Behind the Looking Glass

An Explosion in Potions


Snape awoke from a deep sleep with a sudden start to the profound sense of being alone. He turned – she was gone. He frowned, and then he remembered she had probably started her day early. Dressing quickly, he soon wound his way through the castle down to the Great Hall for breakfast. For once, he was actually eager to be there and actually hungry because of that, and only for the reason of being near Augusta. He stopped in the doorway and scanned the head table for her as he wanted to sit as close as possible. A barely perceptible frown creased his face. She was not there. Mentally shrugging, he took his seat, and waited for her to arrive. The meal came and went, time dragged by and still Augusta made no appearance.

That sense of being alone increasingly grew even more profound and alarming as each minute passed by during class, and he became unusually irritated with his students, even with his current favourite who just happened to be the least dunderheaded of them all. He had never felt so alone in his life, and this was very disturbing to him, and he reacted the only way he knew how – with anger. By the time class was over his students were thoroughly browbeaten, and they were practically tripping over one another in their haste to flee his presence and his sharp tongue. He knew he had taken it out on his students, but he didn’t pause one second to even consider regretting it.

He went to her classroom and found posted on the door a note stating that classes were cancelled until further notice. He could not assimilate that information and decided he would seek her out in her office and once there, found it to be abandoned. Her books, papers, and other items that should have been upon the desk were gone. A small, sharp fear shot through him; he had never felt that emotion before and it frightened him terribly.

Swiftly arriving at her chambers, he entered and began to search. He knew she wasn’t there, he could feel it, but he had to prove it to himself. He searched through drawers and closets, and found they had been emptied. He slowly sat on the bed, his mind a blank. This had blind-sided him, and he knew not how to act.

His brain suddenly clicked into gear, and one name kept coming to him – Minerva! She would definitely know something; she would know whether or not Augusta had left willingly or if her absence was a mystery. His heart beating rapidly, it was all he could do not to race down the corridor to the Headmistress’ office. He took the spiral stairs two steps at a time, and waited a moment to compose himself before daring to knock.

“Enter – oh it’s you Severus,” she looked up from her desk. Her glasses had slipped to the end of her nose, and she seemed a bit harried and distracted over the mound of papers piled upon it.

He stood with his hands behind his back, hesitating to speak.

“Well, spit it out man! I don’t have all day you know,” Minerva said sharply. She immediately regretted her harshness and amended a bit more gently, “What do you need Severus?”

He opened his mouth, shut it then blurted out, “Where’s Hollingsworth?”

She bit her lip and looked somewhat sadly at him, “Professor Hollingsworth came to me this morning, and after making a full confession, insisted that she resign. It was quite difficult for her to do, and I felt rather badly for her – and still do, for you as well. You see, Argus Filch has been making his usual odious observations and told me in a rather roundabout way about the two of you. I thought it quite odd for you to engage in a relationship with August Hollingsworth until Miss Hollingsworth informed me of the situation.”

He blinked in response to that bit of information then asked, “Where has she gone?”

She continued to look at him sadly and added, “To be quite honest with you, I don’t know. I’m very sorry Severus. You deserve much more happiness than you’re getting.”

He stared, then his eyes slowly went to the floor, he suddenly raised his head and abruptly said, “Thanks.” He then turned on his heel and quickly left.

“Poor man,” Minerva said to herself, quickly forgetting his dilemma. She adjusted her glasses and delved back into the apparently endless parchments that kept appearing every time she thought she had finished with the previous pile.

His robes billowed wildly about him as he rapidly and purposefully strode down the corridor. He was angry. When Severus Snape was angry, no one dared to even breath around him, much less inquire as to what had upset him. The clock tower chimed – it was time to start another class, and he stormed into the room, flinging the door into the stone wall where it rebounded and slammed shut with a loud bang. Several bottles on nearby shelves clinked and teetered as they threatened to fall from the impact, and the students visibly flinched and became wide-eyed with terror. One student, a first year from Hufflepuff, began to weep loudly in her fright, breaking the silence.

