat.
"Really, Severus? Or is that what you want to see?" Filius asked, not in judgment but in a thought-provoking tone, and despite himself, Severus found himself thinking about it.
"He asked me to pass on a message," Filius started again, "he was so shocked when he pulled out the stack of photos from the envelope I put them in. He stared at them for a full 10 minutes, his mouth gaping." Fillips glanced up at Severus now his eyes bright.
"He was acting very queer today, very formal almost with cold detachment," Filius continued, a frown marring his face.
Severus looked up sharply at that but said nothing as Filius continued, "actually, like you were as a child occasionally. But he looked at those photos as if they were something sacred, something to be revered. He looked so much like her then, Severus. He was so grateful to have a few pictures I thought he would cry. Honestly, I get the impression his parents are never talked about at home, and he did say no-one talks about his mother. He asked me about her. He's coming for tea regularly, picking up her old tradition. To hear about her." Filius paused for a moment, surveying Severus.
Severus frowned but did not sneer in disdain at his colleague. Filius was smart. He may disagree with him about the Potter brat, but Filius always saw things a little differently. Severus often attributed it to his half-goblin nature, but his insights were usually spot on. He scowled.
"He asked me to pass on a message," Filius continued.
Severus held back a wince again, "he said and I quote, 'please sir, please convey my deepest, most sincere thanks to her friend. I am very grateful.' He meant it, Severus. It seemed odd, even from what I know of him. I get the impression he is not nearly as spoilt as the Prophet implies. He handed them back to me, Severus. He honestly expected me to take them back! He almost fell off his chair when I said they were for him to keep. It was as if he is not used to getting anything. It was very odd. Minerva was no help when I asked her about his home life either."
"What do you mean his home life," Severus snapped, "the little blighters treated like a prince. He cannot lie to save his life, and no-one grows up abused without learning the ability to lie," Severus finished bitterly.
"I'm starting to doubt that Severus," Filius said, "and it is hard to lie to a gifted legillimens, but anyway. I will leave you to your potions. I just wanted to pass on his thanks. He truly was very grateful."
Severus did not really notice him go. Too caught up again in that look of terror in her green eyes as the boy had fled the room. Could he have been telling the truth?
He pulled out his pensive. It was a dirty bribe of a gift from a dirty colleague. If not for the sheer usefulness of the item... he didn't want blood money. But, needs must. He pulled memory after memory out of his head, watching them swirl in the pensive, with slight trepidation, his lips curled into a familiar sneer of derision.
The boy couldn't be abused. He would have noticed from the start. And as if anyone in the Wizarding world, least of all Dumbledore would have let their precious golden boy be anything but a spoilt pampered brat!
Occluding his mind of all things Potter, he took a moment to look at it with an unbiased eye, as if the boy was one of his snakes, just to prove himself correct. Surely he would see just a spoilt arrogant brat...
Abuse would explain much though, especially if he really was kept ignorant as he claimed, but surely not... Not Lily's child. He never missed an abuse case. Even Longbottom, he had noticed within the first week. The boy was so cowed. He'd gone straight to the boy's Head of House, after demanding the boy had a health check. He was clean, just emotional abuse, and there was nothing Snape could do about it when he wasn't the boy's Head of House.
Snape could keep the boys history in mind, but he would not pander to anyone, would not relax his high standards for anyone. The boy had to learn to chop ingredients right and stop blowing things up!
But... No, the Potter boy was not abused! He would have seen it. His head started to throb, and he plunged his face into the pensive.
But... as he watched memory after memory of his interactions with the Potter brat, his sorting, his first Potions class, Potter failing his test to see if he were more like Lily or his father, the shrieking shack, the opening and leaving feasts, glimpses of Potter in the halls, in classes... it was not painting a good picture now that he examined them carefully.
He had been so tiny back at his sorting. The hat had dwarfed him, completely covering his head. The boy had a cold look of terror on his face now that Severus really looked at it. His face had been completely blank at first. He had brushed it off as arrogance, over-confidence, boredom even. But now Severus looked, it was a cool neutral mask that automatically covered the boy's true feelings of sheer terror and desperation. Severus knew that mask. He saw it himself in the mirror. And what did it say that an 11-year-old had managed to perfect that which had taken him years? Why was the child so scared? Sure, everyone was nervous before the sorting, but terror? What had been going on in that boy's head.
