Chapter Text
Chapter 10
Dark humors, part II
II
The snow falls ceaselessly, countless and howling with light like the Sun.
For the little boy scratching his parchment with his pen and blackened fingers, it is the cloak of his solitude and the purity to which he will never be entitled.
Sometimes he turns his gaze to the window. Smoky, populous London has become as silent as the abyss at night when the snow falls.
Poor little bookworm, lost in the abyss of the world.
Poor little creature with dark eyes that had never seen the light of a fairy.
Books had opened up a wonderful beyond for him, a world of names and thoughts where he could forget who he was, forget that he was alive. Forgotten, his own name; forgotten, everything he had ever experienced; forgotten, his body and its sufferings, the sound of his father's heavy shoes coming up the stairs to his bedroom.
Sometimes, through his books, with his back to the window, he could see the light of another world.
He would say to himself that if he put all the effort of his mind into studying and reading, he could leave the purgatory from which he could glimpse the Light from above and experience the world of full sunlight, where the merits of souls are recognised and where suffering is finally soothed in a blissful warmth.
He told himself that life was a long sleep and that one day he would wake up.
Yes, there had to be a place where the righteous were rewarded.
There had to be...
When the young Slytherin opened his eyes again and wiped away his tears, he saw that his precious grimoires were lying on the floor of the rough dungeon.
The book that Angus Russell had lent him, 'Truth of Faces', which he had been using to practise recognising the expression of someone who was lying, was open to one of its last pages. It bore the stamp of the bookshop where it had been bought: Chemin de Traverse, Fleury and Bott, 1969.
However, Severus had never noticed the few words written in pencil across the page in an unfamiliar alphabet, as if they were a hastily made note. There was something childlike about the handwriting.
Panta chroa gèras èdè
Leukai t'égénon to trichés ék mélainan
Gona d'ou pheroisi.
Ego dé philèmm' abrosunan touto kai moi
To lampron érôs aéliô kai to kalon lelogché. (Sap.)
At first, the Slytherin wondered what it meant and who this 'Sap' was. Then he wondered where he was.
He stood up and lowered his head. His feet were on the same path that led to the alchemy classroom.
He was standing on the Black square.
He recalled what the alchemy teacher, Novalis, had said about the Great Work that produces the Philosopher's Stone: 'Black is the first step, but it is not the easiest. For it is the return of matter to its raw state, the loss of all man's illusions about the world. Only those who achieve Perfect Black have a chance of creating the Philosopher's Stone and successfully transmuting both body and soul."
Judging by the narrowness of the corridor and the tiny doors along it, he must have been in the western part of the dungeons, in the service corridor reserved for the house-elves. Lunchtime was just around the corner. He wasn't hungry, but he knew that if he didn't eat, hunger would catch up with him unexpectedly.
Carried along by the melancholy transparency that follows an outpouring of grief — a deep slide as sweet as intoxication — Severus was about to turn back when he heard voices.
Frowning, he stopped at the door from which they seemed to be coming. It was the quavering voice of an old man.
“I understand that the young master didn't want his mother to stop looking after Her if he died. Poor Madame; she's so sensitive. Since the young master died, she has almost completely lost her mind and hardly remembers her son. She's all alone now and poor old Stinky won't be able to console her. Oh, poor Madame! First the father, then the son! It's the Curse on the Russell family — what misfortune! And it's all the fault of mad old Stinky! Of course, the Master was never very cheerful. But Stinky had recently started seeing Mister looking joyful and had thought he was no longer depressed. Stinky would never have imagined that Mister... If only Stinky had known! The young gentleman was always kind to Stinky. He gave him a medal for his loyal service. He lent him clothes when he was cold. Stinky had looked after him since he was a baby. But Stinky was supposed to protect him, and he failed. He has to face the consequences.”
'Hand over that sword!'
The voice belonged to Miss Méliès, the Slytherin headmistress and astronomy teacher. Severus remembered what Russell had said about her at the Christmas party. 'If you knew what I've learnt, you wouldn't dare go to her classes again...'
