Undivided

[starfishstar]

UNDIVIDED

Summary: When his Dark Mark throbs for the first time in years, Severus is in his basement classroom, washing potions vials.

Characters: Severus Snape

Words: 450

Notes: For stereolightning, who has sometimes wondered why, in all my writing about characters with complex emotional landscapes, I've never been drawn to write about Snape. So I thought I'd try.

Set during Goblet of Fire.

Story:

When his Dark Mark throbs for the first time in years, Severus is in his basement classroom, by the stone basin in the corner, wand extended, overseeing vials and beakers as they wash themselves.

The first stab of dull pain in his left forearm, intimately familiar despite its long absence from his life, startles Severus into letting one of the glass vials fall. He flicks his wand, catching the vial before it hits the stone basin; waves his wand, aligning the vial back among the others that hover in mid-air, scrubbing themselves. He resists the urge to rub the thumb of his other hand against the discomfort of his forearm, where the momentary pain is already fading.

Severus is no fool; he knows this means the Dark Lord is returning. The Dark Lord is not yet returned – the pain would be far worse, the mark would burn a far more livid black – but it is only a matter of time.

Staring straight ahead, watching congealed flecks of potions ingredients loosen themselves from the vials that twist and turn in the air, light from the torches on the walls catching and flashing from their glass surfaces, Severus feels neither joy nor fear. He has been waiting for this moment a long time. All his adult life, one could say, has been lived in an awareness of the inevitability of this: the return, the final confrontation. The role he himself must play, a role to which he condemned himself when he failed to protect Lily Evans.

No, earlier: When he turned away from her, and chose the Dark Arts instead.

Or earlier still: When he lied and said, No. It doesn't make any difference.

Severus has had many years to think about how this will unfold, endless long nights to question his own loyalties. All his life has been lived in a small corner of the great shadow cast by more forceful men: his father, Voldemort, Dumbledore. For as long as he can remember, Severus has done what someone else told him to do, sometimes willingly and sometimes not.

He stares at the glassware circling in front of him, seeing but not seeing, and reaffirms his vow to himself: This time, his loyalty will not be to any man. He will follow their orders, yes. Severus has no fear of anything any person alive might command him to do. But his loyalty is not for the having; it is the one thing he refuses to divide.

Wand still extended, potions vials balanced aloft, Severus allows himself to close his eyes for one second, no more. Behind darkened lids, always, he sees laughing green eyes.

Then he opens his eyes, and carries on.