The boy had been far too small and thin to be a first year! He looked about 7 or 8. And really, even now it wasn't much better, Severus thought. He was still scrawny, underfed and undernourished... and his parents had been tall. Potter, the elder, had been irritatingly well built with little effort and Lily had always been naturally curvy. Their son should not have been so tiny and boney. Severus really thought he needed a few good meals, not that the boy ate much. Severus had dismissed it as being used to being pampered and being a picky eater.
But that couldn't be right... the boy should not be so small, but he was, as if starved and stunted. Which meant he may have had trouble eating... He'd need a good nutrient potion to build him up again. But come to think of it... nutrient potions had consistently been missing from his stores this term... He narrowed his eyes. That little thief!
Severus kept looking. Their first potion class showed next. He, Severus, had looked so furious, and he had been. He had been furious that he would have to deal with Potter's son. But looking back now, the boy had done nothing but take notes. And wasn't that embarrassing? He, Severus Snape, a teacher, had yelled at him for that! Sure the boy said nothing when Severus baited him to see if he'd react like his father. Sure, he had failed Severus's simple questions, proving he was not like his mother either, not bothering to read in preparation for class and had been unable to see Severus's hidden message. But now, he caught the familiar flinch and look of terror from the boy as Severus watched himself yell.
It was hidden well, hidden by carefully shown anger, behind a well-practised careful mask. But it was there. And Severus had not seen it for what it was. He should have, but instead had taken it for childish defiance and arrogance. Why had he not seen it. And why did a child so young have such a well-honed mask?
Why had he not seen it? He was the head of Slytherin; the house with the most abused children. He was the one other heads came to for guidance when they found an abused child in their house and didn't know what to do. How had he not noticed? Why had he not noticed? He always noticed.
Then, the troll incident. Potter falling to the floor from the trolls back just as they all came rushing in, as the troll fell. Now he looked, Potter had been hurt. There had been a wince as he hit the floor feet first, his ankle rolling. But as soon as the teachers had entered, Potter had stood up straight, his face blank and walked without even a limp.
Surly, the child, was not that good an actor. No-one was that good at hiding pain unless they had years of experience. And why would he? Unless he really was abused? Unless he really had spent years hiding his hurts, for fear of making them worse. He, Severus, knew that trait too well. No, it couldn't be... not Potter.
He looked at another potion class, his potion had exploded, and Potter didn't even flinched as he got burned, just tugged his too big sleeve down to hide the burn and kept on going, as if it had never happened. As if he was used to that kind of thing. But how could he be..?
Every time Potter's potion exploded due to a Slytherin, mostly Malfoy, tossing an ingredient in, every time Severus was forced to blame Potter not the real culprit for fear of jeopardising his position, Potter's eyes hardened, deadened, and he seemed to get smaller. But he did not look at all surprised. Severus squeezed his eyes shut as the memories kept playing. Potter had expected the treatment. And didn't that speak for itself?
Potter jerked every time he was touched, every time something startled him, or moved too quickly. His extraordinary reflexes seemed less an annoying gift that made him too much like his father, and now, now Severus saw them for what they were. The survival skills honed painstakingly over the years of abuse. Fuck. They were the skills honed from years of necessary practice, simply to stay alive and 'safe.'
Severus got a cold sick feeling in his gut as he saw himself in the boy's eyes. He knew that walk, knew that fear. The fear of discovery that would only get you beaten more. He saw that familiar distrustful look hidden behind the carefully faked childlike mask on Potter's face whenever he was around an adult.
That inherent distrust of adults, Severus knew it so well! But he had mistaken it for stubborn arrogance, for malice! How had he been so blind? How had he been such a moron! He was a man that prided himself on his intelligence!
Potter noticed everything, he was coming to see now, another thing Severus was familiar with. That exhausting hyper-vigilance that was necessary to keep one safe when the whole world was out to get you.
He looked too, for the boys supposed ignorance; slight confusion at some of his instructions, confusion at certain words, phrases or actions. It was glaringly obvious now, the boy had known nothing. He was meant to have been tutored! To be ahead of his classmates!
How could he have been wrong! He had been so confident in his belief that the boy was a lazy bully like his father! Had treated him as such, done his job to take the boy down a peg or two.
