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‘’Course Dumbledore trusts you,’ growled Moody. ‘He’s a trusting man, isn’t he? Believes in second chances. But me – I say there are spots that don’t come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d’you know what I mean?’
Snape suddenly did something very strange. He seized his left forearm convulsively with his right hand, as though something on it had hurt him.
Moody laughed. ‘Get back to bed, Snape.’
‘You don’t have the authority to send me anywhere!’ Snape hissed, letting go of his arm as though angry with himself. ‘I have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!’
‘Prowl away,’ said Moody, but his voice was full of menace."
[…] (excerpt from GoF by JKR)
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Severus Snape wasn't the type of person who was easily intimidated, or scared away for that matter. He was a lot of things but he wouldn’t label himself as a coward.
At this thought, an ugly sneer disfigured his already unhandsome face. As he passed in front of a window, the moonlight touched him and he caught his reflection on a recently polished armor - bloody Triwizard Tournament! The castle had been cleaned so thoroughly to impress the strangers, it was unnatural.
Of course, his grumpiness at this moment wasn't linked, at all, to the fact that he just became aware that Mad-Eye had confronted him in his nightshirt. Of all the humiliations! Why was it in this greyish unflattering ridiculous piece of clothing that he had to be bullied by this nightmarish brutal man?
He wasn’t usually very vain – likely because he gave up on the very idea of appearing anything but ugly in other people eyes at around age five – but the idea that the pathetic figure he could make out on the well-polished soldier shell, even if it was distorted, was what he just presented against Moody accusatory glare was making him sick to his stomach.
If he was honest with himself, he was angry. Very angry.
He knew he had lost control in front of the man, blushing and giving up, even though he didn’t have anything to do with anything! He was sure Potter was there, somewhere, under that blasted invisibility cloak! So much like his father! Always in the corridors at night, plotting dangerous and unfunny little jokes. Oh, they were all wrapped around his little finger but he, Severus Snape, could see clearly through the innocent smile. An arrogant, uncaring, little prat he was.
Fuming, as always when a Potter was involved, he paused an instant against a cold stone wall and breathed through his nose, slowly. The glacial, staled air in this part of the donjons did nothing to help his already sour disposition. He resumed his walk toward his chambers, giving up on getting himself to calm down more than that.
Should he go to Dumbledore and complain about Moody? Certainly the Headmaster wouldn’t let the man threaten him like that?
He wasn’t ready for this other kind of humiliation.
He shuddered. That man… that hated blasted auror. Damn, he definitely was afraid of him. Memories began to rush to the forefront of his mind. Memories that he had been trying to keep at bay since he encountered the man again at the welcoming feast.
Control yourself!
He wasn’t in the habit to let his mind wander where he didn’t want it to go. He had an iron grip on his brain at all times – thanks partially to his past as a spy. That was the reason why he was actually furious with himself. Furious for being scared. Furious for letting himself even acknowledge that he was indeed afraid. And, overall, furious for letting himself the luxury to wallow in the reasons for which he was so scared in the first place.
Severus Snape was a very complicated man.
If anyone had been in the position to crack his thick skull like an egg and to be able to observe his mind at work, that person would have been very shocked to see that it was very like his potions cabinet: all sinister looking and neatly labeled; everything in his logical place and clinically organized. Cold and neat.
If that person had had the chance to observe for a longer period of time though, the story would have unperceptively shifted. They would have slowly become aware of an unrelenting giant background wave. An odd, muted presence, seeping through the well-organized shelves, tainting everything just below the casual perception. All that cold, mechanical place, engulfed in an invisible tidal force that was in fact making the entire thing tick.
Severus Snape hated when he couldn’t delude himself anymore about his absolute control. Emotions, his worst enemies. It was infuriating that him, the great machine-man, was plagued by this sort of sickness. A sickness that manifested itself by rendering him absolutely helpless should he begin to feel something in a given situation. It was like a threshold that, once reached, prevented him to return all of those unwanted emotions in their neatly labeled rightful little boxes.
Dumbledore would have once again told him that he was, in the end, a very emotional man. A horrible rictus deformed his unattractive face at that. The old fool! He had been trying to convince Severus that those “emotions” were a good thing in the great scheme of things – his human part, his redeemable part…
He didn’t want to feel human. (Didn’t deserve redemption – a traitorous thought suggested).
Shaking his head, he took a controlled breath, trying to center himself. He just couldn’t do it. The unwanted pictures were assaulting him and he had to stop again, his hands shaking. Despising himself even more – and he was not renown for any lack in self-loathing as it was – he tried to think of something else, anything, and resumed walking toward his chambers.