'Please, Madam Professor,' the first voice resumed, 'let Stinky pay his debt. If he cannot atone, let him deal with Miss Melanie!' If my mistress cannot look after the familiar in its current state... Oh, oh, poor mistress! Stinky can look after Miss Melanie!'
'Shut up, you stupid elf! Someone's listening.'
Severus shuddered. There was no time to flee, as the small door opened immediately, revealing a hand with hooked nails that grabbed him and pulled him inside. Two brown eyes with arched eyebrows glared at him, and a feminine mouth twisted into a suspicious pout.
'Well, Severus Snape?' What were you doing there?
'I got lost.'
The student was now confronted with a bizarre scene. Miss Méliès had her arms folded as if waiting for further explanations. At her side, a stunted house elf with a short white beard and a black butler's dinner jacket was carrying a funerary tablet. Attached to the tablet was a black-and-white photograph of a dark-haired boy — the same boy he had noticed in the library in his first year. Beneath the photograph, in capital letters, was written 'REST IN PEACE, LITTLE ANGE'.
"Are you all right, Severus?"
The boy in the photo...'
Stinky frowned, changing the position of his hands and moving his second hand away from the final syllable of the word 'angel'.
REST IN PEACE, LITTLE ANGUS.
Was this his epitaph? So Russell was the boy in the library...
His incredulous eyes scanned the rest of the dungeon. The contents of his dungeon paled in comparison to those in the young woman's study. From floor to ceiling, bent shelves creaked under the weight of jars filled with unknown minerals, organs and bizarre foetuses. On the desk, in a large aquarium, a dark, half-fish, half-snake creature swirled quietly. It resembled the glistening organs of the dissected bodies bathed in formalin around it.
Severus recognised Miss Melanie, the late prefect's dreadful eel.
'The Gryffindors and other merrymakers don't understand why we're so fond of black magic, blood, bones and all those 'slimy things',' said Melies, dipping his clawed hand into the greenish water. "But that's because life is full of anatomy, nonsense and despair. You and I know this, and we create art to make life worth living.
'Is that Russell's eel...?'
'It's not an eel,' Stinky the elf corrected. 'Eels don't look like that. It's a moray eel.'
Judging by the number of times Severus had seen the prefect monologuing with it in the dormitory, handing out little crisps, the pet had to be able to speak.
'I don't know what you were doing here,' said Miss Méliès, 'but you're just in time. You're going upstairs to show this elf where the Slytherin dormitories are. He must take this moray eel back there.'
The old elf clasped his hands together and lowered his ears.
'Madame doesn't want Stinky to take care of it, does she?'
'Your... master wrote these words in the letter he left us: "Given that my elderly mother has proven to be unreliable, I am entrusting you to look after my pet. It's written in black ink on vellum. Take a look. Now, the door you can see opens onto a staircase. Climb it and you will find yourself in the dungeons of your house.'
The house elf resigned himself to his fate and followed Severus up the stairs, levitating the aquarium with his outstretched hands.
'Moray eels are born from the tears of the Nereids,' he explained to the sorcerer's apprentice as they climbed the stairs. 'Each time its master sheds a tear, the eel grows in size.'
This one was very long — its master must have cried a lot.
The stairs indeed led them behind the panelling of the luxurious Slytherin common room.
'Where should we put it?' asked Stinky.
'I suppose we should take her up to our dormitory where she was before,' said Severus.
'But who's going to look after it?' asked the elf.
'I don't know… I suppose I will if nobody else offers. In that case, it would be best to leave it here for the time being.'
Stinky placed the aquarium on a pedestal table. Saying goodbye to his deceased master's pet, Stinky used his species' powers to disappear.
The moray quickly attracted a handful of spectators, mainly from the final year.
'Look who it is!' exclaimed Parkinson. 'It's Miss Melanie!'
'I thought we were going to be rid of that horror,' said Gabriel Sanchez, the Quidditch team's keeper.
'Do you remember when Big Bob put it in the toilet and flushed? We had a good laugh that day,' said Parkinson.
'But it's... It's impossible to suck up an animal that size,' Severus objected.
