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[Louisa]

I thought it might be nice to have a post DH version of this thread. 

For those who don't know what it is, it is a thread for short scenes to be written/re-written from Snape's point of view.  The scenes are generally in the following forms.

- Scenes from DH
- Scenes from earlier books but including information we find out in DH
- Scenes not in the books but which could be implied based on what is

Anyway you get the general idea. 

I'll start off with this one...sorry it got a bit long.


Isolation

Severus Snape waited until Madam Pomfrey had turned the corner before stepping out of the shadows and entering the hospital wing. 

As Headmaster of the school he found it rather ironic that he was doing as much sneaking around the corridors as the underground resistance known as Dumbledore’s Army were. 

He quickly crossed through the room, making sure to remain as quiet as he could so as not to disturb the sleep of the half dozen students who were already tucked up in bed.  He hesitated as one of the second year students turned fitfully in her sleep, a soft cry on despair escaping from her lips. 

When he was sure that she wasn’t going to wake he continued on his way and let himself into Madam Pomfrey’s office, closing the door behind him.

He estimated that he had around five minutes before she returned with the two fourth year boys the Carrows had been disciplining tonight.  He quickly opened her store cupboard and took careful stock of the supplies.  She was running short on several essential potions that she would need to restore the students to health over the coming months. 

Some of the students were becoming adept at the cruciatus curse at an alarmingly fast rate.  Snape could clearly see that the supplies were inadequate for the numbers that would soon need administering as things continued to escalate.

He knew that Horace Slughorn was more than capable of brewing the required potions but he didn’t know whether his former teacher and colleague knew how fast the stock would deplete in the coming weeks. 

He briefly considered whether he should mention the matter to Horace, Madam Pomfrey or both of them.  He discarded the notion as soon as it came to him; now more than ever he had to play his part and it wouldn’t do to be seen to be openly showing concern for the students. 

His decision was made before he left the hospital wing.  He’d make sure that the potions Madam Pomfrey needed the most were continually stocked.  He just had to make sure that no one knew that it was he who was restoring her supplies.  As harassed as she was starting to look these days, he decided to take the chance that she’d not notice the depleting stocks were being replaced for some time…if at all.  And if she ever did notice then he’d have to take Horace aside and implant in him the memory that he’d been restoring the potions for her.  He hoped it wouldn’t come to that but he’d been charged with protecting the students under his care and he’d do whatever he could to ensure their safety. 

He arrived in the dungeons a short time later and set to work.  At this late hour he knew that Horace was unlikely to disturb him as he worked, and even if he did he knew that one look from himself would quell any questions the older man had.

Two hours later he’d finished his work and left the room in the same state he’d found it.  It wasn’t quite as clean and tidy as he’d have liked, but it was left in the same state as he had found it. 

He wondered, not for the first time, whether it would be worth suggesting to the Carrows that at least a few of the students in detention might have their time put to better use by doing some cleaning around the various parts of the school.  He’d already overheard Hagrid discussing with Minerva McGonagall the strain of his own duties as both Gamekeeper and a teacher and knew that he was missing the extra help that students in detention could sometimes provide.

He was also aware that despite Mr Filch’s glee at the thought of the old torturous punishments he was grateful to have students taking some of the cleaning chores off of his shoulders. 

Of course Snape knew better than to use either of these arguments with the Carrows; the welfare of a half-breed or a squib was something they’d give no consideration to at all. 

He knew that all he could do was to keep an eye out for troublemakers himself and punish them in the regular methods.  He was the only member of staff who didn’t have to refer students to the Carrows for punishment. 

He passed the doors to the hospital wing without stopping.  There was a light still on and he knew that he’d have to wait for another opportunity to slip into the storeroom with the extra supplies. 

He continued along the corridors, his mind lost in thoughts of happier times spent at the school.  He passed the corridor leading to the staff room remembering how, less than a year ago he’d spent pleasant evenings there with the other Professors.  Loathe as he was to admit it, even to himself, he missed their company; he’d never felt more isolated than he had since the night he’d faced Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower.

Thinking of his predecessor, Severus quickened his pace as he made his way back to Dumbledore’s…no his…office. 

He arrived to find that the staircase was accessible which was the first sign he had that something was wrong.  The second was the sound of whispering voices from above, voices that were, if he were not very much mistaken, those of Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood. 

He walked silently up the staircase and met the trio half just beyond the halfway point. 

Luna was the first to notice him and her tiny squeak of alarm alerted the others.  Neville spun round to face him with a look of horror on his face whilst Ginny seemed more concerned with secreting something under her robe.