He was so young at the time, young and apparently impressionable. He tried to convince himself that, should he have been confronted with the same situation for the first time now, he wouldn’t have been that cowardly young fool whom he definitely was then.
He was a Death Eater, and they were aurors. What else was it to be said? That he was young, scared by the whole situation and in a pit of despair at the time didn’t change anything. Spots that never come off…
He rubbed his left forearm absentmindedly, before catching himself at it and groaning out loud. What a pathetic fool he was.
He had been so lost. It was hurting so much at that time – not that the pain wasn’t still with him now. He had since promised to himself that he wouldn’t ever again exist in reach of that much pain. Never again. Always…
His dreadful memories at the aurors hands were like all his other memories around this time – blurred by his hopeless despair. He wanted to die. Why couldn’t Dumbledore just let him die!
No. He wouldn’t let himself go there.
He wondered briefly if they deliberately didn’t use veritaserum on him. Surely using physical means of coercion had been more amusing? He briefly massaged his jaw with his long fingers. They had taken so much pleasure in roughing up that young unkempt Death Eater that he definitely was. The brutes! As if it was necessary, the state he was in.
He abruptly stopped.
Potter. Potter could have been a few feet away from them in that corridor. What if he had listened to all their unpleasant conversation? What if he understood the crass allusions of the old auror?
He ground his teeth viciously.
What if Potter had heard and had had an access of brain function? No. Potter wasn’t intelligent enough to make the connection, was he? But what if the know-it-all girl was there with him? Merlin, he was feeling so frustrated with this situation right now.
Maybe he ought to seek the Headmaster now? It wouldn’t be his problem alone anymore… Damn them all!
Reluctantly, he turned away and walked back toward where he came from. He slowly ascended the many stairs leading to Albus Dumbledore’s office, panting a little as it was a very long way from the donjons and emotionally drained as he felt now it was already too much effort.
Along the way he became aware that he was still exhibiting himself in that dreadful nightshirt. He wasn’t about to go back to change now anyway. He stilled his traits into his usual rigid sneering expression. Dumbledore had an uncanny habit to read him effortlessly when he was emotionally fragile and it wouldn’t do tonight, wouldn’t do at all indeed. If only there were something like occlumency against the other talents of Albus Dumbledore…
“Jelly Slugs”, he said absentmindedly.
The gargoyle – that horrible thing – let him access the revolving stairs.
In no time, he was in front of the big door. He hesitated. For sure, he was about to pass for the whiny ungrateful child, again. Snivellus. Ugh. Last year the blasted werewolf and Black, now Moody. Was Dumbledore trying to antagonize him? The old goat.
He breathed deeply again, and then hit the wood’s door three times in a rapid, jerky manner. The panel started to pivot on its hinges, giving him access. He checked his posture mentally.
“Severus? Is something wrong?”
The old wizard was standing up in front of the window, near Fawkes; Snape thought rather meanly that he probably interrupted his usual pacing in circle in his office.
“Nothing too consequential, Headmaster”, he replied matter-of-factly.
“Well”, smiled Dumbledore, “it’s rather late in any case hmmm?”
What an imbecile. What time was it now? Around three in the morning maybe? Of course the Headmaster would be worried to see him barging in his office in the middle of the night! He felt like an idiot. An idiot in that bloody nightshirt. He had been so caught up in his little internal melodrama, he didn’t think!
“Do take a seat Severus”, said Dumbledore, still smiling like there were nothing strange in sitting together to discuss in the middle of the night.
The headmaster took place in his usual chair, conjuring a complete tea service out of nowhere with a little jerk of his left hand. Snape hesitated only two seconds before doing what he was told. No point in resisting Dumbledore hospitality more than necessary; tea would be a welcome addition to this conversation anyway.
He sat rigidly in the blue armchair on the other end of Dumbledore desk, his back not even touching the back of the chair. When he raised his head again to look at the other man, blue eyes where madly twinkling at him; it was infuriating.
“Sorry for the late hour Headmaster, I…”
“Do help yourself to some tea, coconut biscuit?”, interrupted Dumbledore, “and do not worry about the time, I wasn’t sleeping so it’s no bother. I just hope it isn’t too grave a matter?”
Well, no need to backpedal now thought Snape, and he just blurted it out:
“It’s Professor Moody, Dumbledore. He just confronted me in the corridor, rather… unpleasantly.”
The smile on Dumbledore face faded a little. He looked rather intensely at Snape, directly in his eyes. The younger man dropped his gaze immediately, on his guards.
