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Severus Snape extinguished the fire heating the cauldron and blew away some
of the red smoke haunting the surface of the liquid. Five minutes of cooling
before it'd be ready. Five minutes after that and the potion would be
rendered useless. Three months' work wasted.
Anything worth doing requires months of careful preparation. The job might
have been done quickly. Any number of potions could have been brewed in only
a matter of hours. But the time which had gone into the preparation, the
hours he'd spent caring for the project, being there each crucial moment,
timing everything just right, made the final product valuable. Patience,
above all, was what transformed the mundane into an art form. This,
according to Severus, applied to all things in life.
Even death.
Severus Snape was a patient man, despite all evidence to the contrary.
In the thirty-nine years he'd occupied this body, he'd been waiting at least
twenty of those years for this night--when the wait would be over. He might
have done this ages ago, but there had been things to do, responsibilities
to fulfil, debts to be paid. And so he'd waited.
After all Albus had done to keep Severus out of Azkaban, despite the
countless of atrocities he'd committed, Severus felt he owed it to the man
to stay alive. He'd agreed to take the position offered him, biding his time
until such a time when Voldemort would rise again and he could be of
service. He had stayed alive for Albus Dumbledore.
He had stayed alive, also, for James Potter. Severus had a life debt to be
paid after he'd failed to save the man during the first reign of terror. He
spent years damning his childhood enemy for this unwanted reprieve, this
undesired stay of execution which had burdened Severus' conscience and gave
him attachments to a life he'd just as soon not endure.
With one well-aimed curse, Severus repaid all his debts.
He began the potion the next day.
The angry purple cooled to a soothing cerulean. The blue smoke wafted in the
still air toward Severus' nostrils, teasing his senses and whispering
promises of peace. He carefully ladled the liquid into a waiting goblet.
His letter to the Headmaster was sealed and waiting to be found next to an
empty cup. He'd named a few people who would make suitable replacements for
him in the upcoming term, gave instructions on how he would have what meagre
possessions he owned distributed, and thanked the old wizard for his
kindness. He requested that his body be offered for potions ingredients—one
last debt repaid.
All was nicely prepared, folded neatly. The quiet and clean end to a rather
messy life.
He would go gently. He deserved a mild death, although he never imagined
he'd be allowed the luxury. He'd rather imagined he would go violently in
his one last stand. He'd thought he'd die with debts and attachments which
no one could fault him for not having paid. Alas, the fates were kind. And
he was grateful.
Calmer than he'd felt in years, Severus wrapped his fingers around the warm
crystal. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever been more at ease. He
breathed freely. Some weight he'd grown so accustomed to carrying around
that he'd forgotten it was even there had lifted from his chest. All the
aches and worries of a life with a future had vanished. His wait was over.
He lifted the goblet to his lips, breathing in the soft odour, closing his
eyes and tipping the cup-
A knock at his workroom door sent the liquid retreating from his lips.
He wouldn't answer it, he decided, frowning at the tension shooting into his
shoulders and neck. His brow furrowed with annoyance. Whoever it was should
know better than to disturb him in his private workroom.
More knocking.
The calm was gone replaced by irritation that sat like a steel ball under
his chest. He glanced at his time piece. He had four minutes.
He inhaled deeply through the tension, begging the blue calm to come back.
Whoever it was would go away if Severus ignored the knocking. He tipped the
goblet once more. The warm liquid fell wetly over his lips with the
slightest hint of fallowseed. A fragrant oblivion.
The knock came insistently accompanied by a voice. "Professor, I know you're
in there!" A very unwelcome voice. A voice that had no business penetrating
the door of his workroom.
Severus hissed as he deliberately and firmly lowered the goblet to the work
table, his hand clenching furiously around the crystal. He stalked to the
door and swung it open. "You have one minute, Potter. What the hell do you
want?"
