Out of Time and Memory

Chapter Seven - Whispers

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/What good this deafness
That my whole life I have dread?
What good this deafness
With these voices in my head?
What good this deafness
If this prattle I must hear?
If I were blind
I\'m sure they wouldn\'t disappear/

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Whispers. Always, I hear them. The Dark Lord, whispering to his servants through the mark, and I cannot drown them out. I hear the Headmaster, I obey his gentle commands, and yet they fall on deaf ears. That seems like an impossibility, I know: to hear and yet not to hear. But it is true. I hear Dumbledore telling me that I am not evil, that I never was, and that I can bear this torture that is spying on the Dark Lord for the Order. But it is so much easier to believe the Dark Lords whispers that I am worthless without him, that the light will never trust me. That with him is truly where I belong. He is delighted every time I come at his call, and he suspects nothing of my betrayal of him. Yet I know it is just a matter of time. For if I can hear the Dark Lord’s whispers to me, what of my mind can he hear?

And still the days turn, as days are wont to do. The Dark Lord keeps whispering to his servants via our connection by the Dark mark. Mostly his rantings are just that: the prattle of a mostly insane mind. All of that body switching, and being beaten time and time again by a teenager are obviously wearing on his sanity. Yet, in spite of my best efforts to ignore the mutterings, I still hear his whispers to my uselessness, the fact that I have not brought him any useful information out of Hogwarts. He is angry with me. Every day I get closer and closer to being discovered. He berates me, and especially in the darkness of night, it is impossible not to hear him. I cover my ears with my hands, it does not help. Occlumency does no good, he is connected to me through this ugly mark on my forearm. In the shadows of my rooms, the raving of the deranged Dark Lord grows louder and louder, until I whimper at the pain they cause in my head. My only wish is for the yelling to stop, as I rock back and forth on my bed, with my head on my drawn up knees and my hands still over my ears, praying, begging for the voices to go away. Begging to be left alone once more. Completely alone, with no one to disturb me, not the voices in my head, not the encouragements of Dumbledore. Death would be a welcome alternative to this constant torture.

And it frightens me that I might want to die.

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/Did you really want to believe what you\'re saying
Did you really want to be here alone
Have I interrupted a moment of praying
While your life\'s decaying
Your sins are they weighing
While you\'ve been carving your stone
All on your own/

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After hours of rocking on my bed, I have entered an almost trance like state. I know, someplace in a pushed-aside part of my mind that is still lucid, that I am feverish and ill from weeks of not sleeping, not eating. And as I sit there, it seems to me that I can see my reflection in the mirror opposite my bed take on a life of it’s own. I get off my bed, and walk closer to my mirror, entranced. The Dark lord’s murmurings are still in my head, but over the hours, he has run out of steam, and sees to be settling down in the early morning hours. And with those whispers as background music, I reach out to my not-quite mirror image. He just shakes his head at me, looking stly tly disgusted at what I’ve become. A shadow of myself.

“You pathetic man. Can you not deal with what life throws at you? Must you sit and wallow in self despair, watching your pitiful life fall to pieces around you? Trying to convince yourself that you want to be alone, that you’re such an evil person, not worthy of anything. Stand up, man! Fight! Live for the future, instead of mentally carving your own headstone!”

My eyes widen as I listen to this new voice. I imagine this is how I must sound to my students: cold, callous, no regard for their feelings or how hard they might actually be trying. I found myself furious at the words of my reflection. . .Even though I could understand why he. . .I. . .a part of me might think this way.

No! I raged back at the reflection. “Obviously you don’t hear the ravings of the lunatic we are bound to.” I sneered, trying to come back to myself. “He’s all I hear, night and day, tearing me to pieces! I hold on as best I can. Clearly, that’s not well, seeing as I’m talking to myself in a ruddy MIRROR!” I banged my fists down on the dresser under the mirror, glaring at it and the image of myself.

And he just stood, arms crossed, laughing disgustedly.

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/Did you really want to sit here in silence
Could it be that brooding is part of your art
Is it an extension of artistic license
A moody defiance
Of all of life\'s tyrants
While you\'ve been searching your heart
Alone with us in the dark/

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“You wretched man. You sit here in silence, brooding about you’re miserable life, when you could be out helping! Did you ever stop to think that if you got off your bed and actually took a hand in the goings on, that you might be able to drown out the voices!”

“I’ve TRIED that!” I yell back at my callous alter ego.

“WELL, TRY HARDER!” He yells back. Yes. This is definitely me on some level. Telling me things I’ve not wanted to contemplate. I fall to my knees, the first tear sliding down my nose.

“It’s so hard. I try, but I’m crushed under the weight of it all. I can’t. . .”

The me in the mirror shakes his head. “If you tell yourself you can’t, you won’t. Search your heart, Severus. Do you really want to die, here, alone in the dark?” I look sharply up at him. He’s staring at me, fire flaring in his black eyes. “I thought not. Listen to me very carefully. You are going to get to your feet. You are going to get into the shower and wash yourself; you smell like fermented polyjuice potion. You are going to shave and put on clean clothing. You are going to summon a house elf with some food, then you are going to see Dumbledore. Have you got all that, or do you need me to scratch it into this mirror?” I look at the image wonderingly.

“You can’t do that, can you?” I ask.

“You’d be surprised what I can do.” He uses my best purring, threatening voice. Now know what effect hat voice has on my students. Though I want nothing more than to get back into bed and pull the covers over my ears, I back away from the mirror towards the lavatory door. The image in the mirror starts to fade, as if satisfies that I am going to do it’s bidding, leaving only my true mirror image there.

Afraid that the alternate me might return, I rush into the lavatory. Thoroughly washing, shaving myself carefully, I return to the room with some trepidation that I might see the image again. But the mirror reflects only my true self. I think briefly about getting into bed, but I really do not want to have my alter ego appear in the mirror again. I dress myself, and head for the door. I know that I have disobeyed the orders of my own mind, and not summoned food, but I also know that Dumbledore will take care of that. He always does.

I reach the stairs to the Headmaster’s office, and call out the password. As I slip into the office, Dumbledore looks up from his desk. In the past days, his eyes have lost some of their brightness. He looks only slightly surprised to see me.

“Severus.” He greets me with a nod.

“Headmaster.” I return the nod.

“Is there something on your mind, Severus?” He asks, fully aware that there must be for me to come to him in the wee hours of the morning, after so many days of self-inflicted hermit-hood. After all, it was summer, I had no classes, there was no reason to emerge from my resort, unless it was to meet the Dark Lord and make my reports to the Headmaster.

“There is indeed, Headmaster.” Suddenly, I feel like a broken child coming to his father for help. Which I suppose is not a bad analogy. He looks at me inquiringly. “I need help, Albus. Please, help me. . .” I plead as I fall into a chair and rest my head on my arms on his desk. He is surprised now, and I feel him stand up and come around his desk. He places his hands on my shoulders.

“I will do what I can Severus. I promise.”

And I know now that I need not fear the voices, the whisperings. Because if Albus says he will help me, he will. Maybe now, that I am about to tell him my fears, my hallucinations, and my hardships, his voice will finally drown out the others and I will be able to put some measure of faith into myself again.

Maybe now, I won’t be alone in the darkness.


~fin~