“Now, now Severus, why so suspicious? You know I wouldn’t…” said Dumbledore, a little annoyed now. “What did Moody do then, to have you running to me in the middle of the night?”
Fury contorted Snape’s face. How dared the old…!! He didn’t run to Dumbledore, ever. He didn’t run to anyone! He, he… And then, Dumbledore laughed. He just laughed in Snape’s incredulous face.
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“Severus? Is something wrong?”
Dumbledore looked at his Potion Master rather worriedly. He seemed a little ruffled and he was in his nightshirt of all things. It wasn’t like him to make such an… improvised apparition in front of him.
“Nothing too consequential, Headmaster”, he replied matter-of-factly.
“Well”, smiled Dumbledore, “it’s rather late in any case hmmm?”
Conjuring some tea and biscuit, he took place in front of his desk, inviting his young professor to sit too. He always looked so tense, it was rather hilarious at times. Snape took life way too seriously.
“Sorry for the late hour Headmaster, I…”
He was indeed a little agitated, how curious.
“Do help yourself to some tea, coconut biscuit?”, interrupted Dumbledore, “and do not worry about the time, I wasn’t sleeping so it’s no bother. I just hope it isn’t too serious a matter?”
The young man seemed to take a deep breath before letting whatever he had in mind out.
“It’s Professor Moody, Dumbledore. He just confronted me in the corridor, rather… unpleasantly. “
What did Alastor do to Severus to have him in this state? Dumbledore raised his head to search the eyes of the other man. Severus refused to look at him at once. It was a little hurtful to see that, after so many years, this young man couldn’t find it in himself to trust another, what a waste.
“Now, now Severus, why so suspicious? You know I wouldn’t… What did Moody do then, to have you running to me in the middle of the night?”
This seemed to infuriate Snape, to Dumbledore surprise. His face was now blotched with brick red patches and contorted in absolute anger. That look combined with that ridiculous nightshirt did the trick for Dumbledore and he couldn’t help it, he laughed good-heartedly.
Oh… if looks could kill!
He did have some anger issues. Now wasn’t the time to indulge them though. He conjured his most stern voice:
“Severus.”
Snape calmed down immediately. Dumbledore almost regretted it. It was disturbing to see this… inflexible man – and he was being generous here – always obey him reflexively, only him, mind. Disturbing but also… reassuring. As much as he hated himself for thinking it, Albus Dumbledore wasn’t the kind of man to not make good use of such absolute obedience, such absolute loyalty. Well, it couldn’t be helped in any case.
“No need to take all my questions that personally”, added Dumbledore not unkindly, “I was honestly wondering.”
After a moment of tensed silence, Snape rigidly began to recite his previous encounter with Alastor Moody, not omitting any important detail.
This clinical report had Dumbledore thinking of those carefully crafted spy-reports that the same Snape always offered him in that short time before the death of the Potters. It was efficient. And cold. A little like the man himself; for the external eye anyway.
Dumbledore knew better now. He remembered that time, when he was so sure that this coldness was all that was to be found inside his spy. It was useful for him but he couldn’t have said that he felt any attachment to the young man at the time, other than what is owned by any human being that is.
And then, Lily Potter died.
He couldn’t remember having ever witnessed, in all of his long life, such raw, bottomless despair. It was frightening and it had shocked him at the time. Especially coming from this man.
Since then, he was always aware of that volcano inside the iced-man that was Severus Snape. He could even see it under it all, particularly at time like this night, when something – or someone – shook the carefully crafted barriers he seemed to present to the world.
“I will talk to Alastor, Severus. Do not worry yourself too much though, if it come to that I will talk to Harry too. I don’t think he will guess anything from what you reported was said. You should go have some sleep, it’s pretty late and you have “dunderheads” to teach tomorrow, haven’t you?”
Dumbledore was smiling genially, proud of his little “quote”. Snape didn’t seem to have heard the joke though.
“Thank you Headmaster, and…”, Snape visibly hesitated, “thank you.”
The old wizard looked at his professor attentively while he stood up slowly to leave. He looked rather defeated at this instant if he could trust his eyes. Maybe just a little tired – which wouldn’t be too odd since it was the middle of the night.
“Oh, and Severus?”
The young man turned around on his way to the door, looking at Dumbledore’s face, waiting for his last words tonight.
“Do not torture yourself, your spots have always been the ones of a good man. You just didn’t know it for a time.”
The young man froze. Then he exited, without another word.
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Later that night, Albus Dumbledore couldn’t bring himself to regret his own cheesiness regarding those last words. The look of pure, unadulterated surprise on Severus Snape’s usually sneering face was almost painful in its rare innocence.