To describe how Severus Snape was feeling would be pointless. There were five hundred Dementors around swarming the little grey cell that he was currently residing in. Could I be any clearer, or should I, your humble narrator, elaborate more? Simply, anyone who has been around a Dementor for a period time knows that the foul creatures suck the life out of you. Does this make any more sense to you, or should I continue to blather on like a fool?
As I sat there, writing away in the small journal of mine, I pondered one simple question: why had I come to Azkaban, a place swarming with Dementors, to visit with the murderer of the greatest wizard of his age? But I already knew the answer. I was a writer; I searched for the purest human emotions to write about. What better place is there to come to write about basic human emotions than Azkaban? The setting might have been dark and dreary, but the prisoners knew more about life than anyone else. They had been through it all. There was no happiness in their faces, just pure wisdom.
I looked at the state of my former Potions teacher. His face was hollowed out; the flesh just lay waxy on his skull. He was never an attractive man, but Azkaban had made his already disfigured features look even worse. His long, crooked nose was even more disproportionate to his face, and his eyes seemed to have sunk to the back of his head. He looked at me with uncertainty as I sat across from him in his tiny cell. He didn’t sneer like he used to years ago; in fact, he seemed calm. I didn’t see the anger etched his face that I saw as a student in his class. I almost did not think this was the same man I was familiar with many years ago, but when he spoke, I knew it had to be my old professor.
“What are you doing here?” he asked coolly. “Come to taunt me like the others?”
“No, Professor,” I replied. “I’m here for my story.”
“Still trying to write that stupid book of yours? Like your father said years ago, writing is not a suitable profession for a Slytherin.”
“And being a Death Eater was? Sir, I don’t plan on joining you in here permanently.”
“I am not saying it is. I am saying, however, to leave this emotion-surged writing or whatever you call it to the Ravenclaws.”
“Very well. But I am already here, having a little chat with you. I think that it is a little too late to leave now. I still have an hour here.”
“Wonderful,” he muttered.
I shivered slightly. The Dementors were beginning to take their toll on me. I was a guest here, fresh meat for their putrid stomachs. It didn’t help me either that I was sitting on the floor of a cell that belonged to one of the most heavily guarded prisoners. I could have gotten special protection, but I politely declined. I was not a greater man than Severus Snape; I just made better choices.
When I pulled out my wand to perform the charm to repel the foul creatures, my professor gave me a funny look.
“Let me get rid of them for you,” he said, snatching away my wand. “I may be lacking food, but I still know how to defend myself."
I let him keep my wand. Even though it was against all Ministry protocol, I didn’t care. The poor man was stripped of all human dignity; he deserved a chance to cast away the foul creatures that had been haunting him for years.
He looked at the wand with some sort of desire. He waved it around first, set off a few sparks before turning on the Dementors. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he cast the spell, as Severus Snape was impossible to read, but I knew it must be something of triumph.
“Expecto Patronum,” he hissed softly. The figure that emerged from his wand shocked me. It was not what I expected or even imagined. I had imagined something fiercer, like a snake or bear. But this figure was quite ludicrous, even comical. It took all my strength to stop myself from bursting out in laughter.
“I know what you are thinking,” he muttered to me as he led his Patronus around the Dementors. “I am not overly proud of him either at times.”
“He is nice,” I replied, “for a bunny.”
The fluffy bunny hopped around the cell as the Dementors quickly vanished.
“There is a decent reason behind this, if you must know,” he replied.
“The fluffy bunny?” I asked.
“Yes. I might just tell you for the sheer reason that I believe you might have the maturity to handle it.”
“You don’t have to tell me, you know.” I didn’t mean it, though. I lived to hear stories like this. This was the stuff that made the world go round. Not to mention that I highly respected the Potions Master, and I didn’t want my memory of him to be tainted by a random pink bunny.
“But I have a feeling that you could appreciate the meaning behind it. You are one of the few who actually has an understanding of human nature, which probably explains why you are interested in that emotion-writing.”
I leaned back against the wall, unprepared for what I was about to hear.
I was only a little boy then, around five or six. It was Christmas, though I was not overly excited for it. In the Snape family, Christmas was a nonexistent holiday, meant for those too foolish to realize that presents and toys did not do anyone a load of good.