There were other questions Severus thought to ask: Why was the boy still at
Hogwarts when the rest of the school was off for summer holidays and Potter
wasn't even a student at the school anymore? and How did Potter know where
to find Severus' workroom? and...
But there was no time for questions.
The boy stood, startled. A deep breath seemed to bring him the courage he
apparently required to speak. "May I come in?"
"No. Forty-five seconds."
"I—I wanted to come here to..." he trailed off, pursing his lips and trying
to see past Severus' shoulder.
"Thirty seconds," Severus growled, unwavering in his stubbornness. He'd
waited too damn long. He would not let the boy ruin his moment now.
"You saved my life," the boy said quietly.
Severus exhaled sharply. "I am well aware of that. But thank you so much for
reminding me. Good night, Mr Potter." Severus tried to shut the door.
Potter stopped the door closing. "Wait!" The boy pushed through angrily.
Severus stumbled back, stunned for a moment and then livid with rage. He
glanced at his work table. Blue wisps of his long awaited rest floated
lazily in the air.
Two minutes.
"What's that?" Potter inquired.
"Three months worth of work and a lifetime of waiting which will be rendered
futile in two minutes if you don't leave me the hell alone!" He was
trembling and avidly arguing with himself that the moment had not
passed. He could still get it back. The perfection. He had to.
"Oh," Potter said, lowering his eyes. He took a deep breath and looked
uncertainly toward the Professor. "Sorry. I can wait." He perched himself on
a stool, hands folding over the work surface in a patient gesture.
The vein in Severus' temple throbbed painfully as he watched the boy
brazenly lean over the table and inhale deeply.
"Smells good," Potter said sheepishly when he caught a glimpse of the rage
rising to Severus' face.
Severus puzzled a moment, struck momentarily dumb by the utter catastrophe
his perfect end had become. The boy reached over and picked up the letter,
balancing it on edge between his two index fingers and then began rocking it
back and forth noisily.
"Put it down," Severus seethed.
The letter fell to the table. Potter crossed his hands again.
Severus strode back to his work and lifted the goblet of dissipating blue.
He shot a glare over the rim and tipped the cup once more. The boy stared on
interestedly, green eyes glinting with curiosity. Severus shut his eyes to
block out the vision, only to see that green glaring from behind his own
eyelids.
Severus squeezed his eyes tightly. He'd waited. He'd waited and he deserved
this now. He'd done all that was expected of him, and then some. His time
had come. And if the stupid boy was intent on staying it would be his own
fault that he witnessed Severus' death.
But Severus didn't want witnesses. He didn't want loose ends. He didn't want
this moment on his otherwise clear conscience.
He lowered the goblet.
"Go away," he said firmly. "I don't want to be thanked for saving you,
Potter. I did it to repay a debt. If you are truly grateful, you will leave
me now in peace."
The boy's eyes softened with something that looked like sadness. He took a
deep breath and stood, sliding his hand into his robes and extracting a
small, dark stone. He slid it across the table.
Severus scowled at the thing.
"It isn't much. But...I wanted to..." The boy exhaled sharply through his
wrinkled nose. "I'll go now. You have thirty seconds."
He turned and walked to the door.
"A bezoar?"
Potter turned back and smiled a bit smugly. "It's a stone taken from the
stomach of a goat," he grinned. "It will save you from most poisons."
Severus picked up the stone and gave the boy a bewildered stare. The last
blue puff of smoke belched from the goblet. Severus sat heavily on his
stool.
"Someday it might save your life," Potter whispered. The door closed with a
soft click behind him.
Severus turned the stone around in his fingers, watching the light reveal
the green amidst the black. He laughed a low mirthless laugh. He poured the
now clear, harmless liquid back into the cauldron, bidding a fond farewell
to his clean break from the world. He now had one more sodding debt to
repay.
Optimistically, he reminded himself that a new dark lord should rise in
fifty years or so—if history was any indication. Maybe then he'd have the
opportunity to free his soul.
He could wait, he supposed.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, Severus Snape was a patient man.
fin |
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