“As students who have all been here for some years, I assume you would know by now that this tower is neither that of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.”   

He pointed back up the staircase and the three students turned and marched back up to the office.

Snape closed the door behind him and indicated to the three trespassers to sit down.  He kept his eyes closely on Ginny and noted at once her uneasy movements as she tried to comply with his order without revealing what it was she was hiding.

He glanced around the room and saw the broken and empty case where the sword of Godric Gryffindor was normally stored.

“The sword, if you please Miss Weasley.”  Snape’s voice was quiet but he knew that she would comply with his order.  If the students had been scared of him before…they were terrified now that he was their Headmaster.

Ginny removed the sword and placed it on the desk.  There was a sullen look on her face, mingled with disappointment and resignation. 

Snape chanced a glance at Dumbledore as he walked round the desk to take his seat opposite the three thieves.  He knew instinctively that Dumbledore knew exactly why they had tried to steal the sword and he was sure he detected a faint look of pride in his face as he looked down into the room.  So it appeared there was something else that Dumbledore had failed to take him into his confidence about.  He tried not to feel the sharp stab of pain…he knew that Dumbledore had trusted him with everything he had felt that he could.

“Thieving from the Headmaster, disgraceful!” Phineas declared from his portrait, his sentiments echoed by some of the other former Heads around the room.  Snape didn’t need to look at him to know that Dumbledore remained silent.  From the looks on the faces of the students they had also noted Dumbledore’s lack of comment and appeared to be taking it as a promising sign. 

“For what purpose were you taking the sword?” Snape asked.

As expected they remained tight-lipped and gave nothing away. 

“Did you have a specific reason for stealing this sword?  Did you perhaps hope to deliver it to Harry Potter?”  Their reaction, slight though it was told him instantly that he’d been right. 

“Do you know where Potter is?” he continued.

“No,” Ginny replied.  Her answer was swift and firm and he believed her instantly.  Of course it made her own actions rather pointless since if they didn’t know where Harry was they would have no real chance of getting the sword to him. 

“So it merely a prank to prove the bravery of Gryffindors?”  He deliberately cast his eyes over Luna to emphasise that he didn’t believe this to be the case.

Neville and Ginny exchanged a quick glance before the latter spoke up again.

“Yes, it was just a prank,” she said, giving a far too casual shrug of her shoulders. 

Snape didn’t believe her but was relieved she had taken the out that he’d given them.  He waited in silence for several long minutes, watching them fidget in their seats.  He tried to recall which teachers would be most grateful for the assistance of three students in detention.  It would help matters if every member of staff besides the Carrows didn’t clam up every time he came into the room.  He contemplated Slughorn’s increasingly messy Dungeon and Hagrid’s chores in the Forbidden Forest.  He knew which it had to be, even as he knew what their reactions would be.

He stood up and turned his back on the trio as he told them they would be given detentions which would be spent in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid.  When he judged that they had had enough time to compose their faces so as not to look too pleased with their luck he turned back to them and gestured them towards the door.

They had only reached halfway across the room when Dumbledore’s voice drew him to a halt. 

“Perhaps a more secure place for the sword of Godric Gryffindor should be arranged?” Dumbledore suggested.  “Gringotts perhaps?”

Snape looked at Dumbledore with confusion before hurrying the students from the room.

“What was that all about?” Snape asked once he was alone in the room, with only the portraits to hear him.   

“We need to keep the sword safe until it can be delivered to Harry in the appropriate manner,” Dumbledore advised.  “If the students believe it is somewhere outside of Hogwart’s they won’t try to take it for him again.”

Snape wasn’t surprised to have it confirmed that they were after the sword for Potter and not themselves.  He’d gathered as much himself.  He was about to ask why Potter needed the sword when he realised that Dumbledore had not finished speaking.

“You’ll recall that Ginny’s eldest brother works at Gringotts.  He’ll be able to confirm it’s there if she enquires.”

“But if the sword is in Gringotts then how do you expect it to get to Potter?” Snape asked.  “He must be moving around or he’d have been caught by now.  If the sword is in Gringotts then the time wasted retrieving it will give him time to move again if we discover where he is.”

“Oh we won’t send the real sword to Gringotts,” Dumbledore replied with a chuckle.  “We’ll send a copy.  You should be able to make one within a few days.”

“Won’t the goblins notice that the copy isn’t their own work?” Snape pointed out.

“Of course they will,” Dumbledore replied.  “But I don’t imagine they’d bother you with that information.”  He chuckled again.  “Meanwhile we’ll keep the original out of sight here.  Anyone who hears that the sword in Gringotts is a fake will merely believe that you have been duped and that Harry has already managed to secure the sword from right under your nose.”