Personally, I always thought my mother and father made that excuse up to hide the fact that we were dirt poor and could not afford gifts. Needless to say, I have no affinity for the holiday nowadays, but then I did. I had always wanted a Christmas gift. The people I knew from the Muggle primary school received presents; even my cousins from my mother’s side celebrated Christmas. If they could, why couldn’t I? What was so wrong about me?
I was sitting in my room, reading the latest book I nicked from my mother’s closet. This one discussed the properties of the three Unforgivable Curses. I was reading about what kind of brain damage happens to children who are exposed the Cruciatus Curse when I heard a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I yelled.
My father walked in through the door. I quickly shoved my book under the mattress and sat up to face him.
“What is it?” I asked.
He glared back at me. “Don’t give me that cheek.”
“What cheek?” I asked innocently, though I knew the answer.
My father just muttered something under his breath.
“I know today is Christmas, and we don’t give presents ‘round here. But yeh’ve been mopin’ all day, so I figured I’d get yeh somethin’.”
“Oh,” I replied, still in shock.
“Here,” he said, handing me an oddly shaped lump. “Don’t tell your mother, though. She might get upset.”
My father left the room, slamming the door behind him. I looked down at the package my father gave me. It was very strangely shaped, wrapped in horribly gaudy red paper. I ripped the paper off the present. For the first time in a while, I felt like a normal five-year-old. I was celebrating Christmas, ripping the wrapping paper off my present.
It was a stuffed bunny. The bunny was pink with a horrible blue bow around its neck. I had never been fond of stuffed creatures of any sort, but for some reason, this bunny didn’t bother me. It was the only thing my father ever gave me. I placed the bunny on a shelf near my bed, where it would stay for a very long time.
Severus laughed hoarsely. “That was the only time my father genuinely cared for me. He was always a miserable bastard. Shortly after that, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. He was a horrid smoker, three or four packs a day. He had to quit smoking, along with going through some horrible treatment.
“He became very depressed, not to mention that nicotine withdrawal made him grumpy. He was horrible to my mother and I. He hit her a couple times, and he burned all my schoolbooks one year. He died before I turned sixteen.”
“Oh,” I said. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. He paused for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.
“I kept the stupid bunny, though. Even brought it to Hogwarts with me. Before I was sent here, I left it at my home. Didn’t want the Ministry to see. It would destroy the reputation of Severus Snape.”
The Potions Master turned away from me. I was still in shock. I had always wondered how he could be so cruel. I wanted to rush over and hug him. I would have, except for the fact that I was afraid I might be cursed.
I didn’t look at him. I felt indecent, like I was walking in on a very private moment. I just sat there, staring at the grey floor beneath me.
When the professor finally turned to face me, I noticed something about him. He hadn’t cried; I didn’t think he would have anyway. But still, he looked different. Heartened, I think.
“I didn’t murder Albus Dumbledore on purpose,” he said finally. “He asked me to.”
“Who? Voldemort?”
Professor Snape shivered at the sound of the name. “No, not the Dark Lord. Dumbledore himself.”
Yet again I was stuck in a stunned silence.
“Tell someone,” I said.
“No one would ever believe me,” he said smoothly. “Even so, I still deserve Azkaban. I killed him. I could have refused, but I didn’t. I killed the only person who actually cared about me.”
“I will tell them for you.”
“No, Blaise,” he replied firmly.
I got up quickly and exited the cell. I wasn’t sure what to make of my visit. I went back to my comfortable apartment, to sit and think about what was just said.
Years later, I still didn’t fully grasp everything. I never wrote it down; I kept it to myself. No one needed to hear that. He would not appreciate it.
When Severus Snape died, I asked the Ministry politely for his body. By that time, I was a renowned author of several biographies, each of them delving deeper than ever before into the person. The Minister of Magic kindly agreed, and I took his body to his home
I don’t know how I figured out where he lived. I guess God or some other great power told me. I picked the lock on the door; it was fairly easy. I expected more difficulty considering the owner. I grabbed the one object I knew the professor would want to be buried with.
I buried him next to his mother and father in the middle of the rain. It was a private ceremony, with only me, myself, and I. Before I dropped the last ceremonial dirt over his grave, I put in a single object.
It was the bunny, the one gift from his father. I knew it meant a lot to Professor Snape. At that moment, everything hit me. The bunny was the symbol of the person Severus Snape’s father was meant to be.
Azkaban's Tale - The Story of Severus Snape by tc015
Chapter Notes: Thanks to Natasha Johnson for beta-ing this.