But he had been wrong! It was inconceivable!
He pulled out of the pensive and was nearly sick. All this time. All this time he had seen the boy as his father, as the reincarnate of Severus's own abuser, or one of them. When in reality, the boy was too much like himself as a young boy. Too ignorant to be anything but unknowingly arrogant and rude.
He had always assumed the boy was a moron. Too lazy to bother, but if he'd been kept in the dark, deliberately... He would have only had half the cards, no wonder he got bad marks. It would certainly explain his sudden sharp improvement.
Though, while Potter often messed up his potions, they very rarely, if ever, exploded dangerously. That actually took some talent. He knew the Malfoy brat often tossed things in his cauldron, to try and make it explode. Oh, how Severus would love to be able to give that brat the string of detentions he deserved for his dunderheaded murderous pranks. The dunderheaded-brainless-spineless-fool!
Could the Potter boy have been deliberately getting them wrong? Was the boy actually in possession of even a spec of his mother's intelligence? Even his ingredient prep had improved. The boy now used the same method as Lily had used for brewing potions, the method he, Severus, had taught her.
He sighed.
So the boy was telling the truth. He had been ignorant. He had realised the errors in his behaviour. And now Severus could see it all, he had no idea how he had missed it. Was he really so blinded by his loathing for James Potter that he missed the signs of an abused child? An innocent child? Lily's child? Lily's child who he had sworn to protect?
Severus' stomach heaved suddenly, and he was sick all over the stone floor, only just missing his desk. He was shaking, badly. He hadn't lost control that badly in years.
The fact that Lily's son had been abused and he, Severus Snape, Lily's best friend! The boy's protector, and an abuse survivor himself, had not seen it, had done nothing, and had been no better than that abusive bullying git, James Potter! Severus heaved again. He had become no better than his own tormentors, his own father who he had sworn never to be like.
He stumbled backward under the force of the realisation, landing on his ass in a totally undignified manner. He clamped a hand over his mouth to try and stop himself from being sick for the third time as bile filled his mouth again. His head spun as his world cracked open on its side.
He had let her down. He had let Lily down. He lad let Lily's son down. There was a sickening twisted feeling, aching in his gut. How could he ever atone for that? There was already so much blood on his hands! His best friends death on top of it. Goddess forgive him! What had he done!?
And if the boy was abused... and looking at it now, the schoolyard scuffles the boy had gotten into, what Severus has assumed was Potter bullying others, seemed a lot more like Potter being bullied. The incidents in the corridor with Malfoy; yes the boy was rude, but did he actually start the fights? If he was abused, and shied away from people like he did in the memories, now that he really thought about it, why would he start a fight?
He put his head back into the pensive. No, the Potter boy never started it. Malfoy did. Weasley did. The other Gryffindors did, but Potter never started it. Sure, he often gave as good as he got, but he never started it, and recently tried to stay out of it. Bugger!
He pulled his head out of the pensive again. In which case, he had, most recently unfairly taken out his anger at not only Potter but also on Granger that day with the teeth. He had been out of line, both to be angry at Potter for something he could now see Potter hadn't started, and wrong to take it out on Granger, by insulting her when she needed medical attention.
What had he become? He never would have done that before? Not when the irritating child reminded him a little of Lily, even if Granger was a bit more of an in-your-face know-it-all. And Longbottom too. The child was a walking hazard and a dunderhead but... The boy was more cowed than he should have been...
But did he really care if he was a bastard to the little snots? No! Of course not? Why should he care? They were not his problem. It was not his fault they were idiotic imbeciles and dunderheads that never bothered to do anything right or open a book for once in their sorry lives. He could not abide by idiots.
They deserved everything they got...
Didn't they?
Did he care?
Lily's son...
What if it had been Lily? He'd never do that to Lily? So why anyone else?
Why did he care? He didn't want to care. Caring meant hurt, and hurt meant he'd done something wrong, and was again in the wrong. He just wanted to get it right!
He didn't want to care, he thought bitterly, caring never brought anything good.
He didn't want to bloody care!
...
But he did.
He swore viciously. At great length.
Of course, he did. He didn't want to be a bad person. He was a bad person, tainted by years of stain, but he didn't want to be, he never used to be a bad person, had always considered himself, not a nice person, but a good one. What had happened? When had he stopped caring?