Hearing her was the last straw; he stood with his back to them, which stiffened considerably at the sound of weeping, and clenched his hands tightly. He’d be damned if he was going to listen to some pubescent girl wailing her lungs out, and be damned if he was going to stay there any longer, “Get out! All of you get out now,” he growled dangerously, as he stood ominously still.

The sounds of quickly packed bags, rustling of papers, and retreating footsteps filled the air as they rushed from the classroom leaving him standing alone. It would have been comical to someone if they had walked in at the moment, they would have simply thought, ‘Oh, another one of Snape’s snits’, but they would have been far from the truth in their reasoning. In fact, if someone could have seen into the deepest recesses of his heart, they would have known that rarely used organ of his, other than for pumping blood, was shattered. He had, the night before, just leapt over that frightening precipice called ‘love’; he was hurt – damaged in a way that no one had ever damaged him before. He felt betrayed and ill used, and he wanted to rage and utter curses at his foolish belief that he had at long last found a mate in life.

He stood trembling, trying hard to control himself. His hand wandered to the table he stood next to, and his fingers found the edge of a small cauldron. He snatched it up and with a mighty heave and howl of despair, flung it into the neat rows of glittering potions. He watched as the shards of glass flew in several directions as the various potions began to drip and mingle together.

He felt suddenly tired – suddenly tired of the endless ritual of teaching, tired of being used for other’s purposes, and he felt empty inside. He turned to leave and he stopped when he saw Minerva McGonagall standing in the doorway, she had been informed of his outburst, and the Headmistress had every intention of reprimanding him. The expression of abject sorrow on his face prevented the harsh words that she had planned from escaping her lips as he rushed past her. He had to get away. He had to leave now.

“Severus,” she started to reach out to him as he passed.

“Leave me alone… please,” he rasped over his shoulder.

He had never said the word before until now, and only then Minerva realized the true extent of his pain knowing this time was not just another one of his overly dramatic episodes that he had blown out of proportion.

Swiftly moving down the hall, his vision had narrowed into a tunnel. ‘Got to get away – get to get out – get out – get out’ went through his mind like a mantra. He did not see the startled reactions of others to his dishevelled mental state, nor would he have cared.

Entering his chambers, he grabbed his bag and began to pack. He wanted to leave here. “Got to get out, got to get out, got to get out,” he repeated that mantra under his breath. The events spanning the last two years up to the present had become far too much to bear any longer. Dumbledore was gone; at the old man’s behest, his blood was on Snape’s hands. He had been forced to make a vow with the old wizard, the only person who felt like a father to him only days before he had to carry out that vow; he could not break it and live. Now Augusta was gone. He snatched open his bureau to pack his things, and the motion caused something white to slide and fall face down on its cherry-wood surface. Still holding onto the drawer he stared at it, his heart gave a lurch and a thump in his chest. It was a piece of paper with very feminine writing on it. Slowly closing the drawer, he held onto the bureau, hesitant to turn the letter over and read it, and hesitant to breathe.

He reached for it, pulled his hand back and clenched that hand once more. His hand slowly un-clenched and picked the letter up between his thumb and index finger and turned it over.

My Darling,

I can only hope that you may forgive me someday, but I cannot be with you. You were wonderful, loving and with you, I have never felt so loved before, but that love was an undeserved reward for my deception. I cannot believe that you could ever trust me for I would feel you would always secretly question my honesty and my feelings for you. In time, that would cause you to resent me, and we would come to a bitter end. That is a consequence I could not bear to live with.

I realize now, the terrible mistake I have made trying to hide from Vladimir. Not only have I placed innocents in possible danger, I have wounded you as well. It may seem to all appearances cowardly of me to leave in this manner, which in fact it is for I have never had much courage in saying goodbye.

Thank you for the gift of loving me and making me feel valuable even for one day, and I shall always treasure that gift.

Augusta


He slowly moved away from the bureau, leaving the letter where it lay. He stumbled a bit as he backed into the bedpost. Reaching behind himself, he clutched it with both hands, shut his eyes and stood thus for some time with his bowed head in sorrow.