'At the time, six years ago, it was much smaller,' said Parkinson. 'Fish like that mutate at some point in their lives. Still, Russell, who'd never cracked before... He couldn't stand the fact that his moray eel had disappeared. He cried like a fountain, his face red as a strawberry. If Malfoy hadn't got it, I think I would have slapped him to shut him up.'
Does this idiot think he's funny? A bunch of idiots, thought Severus. If someone had killed his salamander, he might not have cried in front of everyone, but he certainly would have been upset.
'In those days, Big Bob was the law,' said Sanchez, smoothing his goatee beard. 'But Russell refused to pledge allegiance to him, and his appearance was also working against him. He was a little tramp, but as proud as a peacock and as fierce as a stray cat! He used to kick me under the table with his big shoe...'
'You had it coming.'
'Maybe I did. But he didn't do anything like the others, and that didn't work in his favour. For example, he always wrote an extra scroll, as if he couldn't be satisfied with the maximum required.'
'Like me,' thought Severus with worry. 'Maybe I'll end up like him, with a noose around my neck.'
'And then... He smelt of cologne. He talked like an adult. He was a big, arrogant oaf. And he always had a cold. You can't imagine what it's like to always have a cold like that.'
'I'm sure it was Big Bob who put a sniffling spell on him,' replied Avery.
'You're criticising, but you were taking part too.'
'At least I feel remorse!' replied Avery. 'Poor Angus; he couldn't even run away from us with his injured leg.'
'Who was Big Bob?' asked Severus.
'Robert Nott. He was in his final year when we were in our first. Every year, he chose a first-year student to be his scapegoat.'
Severus found it hard to believe that Angus Russell had been Slytherin's lame duck... Yet many things now made sense.
He remembered Angus giving him a tip about filling Potter's scalp with vermin while he was searching for Macnair's bottle that day. 'I invented that one,' he had said. He also remembered Bellatrix's insinuations about one of his legs being too short, Peeves delivering a eulogy for Degustus Russell, and Avery accusing his classmates of not feeling guilty about their friend's suicide. Angus, his 'friend', who never called him by his first name.
Many things could be explained. And yet it was the same person: the charming boy he had seen in the library four years ago. He thought he knew everyone around him. Yet like the others, he was living through his dreams.
The illusions of the young Slytherin who had just arrived at Hogwarts had lasted only a few hours.
He had been standing at the crossroads where the staircases diverge. Suddenly, there was a roar and a crowd of small heads climbed the stairs like a wave. A name was chanted like a sports slogan or an incantation. They were celebrating their god.
'POTTER! POTTER! GO POTTER!"
The quick pupil with the binoculars hadn't missed the target. And everything had been over.
'I found this on the stairs, Headmaster,' the caretaker muttered. 'He looks shocked.'
Now he was on the terrace, high above the castle, where the clouds were gliding by like ships. It was three o'clock in the afternoon.
He was still lost in thought.
'So,' said Bellatrix, 'is Hogsmeade all right?'
An earlier discussion came to mind, and he saw the opportunity.
'Just a minute. On the last day before the Christmas holidays, at the party, you told me that I didn't know what Lucius thought of me. What exactly did you mean by that?'
He was finally going to find out. Whatever it was, he couldn't have stooped any lower given his situation.
'What I meant was that you think Lucius has a certain image of you, but that's not true.'
'Is he criticising me?' Severus asked anxiously, his back still turned to the girl.
'Oh, it's not that!' she laughed. 'When I say what he thinks of you, I mean that he doesn't think the same things about you as you think he does.'
Would she guess that I admire Lucius? That I... Does that mean he despises me?
'How do I explain this to you? Some people have special morals. When Malfoy talks about friendship with you, it goes far beyond that, I'm afraid. What he thinks of you... How can I tell you without frightening you?'
'If he was hanging around with you, it wasn't to study Arithmancy,' sneered Rosier.
'Hey!' hissed Wilkes. 'He looked traumatised. It's the shock of his life.'
'Lucius is… homosexual?' murmured Severus.