What had gotten into him? This was not like him. Yes, he had always been a strict and harsh taskmaster, often grumpy and irritable and on the whole, had an unsuited temperament for teaching. He had little patience. And they were all dunderheaded brats and deserved everything they got, but he had never been cruel, never stepped over the line of abuse. Not like this. This wasn't him...
Was it? Was he really as much of a bastard as his father?
He didn't want it to be. He'd been fighting all his life, to exist and to survive, and had made so many mistakes he was left continually trying to atone for. What had gone so wrong? What had he done this time?
He thought back to the nonsense the boy had written on his homework.
'If you asked me about Asphodel and Wormwood, about Monkshood and Wolfsbane; I would say I would add, White Tulip and Eglantine Rose. It would give you a Daffodil Yellow potion if you were to add a sprig of Purple Hysinthea and a Star of Bethlehem.'
He'd thought it more of the nonsense that often spewed from the boy's mouth, none of those things made any useable potion! But now... Now it made sense, now he remembered why he chose those particular questions to use on him specifically that first day. A silent secret apology... 'I deeply and bitterly regret Lily's death.' A test, to see if Potter was enough like his mother to recognise it for what it was.
He'd never expected anyone to figure it out, not really. It had been their secret language, Lily and Severus, as a child. Looking at it now... especially with what Filius said about Lily's book...
'I forgive you, and absolve you of your guilt. Let that pain be healed. I offer you deep regret over my own actions, and I offer you reconciliation if you would accept it, though I am uncertain whether you will at all.'
The boy had been prepared to forgive him so that the guilty wounds of Severus's soul may heal, to tentatively reconcile. He swallowed. The boy didn't know the half of it. He did not deserve that. It was his fault that she was dead at all.
Filius was right. He was like his mother. Lily had had an enormous capacity for kindness, except when she was furiously angry, then she could hold a grudge. How had the boy gone through so much and still been left with a kind heart? Severus certainly hadn't managed it. His own childhood had left him cynical, bitter and hateful. Lily would have been so disappointed.
But the brat had been willing to forgive and start again. And now he'd blown it.
Lily's child. The last of his best, and only friend.
It was over.
Severus put his head in his hands and wept with the shame of it. He wept over his lost friend, wept for letting her son down so badly, for contributing to all the things that had broken her son. She'd be so ashamed of him.
"By the Goddess, Lily, I'm so sorry!" He moaned.
He recognised the look on the boy's face as he had left. That look had said everything he needed to know about the boy's faith in adults or complete lack thereof. That was the 'I don't know why I ever bothered thinking I'd ever get any help from an adult' look, the 'there is no hope for humanity' look, the 'I'm on my own, I'm never trusting or relying on anyone again,' look.
"Fuck!" He yelled, hurling his fists against the stone wall.
He needed to fix his wrongs, but how could he? He was again, stuck between another rock and a hard place. Doomed either way.
Fuck! He thought again.
But how could Severus help the boy, mend fences, without giving himself away?
Did he even want to? He maybe Lily's, but he was still a Potter too, he thought viciously, trying to keep hating the boy, trying to not care. But then he saw the look on the boy's face again, her green eyes, wide in terror and pain. A look he, Severus had put there.
Lily's son, how could he not?
And that was the problem, wasn't it?
He did care. He had been blind before, but now he realised he did care. He cared too much, and it would probably be the end of him. Lucius Malfoy, the upstart French bastard, had Severus by the balls. One toe out of line and the asshole would whisper in the Minister's ear, and he'd be back in Azkaban. And Dumbledore would not come and rescue him this time if he wasn't useful to him any more as a spy. Dumbledore would not rescue him this time without a cost, and Severus had nothing left to give, nothing left to pay with but his own blood and the price of his soul.
He sighed, rubbing his left arm hauntedly. It was getting darker. Soon he'd have to go back and grovel at the Dark Lord's feet to get his role as a spy back. If he pissed Lucius off, the ass would spin tails and make every tiny move Severus made look like a betrayal to the Dark Lord. One word from Lucius, and Severus would be dead or under crucio until his brain turned to mush. And Dumbledore would not try to save him, not when he was just another expendable pawn.
