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Annabelle

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It was Valentine’s Day- the worst day of the year. Stupid cupids, pink fluff, fluttering hearts, and gooey claims of false attraction made Severus Snape want to curse into oblivion those foolish enough to believe that such a thing love existed. But, alas, Snape knew better. He was a teacher and would be severely punished if he harmed a single hair on a student’s head.

When that moronic Professor Lockhart had told the students to ask him about Love Potions, Snape had given them all a look that clearly stated that they would rue the day that they asked him about the topic. Then, he stormed bitterly into his office and sat down at his desk with his elbows on the surface, his hands supporting his head.

He despised Valentine’s Day.

“Excuse me, Professor Snape?” a breathy, girly voice came from above.

Snape looked up warily, expecting to see a bunch of giggling girls waiting to bother him about Love Potions. Instead, he saw a young boy whose voice was so high he had mistaken it for a girl’s. The little student held a piece of parchment in his hand.

“It’s from Professor Dumbledore,” the student explained, dropping the letter nervously on his desk and running off soon after.

Snape knew exactly what was written on the parchment, and for that very reason, he refused to open it. He caught it up in one swift motion and stashed it away in a drawer filled almost to the brim with ten or so more of them. Dumbledore had sent him one every single bloody year that he had worked at Hogwarts. He had read the first one and threw it angrily into the fire. The second, third, and fourth one followed the original. After a while, he tired of it and put them all in a drawer he had specifically left for the blasted things.

“Look at the past, but do not stare.”

He could almost hear Dumbledore’s wise voice.

“Letting go does not mean that it hurts too much to hold on. Simply that life changes and that one has the power to overcome the pain of yesterday.”

Snape spat in disgust. What did Dumbledore know about love, the kind of love that ripped one’s heart out and left it in five thousand pathetic, shattered pieces? The type of burning passion that fed on one’s soul until it left nothing but the empty shell of a man, a shadow of what he once was? No, Dumbledore knew none of this. Dumbledore did not know how much the memory of her still hurt him. He had no clue how he had wept the night she was killed. He could not fathom that Snape could not love because he harbored such a hurricane of feelings that he wished that he had never met her. He wanted to be rid of the tsunami of pain that beat at his outward walls.

Letting go was not as easy as Dumbledore made it seem. According to the Headmaster, one needed to be strong to let go of something that caused them pain. Snape sneered. That was ridiculous. He had been the child who had reached for the stove when his parents had specifically told him not to. But he did not keep his hand there, he had screamed out in pain and taken his hand away immediately. The letters were completely useless. They merely reminded him of the agony of first and only love.

As he thought about her, he felt his heart, which had been crudely repaired, ache. His head turned slightly to the left towards the closet, which held his Pensieve.

“No,” he told himself. He was not going to go anywhere near that memory, hence the lock and chain around the cabinet.

Yet Snape found the call of the haunting memory irresistible. He wanted--no, needed-- to see her. He wanted to see the light in her forest green eyes, her rippling laugh and her glossy, black hair. Then, he remembered why he hated Valentine’s Day.

In a daze, he wandered over to the forbidden cabinet and removed the key that he always kept in his pocket. Subconsciously, he put the small, silver key into the lock and turned it. The chains fell off, clanging on the floor. The noise jolted him out of his reverie.

He stared in horror at what he had done. The doors swung open of their own accord, revealing the crystal bowl inside with the misty memories swirling around and softly glittering in the dim light of the room.

Though his body screamed at him to step away from the Pensieve, his hands, and his heart, would not listen. They reached out and took the cold, smooth glass, picking it up. His unwilling legs traveled over to his desk.

Sighing in defeat, he allowed his heart to direct his actions for the very first time since that Valentine’s Day nineteen long years ago. He dipped the tip of his wand into the whirlpool of reflections and found the one that his heart and mind had avoided for more than half of his life. Without hesitation, he dove straight into the heart of his misery; fell into the black, bottomless pit of heartbreak.

And he could not escape.

Snape saw his fifteen-year-old self admiring his work. The younger Snape looked at the tiny, golden vial with pride. A single pink ribbon was tied carefully around the stopper. Felix Felicis. Still, he thought that it was the only potion perfect enough for her.

It had been difficult to make and Snape thought that he had added a wrong ingredient many times, but he had tested it on a house-elf that morning and the potion had not killed it. It must be safe.

Snape followed his younger self out into the Great Hall, both of them saw her.

Her.

Annabelle Marie Bradley. Her black tresses cascaded down in glossy ringlets as she sat alone at the Slytherin table. She was always alone. As if she felt his gaze, she looked over to him with her stony jade eyes, her perfect red lips curving into a seductive smile.

Snape felt an electric shock run through him as he stared at the beautiful girl that he had one loved. He looked at his younger self and almost smiled sadly, knowing how his hopes would be dashed that very day.

He saw himself attempt to return the smile, but noted that he had only managed a grimace. Both of them walked towards her, one hiding the little golden vial nervously behind his back, the other simply watched her.

“Annabelle,” the younger Snape whispered, trembling as he held his gift out for her to see. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Snape thought he saw a flash of pleasure in her eyes but it disappeared as he looked closely. Though he knew that she was just a memory, he wanted to reach out and touch her and see if she felt as cold as she had been that day.

“Severus,” she said icily. “What do you mean by this?”

“It’s Felix Felicis,” the younger Snape replied. “I just wanted you to know how much I love you.”

“There is no such thing as love,” she snapped. Her face remained calm, but a torrent of bitterness was apparent in her eyes. “There never has been and there never will be.”

Both Snapes stood there, frozen, speechless, hurt by her unfeeling words.

“If you have nothing to say,” she continued harshly. “I must be on my way.”

“Fine,” he snarled. “It was a waste of my time, anyways. I can’t wait for someone like you.”

“You would have waited forever,” she replied coldly. “I would rather be driven to insanity by the Cruciatus Curse than be in love with anyone.”

Without another word, she gathered her things and left, her robes billowing behind her as she walked away. The younger Snape ran in the opposite direction, but the older one kept his eyes on her and thought he saw a single, glistening tear roll down her cheek as she turned the corner towards her first class.

He tried to run after her, thinking that if he could catch her this time, he could make up for all his mistakes in the past. But the Pensieve would not let him. He flew back up, back to the dimly lit room that he hid himself in, back to the present, back to his seemingly never-ending heartache.

“Annabelle!” he cried as the memory faded away into nothingness.

Then, he found himself in his office, standing next to the desk he had placed the Pensieve on. Sighing, he returned it to its cabinet, but did not lock it. Maybe Dumbledore was right. Maybe somewhere deep inside that mangled, broken heart, he did have the power to overcome the pain.

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A/N: I wrote this for the Ravenclaw Valentine Challenge. It’s a bit darker and has more angst than I planned for it to, but hey, it’s Snape. Enjoy! And special thanks to Madame Marauder, J.C. Cainstone, Diabolical, Delusional, and Druggy! (Haha, inside joke.)

Amor, Dill