Work Text:
Professor Snape,
I hardly know where to begin. I guess at the end. It's what my muggle therapist says is also the start. I am hesitant. My whole life ended though, so I guess this is a beginning in some way. But where to truly begin? I guess with the aftermath, at the close, at this new beginning. When I knew I would die.
That night is still sort of hazy at this point, so many months on. "A way to deal with trauma" according to current therapist drivel. I've talk to so many about such a short amount of time to try and understand what happened. Whispering truths, walking into the forbidden forest to face Tom. I knew you were long gone. I'd witnessed your memories. But, to quote Dr. Aston, the aforementioned therapist, I hadn't processed them. All the words I've spoken since, all the people I've talked to, I feel like I haven't said anything. So this is an attempt to reach you, to process, to write out my thoughts.
Seeing my loved one that night as I made my way to end, to the beginning. What a gift that was. You didn't get that. You got to stare into my eyes as you followed your last instructions. The eyes of my mother. Who knew you, who cherished you as a friend for a time. What would your life, and mine, have looked like had you not destroyed that friendship? Would your visage have appeared to me while I walked to my fate? Would your words of encouragement spurred me on? We will never know. I am struggling truthfully with all I did not, and do not know. Of your specifically. I have faced your portrait back at the Headmistresses office. Professor McGonagall and I have made an effort to meet in the aftermath, in these past months, we have added our power in our grief to work on picking up the pieces and fix up the castle. To make Hogwarts whole, and maybe even make it better. As the new school year approaches I don't think I will return to see you or her once classes start up. Too many missing faces and empty chairs at empty tables. So I have been going more frequently as the summer winds down. Unsurprisingly conversations with your portrait are not very helpful. But that brings me to write to you here.
Dr. Aston doesn't exactly understand the context. How could she, she is a muggle afteral. But anger, longing, grief, the spigot of human emotions, are just that...human. Not wizard, or witch, or squib, or muggleborn. Her utter obliviousness to how close we got is refreshing. She doesn't look at me like I am the Chosen One. And I desperately needed an outlet to understand what I went through. Hermione suggested it actually. Got us all records and recommendations. And bothered us until she was sure we had booked an appointment and successfully went to three. Those nagging letters made me feel as close to normal as I have felt for the past year. Like I said I feel like I have been talking as nauseam. But it doesn't fill the void, of loved ones, of understanding. Your role is one of the largest of those voids. I am trying to ruminate on anything true I have learned about your. Your life was shrouded in mystery. I think it was a way of maintaining your cover but also your pain. Keeping the hurt fresh, the loss of my mother, your failings as a spy and protector. But it was also a means of self preservation. Against Tom Riddle, against even Professor Dumbledore. Against my father, and me (or what I represented), against the whole world. What a lonely, dangerous path you trod. And no one knew. I don't envy you. I mourn for the role you could have had, the lessons you did manage to impart, and mostly the lack of respect given to your memory. I cannot fathom truly, your bravery at the end, even now. I thought for so long you were an exemplary Slytherin. But now I don't even trust what I know. War manages to do that, strip down your beliefs and values until nothing is left. Dr. Aston keeps repeating the adage, "Actions speak louder than words" but what about the multitude of conflicting actions you displayed? They are at odds with each other. I think I will never puzzle you out. But that is not the point. You are gone and the point is...I am still unsure. Perhaps one day I will be able to tell you, and to understand myself.
For now I think my purpose temporarily is to be able to forgive. I cannot. Not everyone, not at once. Not Professor Dumbledore, or the Dursleys, or Malfoy, or even my parents. But one day I think I will. My anger and fear has fueled me for too long. And I see what it did to you. I am at the beginning again and if I have learned anything, if I can take any lessons from your life it will be to hold space in my own. For the ones we have lost, the stories we will never get to tell, and to hold space in my heart for forgiveness. It may not come this month, this year, or this decade but it will come. I will write these goals as I reflect on the impact you had, not only on me, but on the world at large.
Thank you Snape for all you did and all you never got the chance to do.
HP