If Lucius wiped his hands of Severus and whispered either to the Minister or the Dark Lord when he returned (and there was no doubt now that he would), then Severus couldn't spy on Voldemort anymore.
Dumbledore would let him rot either in Azkaban or forgotten in a ditch somewhere tortured into insanity by the Dark Lord. Dumbledore was happy for him to keep being an asshole. Dumbledore was happy for him, wanted him to act like an evil Death Eater to maintain his spot as the faithful spy. The fool!
Why though? It couldn't be just that? Surly a supposedly ex-Death Eater would be more successful playing the part of recovering defector? Trying to play the part of a good light soldier? What was Dumbledore's game? What was he really using Severus for? Dumbledore was making him act like an evil Death Eater.
He wasn't, and if he was a Death Eater spy, surely a good spy would play the part to fool the opposition. So why did Dumbledore want him playing the part of a cruel Death Eater? It served him no purpose other than damning Severus in both side's eyes. Doomed to always be distrusted and condemned. Such a stupid play. What did Dumbeldore want? Why did he want Severus damned and isolated?
What was his play?
If Severus got too close to Potter, the students that were loyal to their Death Eater parents would tell, and the Dark Lord would no doubt find out, and expect Severus to bring the boy in, to his death.
But if Severus got cosy with Potter, Dumbledore would find out, (it was enormously difficult to keep anything from the nosy old fool). He would dislike it and while Dumbledore didn't curse his slaves like the Dark Lord did, he could make their lives subtly difficult and he still held the threat of Azkaban over Severus' head. He'd made it only too clear it was only his word keeping Severus from being shipped back to that hell hole.
A rock and a hard place.
Both masters had a vicelike grip on his balls. The Bastards.
Either way, he was doomed. Doomed to a life of misery and sin. He was going to hell. His soul damaged and damned to all eternity. There was no way out. He would doom himself if he continued, now that he knew, if he didn't try and right his wrongs, but if he did, he would be doomed by his chess masters.
Oh, Hekate forgive me, he thought bitterly.
He crossed the office and down the tightly spiralling stairs behind the hidden door to his chambers, and crossed to an alcove cut into the stone wall above the Fireplace.
Hidden safely behind wards was a floating incense burner above a tall green candle. In front of the candle stood a black statue of his goddess. Hekate. He used a knife to prick his finger and smeared the blood on the base of the statue in offering. The magic crackled. He lit the candle and placed a little honey along with sage and mugwort onto of the charcoal disk in the innocence burner. It crackled and popped as it ignited and started to smoke softly. He watched the tendrils swirl and coil. It was hypnotic. Is familiar smell soothing.
His pressed his hands either side of the statue, closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the smooth stone before her feet.
"Hail Hekate Queen of the Witches, Queen of the Night," he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut, "may your torch and keys guide me, as I choose my path at these crossroads. May my weaknesses become my strengths, and my failures, my teachers. Lend me the strength and wisdom to choose the right path. Hail Hekate, the Crossroads, the Magi Queen, lend me your guiding light, for I am desperately in need."
How would he help the boy without no-one knowing? Was Potter a good enough actor for Severus to tell him the truth? And all of it? He scoffed, of course, the brat wasn't. He was a hopeless lier.
But he paused, no, the boy wasn't hopeless. He'd hidden much for a long time... Could Severus trust the boy, a mere child with information that could be his damnation? Could he trust it would not get out, that the boy could keep that secret?
Dare he?
Dare he not...?
He stood there for a long time, staring at his goddess, watching the candle flame flicker, and the incense smoke coil.
END NOTES:
On the use of the term Witch.In this case witch is a gender neutral term. While the modern Wizarding world uses witches for females and wizards for males. But in Darke Culture and the Old ways, witch is gender neutral. It's an old term for magical that follow the old religion and practice the old magics. Before the modern ministry it was a gender neutral term. It is only in these more modern times that the world wizard was started to be used to specifically refer to males of the craft.Many pagan practices today use Witch to refure to both males and females of the craft.
Flower translation:Snape: I deeply bitterly regret Lilly's deathHarry: I forgive you, let it be healed. I would offer you deep regret and an unserten reconciliation if you would accept it.
Also Snape's rooms are actually down a set of spiral stairs leading from his office, to the lower dungeon bellow.