Snape snorted at the idea before recalling that Potter and his friends had managed to secure other items from his personal stores over the years without a great deal of difficulty.  The story would be believed…that was the important thing. 

“Never mind Severus,” chuckled Dumbledore.  “Your reputation will, I’m sure, be restored eventually.”

[ignisia]

Excellent, Louisa!

[Sirius E. Fawkes]

...Wow, that was fantastic! Like it's REALLY an exerpt from the book! Wish I could write like that. Great job!

[Louisa]

Thanks.

Now I am waiting for our Queen of Angst to take a shot at the death scene which I know I am not up to handling.  *hint hint*

I do have an idea for another one of a more humorous nature to lighten the mood but haven't started that yet.

[Ellen2]

I was wondering how Colin Creevy, who was supposed to be Muggleborn, managed to stay at Hogwarts.  This Snape POV was the result.


So many of them ran.

That was good.  It was what I wanted.  The Dark Lord was willing to allow it.  A concession to his most loyal, most cowardly servant?  Perhaps.

And, yes, those concessions, hoping for them, asking for them, are dangerous.  They come with a price.

James Potter could never understand a world where you knew and weighed and grudged every cent you spent.  Food bought now is food you can't buy later.  Or the heat you can't pay.  Or the rent you can't make.  It's the medicine you can't buy when your mother is screaming with pain.  It's the bus you can't pay for when you're trying to get your drunk father home alive and unharmed.

It's also the small hoard you were saving against all those disasters that your father found and spent at the pub.

The razor's edge of miserliness.  A penny hoarded now may still be a penny you don't have - or that doesn't make a difference - when it's too late.

The economics of favors, of concessions, of survival.

A one penny favor wrung out of a slender purse may cost me what later on?  But a favor hoarded now may cost a life now and buy nothing later.

Or it may buy a little comfort, now when it could have bought a dozen lives.

I have watched so many die, Albus, so many I couldn't save. 

Or didn't dare to save. 

And I still don't know which.

I have spent my few coins as wisely, as carefully as I dare.

Pray they last me till the end.

But the children.  He cares very little for the children despite all his talk of purity and blood.  Let them run, let them go.  They are the small rats infecting these walls, this one place, this one thing  he has ever loved.  Better they should go than they should die, more ghosts cluttering up these ancient halls.

He understands this argument.  The girl, Myrtle, I am in her debt.   A kind of irony, that.  But her early death, her refusal to let go the grudges that so easily bind children, has kept her here, and become a warning.  She is the reason no others will die, not here.

Indeed, I am under orders, his as well as yours, Albus.  No children are to die in Hogwarts. 

For now.

If it is not necessary.

And they will not, not if I can help it.

However long that may be.

But, he lets them flee.  They are too young to make good, public examples, not like the beggars trapped in Diagon Alley.  It would be easier to let them go, as well, throw them out of our world and let them survive as they could in the world he claims they belong to.

But that would not make the presumptious Muggleborns who dared to be born with magic in their blood the examples the Dark Lord wants them to be.  It would not make examples of the others who dared defy him - or who simply managed not to be quite as loyal as they should be.

I am doing my best to be loyal, old friend.

He likes warnings, the Dark Lord.  Those crowds of shadows haunting our streets, the living ghosts so many dare not see even when they dare not look away, they make far too good an example for him to simply send them away.

They also make far too good an example for him to simply kill. 

Would it be something to say I had argued for that?  I had suggested and hinted and done what I could to earn that one, small mercy for them?  How would that weigh in the balance, Albus, against everything else? 

The one penance I wanted, the one redemption I begged you for, to save her son, has been denied me.  Must be denied me if any others are to be saved.

Against that failure, would it mean anything if I could say I condemned poor wretches to lives of humiliation, of hunger and degradation and despair.  But they lived.   Would that mean anything, Albus?  Would they thank me?  Should they thank me?

Not that it matters.  I haven't done it.  Oh, now and then, I may get a chance to suggest it would be better to break this one's wand, to send this one to the growing throngs on our streets instead of the growing throngs in our prisons - or our graveyards.  But the chance to do so comes rarely.

Or perhaps it comes more often, and I let them go, hoarding my small, useless store of coins against later bills when they may still be too little too late.

Such are the economics of life and death.

But the children, the children are allowed to run.

No ghosts, not of Mudbloods, not here. 

Mudbloods. 

I use that word with him, of course.  Effective.  He does not want their blood staining these halls if he can help it, a muddy stain even he might never wash out.

It is always good when you and those you must work with can agree on certain things.