He'd never thought he'd have to interpret Bellatrix's words that way, nor her flushed cheeks. Him, Lucius... Two contradictory images came to mind: the disgusting sodomites his family spoke of and the illustrious figures of dark magic known to have committed every transgression — the luminous enamels of darkness he had admired since childhood.
'You really are innocent. It's obvious that he is,' replied Bellatrix.
Innocent, innocent... They had all said the same thing. To him, Lucius had always been the epitome of masculinity, undoubtedly because he played Quidditch and had a "penetrating" sailor's gaze, solid as a rock. This gaze was well known for landing on Bellatrix. And perhaps even for the "male" in his name...
He momentarily forgot the blushing Lucius from the library, the Lucius with the nervous twitch in his leg and the Lucius in the alchemy class who squirmed in his chair like a child. It never occurred to him that Lucius' "manhood" had never chosen the colour of his eyes or the sound of his last name.
'Just because it seems obvious... doesn't mean it's true,' Severus continued.
Macnair had accused both Lucius and Bellatrix of various things. But, after all, it wasn't the first time she'd said it. Severus had hoped to learn something new, but she was resorting to the same old tricks and interpretations that made him see reality through his own personal filter, just like Macnair.
'I have it on good authority,' Bellatrix replied.
Severus turned around abruptly, making the girl recoil. It was Macnair again. Although... No, it couldn't be him. Bellatrix wouldn't listen to a fourth year, and Macnair had never suggested that Lucius was homosexual. He hadn't seen much of Walden Macnair in the last few days; he spent all his late afternoons at the Medipsychowizards. 'At least they listen to me.'
'Well, Hogsmeade it is, then.'
'Perfect! Evan, have you got any chocolate fudge left?'
'Take the packet,' replied the blonde in a disillusioned tone.
'Bellatrix, if you keep eating like that, you're going to get as fat as a barrel,' teased Wilkes.
'Nonsense. Severus, we're going to the lake to say hello to the Kraken. Are you coming with us?'
'I can't. I've got DADA in five minutes.'
'Ah, McKinnon...' said Rosier. 'That's a serious one.'
Five years later, they would slaughter the same woman with the utmost cruelty. Rosier laughed and whispered a few words into Severus's ear, making sure Bellatrix couldn't hear him: 'If you're interested in Bella, I think she prefers it when guys say nasty things to her.'
His younger brother frowned and left the terrace.
He was halfway to McKinnon's class when he saw a joyful figure coming towards him.
It was Dumbledore.
'A lovely afternoon, isn't it, Severus?'
'It is indeed.'
'How have you been?'
'Well, actually...'
'Come to think of it... Mr Kouign-Aman, one of the Medipsychowizards you spoke to at the beginning of the week, was very surprised by you.'
'Surprised?'
'He thinks you have Occlumency gifts. It's a very rare talent. I am a specialist in Occlumency myself. If you would like me to, I could give you lessons to help you develop this ability.'
'I don't... I don't know if...'
'I'm not asking you to give me an immediate answer; just take some time to think about it. Come and see me in my office when you've made up your mind.'
"I found this on the stairs, Headmaster,' Argus Rusard grumbled. 'He looked shocked. If only I could catch the little scoundrels who did this. It's a pity you banned corporal punishment when you took over from Mr Dippey.'
At this, the caretaker let in a little man with black hair covered with pink liquid. He was carrying a large cardboard sign, which was hanging from his neck by a string and read 'WASH YOURSELF''.
Albus Dumbledore left his desk and approached the boy.
'Good evening,' he said. 'Tell me, what happened to you?'
The child remained silent.
'He won't tell you anything. He doesn't talk,' said Rusard.
The old wizard touched the liquid and smelt it.
'It's shampoo.'
'It's everywhere! And who's going to clean it up again?'
'Leave me with him, Argus, please."
'Good luck,' muttered Rusard, furrowing his brow in doubt as he slipped away, looking vaguely disgusted.
Dumbledore smiled as he watched the new pupil. His dark hair was cut into a short bob and framed a face with childlike curves, despite his prominent nose.
