The moon hangs low in the night sky, casting a silvery glow across the castle grounds. Severus Snape makes his way through the dimly lit corridors, his footsteps echoing softly. It was late, well past curfew. This was a ritual of his. Despite the late hour and the exhaustion that often seeps through him, every night he wondered the abandoned halls. He relishes the silence, especially after a full day of teaching idiot children—
A flicker of movement catches his eye, like the dim light from a wand.
He pauses, narrowing his eyes at the Astronomy Tower. It was an unusual place for a student at this hour. Even though it was probably a couple of students sneaking out for some… alone time, a sense of foreboding settles in his gut.
Quietly, he ascends the spiral staircase, each step creaking under his weight. As he reaches the top, the cool night air brushes against his face. The expansive sky is dotted with stars, but his attention is drawn to a shadowy figure standing just over the open ledge of the balcony. As he nears, he can make out red curls in the moonlight.
“Mr. Weasley,” Snape's voice cuts through the stillness like a knife, low and cold. "What on earth are you doing?"
The boy startles, nearly losing his balance, stopping himself at the last second. The professor’s heart skips a beat. “Professor Snape!” he exclaims, straightening up. “I—uh, I was just... stargazing.”
“Stargazing, is it?” He steps forward, arms crossed. “You have no telescope. No star chart.”
Percy Weasley flushes red. “Recreationally stargazing.”
“At this hour? You are aware of the rules regarding curfew are you not?”
“I thought—”
“Clearly,” he interrupts, “you did not think at all. You’re risking detention, not to mention your safety.”
The boy looks back to the sky. Snape realizes then that it’s not the sky the Weasley boy is staring at. It’s the ground.
His heart skips a beat. Surely the boy wasn’t thinking of…
“What are you doing?” He steps closer to the boy, heart racing. “You must come back from the edge this instant.”
The Weasley boy is quiet for a moment.
“Can’t you just leave?”
Merlin, help him find the right words to say.
“No. I will not until you back away from the ledge.”
Once again, the boy is quiet, this time for a longer moment. Severus thinks it feels like an hour.
“I... I don’t know if I can,” he whispers, voice barely audible as a gust of cool wind. The boy still hasn’t moved from the edge of the tower.
“Look at me, Mr. Weasley.” Severus orders gruffly.
The boy does.
Although Slytherins aren’t typically prone to just drastic measures regarding their self-hatred, Severus is no stranger to suicidal students. It was nasty, ugly thing that reared its head at least once a year. It was most often Ravenclaws, however. He could count on one hand how many times it’s been a Gryffindor student.
And mostly certainly, it had never been a Weasley.
In his experience dealing with things of this nature, the student would always be in tears of some kind, the evidence of their distress clear on their faces. But when the boy turns around to look at the professor, Severus can only blink in shock.
His face is blank and unmoving. He just stares at the professor with dull, lifeless eyes. It’s like the young wizard has been put under an imperious curse.
“Mr. Weasley, I insist you come back here.”
The young wizard looks back away from his professor, this time his gaze floats up to the sky. It was a clear, beautiful night, and the stars were a magnificent blaze of sparkles across the inky black.
He doesn’t look well, Severus realizes. In the starlight, anyone would look pale. But the boy looked downright transparent. His eyes, which are somehow focused and glazed over at the same time, appear hallow. He’s thin, much too thin to be considered healthy.
How had he not noticed before? Severus liked to pride himself on his ability to notice things. As a former spy, it was a skill he honed in and often kept in practice. He knew he was a flawed man, and he also knew that he abhorred teaching. He had found himself, after the war, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Dumbledore, and Hogwarts, offered him a level of protection he couldn’t get anywhere else. In exchange, he taught.
That didn’t mean he enjoyed it.
He didn’t like children, and he didn’t enjoy teaching them. There were a handful of students, perhaps five or six, during his tenure that he did enjoy teaching. It was exceedingly rare to find even a modicum of talent among the brats at this school, and Percy Weasley was one of them.
His older brother Bill had the drive but no natural talent. He was often too attached to the instructions. The second eldest, Charlie, had natural talent but no drive. The boy couldn’t sit still, and despite his potential spent too much time gazing out of windows and fidgeting.
Percy was different. He had the talent and drive, creating a perfect storm of pure, raw potential. Severus didn’t doubt the boy would be capable of scoring an O in Potions, and perhaps in every other class. Severus often didn’t instruct the boy as he did his peers, the boy simply didn’t need it.
Perhaps if he had, he would have seen the signs.