Their parents are Muggles, ignored and almost invisible to our world (except when they die, of course, except for that).  They can run to the shore and find a boat to take them across.  They can buy tickets on the train.  Their trail leaves no magic, nothing for us to look for, nothing for us to bother with, not if we're not looking for them.

And small children, caught and publically punished for the powers they possess, make such poor, pitiful examples.

Though he still hunts some, catches some.  Bellatrix is not the only one who likes to play with her meat. 

He gives some of them to Greyback.  Living or dead, they don't matter after that.

He gives some to me.

I don't ask them which fate they fear more.

Not that he thinks of it that way, not yet.  If that changes, the first sign of it will be their deaths.  And mine, I suppose.

Colin Creevy.  The lies I spun for him.  And his brother.  But not lies, never lies.  Lies can be fatal.

But suggestions, hints, bits of knowledge mixed with insinuation.

A toast, to dead friends, ones who, after all, could have been fathers. 

And a curse, perhaps, to those who haven't died?  Those who might be some use to me if they weren't alive to deny any dark hints I might drop on their behalf?

A curse on Narcissa, who only wants to save her husband and her son?  A curse on her son, for not having run when you gave him the chance? 

A curse on me not having stopped this.  A curse on me for not being able to look my lord in the eye and claim each and every one of these children as mine.

Even though they are.

Aren't they?  They have no one else but me.  To stand between them and the Carrows, between them and my lord, between them and this world I have helped trap them in.

They hate me.  As they should for what I've done to them.  And will do to them.

I pity my father, Albus.  Did you know that?  He couldn't touch gold without turning it to dross.  He couldn't touch the lives of those who should have been nearest and dearest to him without bringing us anything but pain.

Like father, like son.

I had hoped for a better epitaph.  Long ago, when I had any hope at all. 

Is that the curse of all children, Albus?  To think they can escape the mistakes their parents made only to relive them all?

One thing.  There is one thing I pray for, one hope I refuse to give up. 

Let me live long enough to finish my part.  If I must die doing it, let me not breathe my last till I have seen the sign you warned me of, till I have given the boy what he needs.

Then, curse me to he*l, but let him live.  I don't care if it isn't possible.  Let the Dark Lord die and let the boy live.  Let the world change, let life and death change, let the foundations of the universe change if only there can be a way.

Let him live.

[rocking_on]

Ellen2: Your writing astounded me. In its brilliance. In its poignancy. In its sheer well writen-ness.

 

(Where's that bowing smiley when I need it?)

[PotionStudent]

Glad I found that place. Good works!

[Sstar]

I dunno guys.  believe me, me more than anyone would love to see it that way.  But...I mean, it would be nice if JK shared our view of Snape, considering that she's the one who created him and thus knows more about him than any of us.  No matter which way I look at it, I still find her statements disconcerting.

I think what we all really need is an unequivocally direct, complete and comprehensive opinion about Snape from Jo herself.  None of these seemingly contradictory comments.  Someone needs to pipe up in that upcoming chat and just ask her full-on:  So WHAT do you think about Snape, exactly?  o What kind of character is he to you?

[Louisa]

Unfortunately I think that if that question was put to her the reply would be that he was a spiteful bully but brave, just as she replied to the question about whether she always planned for him to be a hero. 

[Sly_Lady]

Louisa and Ellen, I loved reading these. Even while I was reading DH for the first time, I couldn't help but wonder how grim it was for Snape to be Headmaster of Hogwarts during that school year. Obviously he did it perfectly, walked the tightrope and managed to keep Voldemort happy even as he tried to preserve the school and protect the students. But it would have been a bitter, dreadful time, even in the context of his unhappy life. Your stories conveyed that so well!   

[Ellen2]

Oh, that makes me cry.

I seem to remember that the pelican is a symbol of Christ?  And the anchor is a symbol of faith.  But I don't get the shell (sorry).

[Spirit]

Oh, Et tu....

[Louisa]

Ellen and Et tu - both such beautiful pieces. 

I am getting all teary again.   

[Sly_Lady]

Thanks, Et tu, who needs a dreary funeral? This is the resolution I needed for Severus.  I loved it.

 

[hwyla]

A shell (scallop) is the medieval symbol of 'pilgrimage'. The pelican is of self-sacrifice (altho' it is a rather imperfect symbol - since it was believed that the pelican plucked it's chest to feed it's young with it's blood when no other food was available - obviously pelicans don't actually do this - hence the imperfectness of the symbol)

Loved the way you worked the symbols in Et Tu - and the requirement of 'forgiveness' for others and yourself.