'We're alone now,' he said. 'What's your name?'
'Severus Snap',' replied the Slytherin, his eyes shining.
'I think there's great sorrow in your heart, Severus Snape. You're sad because you're away from home, and you thought your friends would be like the other boys at the other schools. But there's no shame in crying.'
The boy's chest heaved and big tears rolled down his round cheeks.
'Come on,' said the headmaster, putting his hand on his shoulder.
He led him past a firebird with magnificent wings.
'Look at it, Severus,' he murmured.
The old wizard's voice was soft and whispery, like the sound of grey ash being stirred in a barely glowing hearth.
'It's a phoenix. It was born in the sun of the distant, lofty city of Heliopolis, and its tears can cure all ailments. It burns with all its splendour for a while, then dies and rises from its ashes. Look how beautiful it is... Doesn't that comfort you?'
The young Slytherin wiped his eyes and shook his head.
Nothing can console me.
After dinner, Severus went downstairs to the hiding place provided by Dumbledore's mercy and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Despite all his vague moral qualms, his reflection expressed the truth of his being: the sarcastic, cynical boy had always been unhappy. His body reflected his cruel truth, not an insignificant appearance masking his true soul. He was skinny, black and pale, like a root without sunlight, surviving on the frail glow of his books.
He hated that hair. Everything about his face, everything about him, disgusted him. He opened the drawer of his bedside table and looked in the mirror again, holding the scissors. Lucius could love everyone else in the world, but he would never love someone like him. What had brought him to this point? He wanted to punish them, and himself, wash up and disappear. Lowering his arm, he looked at the scissors, morbidly reminiscent of doll's limbs separated from their bodies.
He was startled by the sound of a door, followed by a deep but youthful voice.
'Nice little hideaway... How did you get it?'
Severus didn't have time to turn around. Lucius's voice became a touch on his back, his arms around Severus's waist and his chin resting at the juncture of his feverish shoulder and neck.
'I'm sorry about what happened last time,' he said softly. 'I was upset. I didn't mean what I said.'
His right arm relaxed and he stroked his cheek.
'What happened to your hair?'
'I cut it.'
'Why did you cut it? It was such a beautiful colour.'
'I... I wanted a change.'
Severus couldn't think of a better answer.
'It's a shame,' Lucius replied. 'I really like long hair.'
The teenager dropped the scissors. Lucius immediately grabbed them and put them in his pocket.
'Don't you think it would suit me?'
He cast a spell.
'Just a test,' he said, releasing his grip.
Severus turned around to see the mirage of beautiful, long hair now gleaming with a moon-like glow on either side of Lucius's face. But his eyes were strange; he looked as if he were drunk. It wasn't alcoholic drunkenness, but it was similar to the way he had looked at him and smiled in the alchemy class.
'Are you coming to Hogsmeade with me the day after tomorrow?'
'Actually... I've already promised Bellatrix.'
'Black? Would you rather see Black?'
'No, I wouldn't.'
Severus's face looked so beautiful in the candlelight. His long black eyes looked so intense, as if filled with pain, immense. Lucius ran his hand through his youngest comrade's cropped locks, which were growing back between his fingers, and held him close; Severus wished the embrace would never end.
Life was good. Why had he ever doubted that? Could there have been times when he would rather have remained in the nothingness of sleep than face what life had in store for him?
That evening, Severus returned to the common room with a light heart. The two Medipsychowizards were a few metres ahead of him; their room was on the way to the Slytherin dungeons.
He saw the assistant hand McGonagall's friend a bouquet of white roses.
'Here. I picked them myself. Would you mind giving them to Minerva?'
'I suppose you picked them in Miss Sprout's greenhouse?'
'Er... Yes.'
'Ah, love, Gwénolé... What wouldn't we do for love?'
'Do you think that...'
'I'm sure of it now.'
'And yet, I haven't been able to read his mind.'
'I may not have Occlumency like you, but I know how to ask the right questions.'
The assistant scratched his chin.
'It's not surprising when I think about it. It fits perfectly.'
'Elementary, my dear. Elementary.'
to be continued