What would have happen if, after the death of Lily and James, and the imprisonment of Sirius, Snape decided to adopt Harry, instead of him being sent to the Dursleys? Apart from the mission of protecting the boy, he would still have had to bring him up, change diapers, pass through the torment of adolescence, the first pimples, and the overwhelming mission of finding out what do kids really like to eat nowadays.
**************
It was the dawn of the Halloween night.
Not like the others.
The man sitting in the armchair with a book on his hands, his black shoulder length hair on his eyes, focusing the flames in the fireplace and ignoring the book for hours now felt agony, sorrow, distress.
And he didn’t know why, though.
The flames caught all his attention now. Never had his weariness carved its sorrowful twinge on him so deeply.
Sometimes, loneliness can be so heavy on one’s soul.
A sharp bang outside his door woke him from his trance and he swiftly got up and turned around, blinking his eyes and trying to realize where he was, so strong was the memory of the dream he had been into.
Then there was an almost imperceptible knock on the door, as a bat flapping its wings against it.
The black clothed man got nearer and took his wand, preparing for the unexpected.
-“Who is it?” – he asked suspiciously in a low voice. Times were dangerous and nights perilous.
-“Dumbledore.” – was the answer.
The door opened to show a man that seemed not of this time or of this world. Perhaps a Halloween enthusiastic.
The long white haired and bearded man dressed in purple looked gravely above his half-moon shaped speckles to the younger man who step forward for him to enter.
-“Severus.” – was a whisper.
A blink of the sparkling old man’s eyes was enough for him to perceive something was wrong.
-“Lily…” – was all he could say, breathing his air out.
-“She and James were found tonight by Voldemort. They’re…”
This pause kept what he feared the most.
-“They’re both dead. I’m sorry, Severus. I know how you… esteemed Lily.” – Dumbledore said, at last. – “Their son is alive. Harry. I sent Hagrid to get him, I’m going to meet him tonight – we are going to get the boy to his uncles.”
-“No!” – Severus burst. It was so hard. He just couldn’t believe it. So agonizing. He never thought he would feel such pain. And he had known insupportable torture in his past. He just wished selfishly he didn’t have to witness THIS pain – her death.
-“Severus…” – Dumbledore started. – “I understand how you feel…”
-“You don’t!” – he groaned at the sympathetic man. Unbearable ache.
How could he survive? Why didn’t he die on the spot too? Breathing was so hard now! Why would he live? There was no reason.
He sighed broken-breathily, trying to control himself.
Silence was deep in that room, except for the flames hopping happily, ignoring the sorrow of the two people in there.
The one staring at the fire again had a shattered heart, a torn soul and an intense difficulty in controlling the emotions that wanted to burst out violently from his inside.
-“The… boy,… is he ok?” – agonizing misery was restraining Severus’ voice.
-“Yes, he is. The curse turned back and hit Voldemort. He’s gone, but the boy is unharmed.”
-“Fine. I’ll meet you there. I have to go to Godric’s Hollow. I have to…” – his head was about to split open. – “I have to see for myself.”
Dumbledore looked at him sadly and put his hand on his shoulder.
-“You don’t have to, you know.”
-“I have to. I must.” – his voice was a painful murmur now.
-“It’s your decision. I’ll wait you there.” And he left quietly, taking a last glance but silencing a word to the man who didn’t turn back, knowing any word or gesture would be in vain now.
Severus took a deep breath.
There was one reason.
One alone.
He opened a wooden chest in the corner of the room and looked for an old Diary. A tragic day had been marked with a dry weed many years ago.
A woodspurge.
He had a promise to keep, and he would honour it.
He hated James so much, more than humanly bearable. And he hated Lily too, since that day.
But he loved her since ever.
That was stronger that all rest.
Old memories started twirling inside his head, as he turned the pages over and over and over. Silence weighted so much now. And loneliness.
And finally he allowed himself to cry his pain out, staining the pages with his tears and the aged ink. Maybe it would ease a little, or perhaps not.
The dark eyed man never cried. Never felt emotions, never shown emotions, never loved.
But he did.
He cried for a love forever lost.
He cried for a promise once made.
He cried for a promise once broken.
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