A cool breeze comes through, ruffling the boy’s sweater. Severus reaches into his robe and pulls out his wand. He’s not about putting the boy in a full body bind and levitating him straight to the Hospital Wing. Still, he’s quite close to the edge. If Severus isn’t quick enough, stunning the boy could send him tumbling over and down.
“Mr. Weasley-,” Severus hesitates. “Please step away from the ledge. I’d like to talk to you in my office.”
This, for whatever reason, distracts the boy from the stars. He looks back over at the dour professor. Whatever is on Severus’ face is enough to have Percy blinking at him.
He can practically hear the gears turning in the boy’s head as he considers the request. If the kid didn’t have a reason to step away from the ledge, Severus would give him one. Surely, the dedicated student in Percy couldn’t refuse a request from a professor.
“Percy. My office.” Severus says tightly through gritted teeth, trying to sound as stern as possible, an easy feat. “Now.”
Somehow, it’s enough.
Percy steps backwards from the edge of the of the tower and turns to face his professor. He looks almost… calm.
“If you would,” Severus says, motioning toward the door. The boy wordlessly follows the command, walking through the door without hesitation. Severus follows, close enough to grab him if needed, but far enough away in an attempt to keep the boy from getting scared off.
They don’t speak. Percy leads the way, up and down fights of stares and through corridors until they reach just above the dungeons where the Potions Classroom is. Percy stops at the locked office door. Severus approaches the door and opens it, the magic in the locks humming in tune with his magical signature. He holds the door open and allows Percy in first.
Severus has always liked his office. It had been one of the only good things about taking the Potions Master job.
He lined the walls with dark wooden shelves and filled them with a wide array of potion ingredients, glass vials, and old tomes. A large, although he will freely admit, somewhat imposing wooden desk sits in the center, often cluttered with parchment and quills. To the right, a brick fireplace sits unlit with two armchairs facing it, not that Severus entertains often. Dim light filters through small, barred windows, casting odd shadows on the walls.
Severus takes out his wand.
“Inflamar.”
A small fireball shoots out of his wand and lands in the fireplace. It lights immediately, the wood cracking as the flames build.
He thinks about telling the boy to sit in one of the armchairs but decides against it. Percy may feel more inclined to answer questions if Severus treats this situation like any other time he’s talked to students in his office.
“Have a seat, W-, Percy.”
Severus gestures to the chair in front of his desk. The boy wordlessly sits in the wooden, high-backed chair. Severus waits until the boy is settled before walking around the desk to sit in his own chair. The young wizard looks at him with wide, tired eyes.
Severus leans back in his seat.
“Tea?” he asks.
Percy frowns. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Tea, Percy. Would you like some?”
“I, uh, sure. I suppose.”
Severus summons two cups of tea with the wave of his hand. The Hogwarts House-Elves always keep some on hand for when he requires it. It appears in an instant, piping hot on a metal tray, which also has a small carafe of milk and a sugar bowl.
The professor helps himself, pouring a small amount of milk into his tea. Percy watches him, not moving until Severus inclines his head in permission. After express permission, the boy takes the second cup of tea and adds two sugar cubes into it
“Would you like to explain yourself?” Severus asks.
The boy audibly swallows. He busies himself by taking a spoon and stirring the sugar into the tea, looking down.
“I will not permit you to leave until I have an explanation, Percy. Or I will stun you and take you to Madam Pomphrey myself.
The spoons clinks against the sides of the cup.
“I,” the boy stops stirring for a second before continuing. “You’ve met my brothers, haven’t you, Professor?”
Severus nods.
“So you know. Bill and Charlie, even the twins. They’re normal. They have friends. They can fly a broom without falling off and get all O.W.L.’s without even trying. And I-,” he sets the spoon down.
“I’m not. I’m not any of things. Normal, I mean.” He adds on. “And everyone knows it.”
Severus can relate.
Coming from the bad part of Cokesworth and attending a primary school in the good part was his first taste of being ‘othered’. He was too lanky, his nose too big, his teeth too crooked. He wore second-hand clothes that were often dirty, and his hair was always greasy. He hadn’t a single friend in the entire world besides Lilly. There was no getting comfort from his parents- his emotionally absent mother was of no help, and his chronic alcoholic father would sooner hit his son with a belt than comfort him.
He had thought things would get better when he went to Hogwarts, but it hadn’t. Thanks to those Marauders. Every insecurity he ever had was on blast, and his classmates took advantage of it. He’d lost Lilly, in the end. The closest person he’d ever have to a sister.
Severus can still remember the day she died. It was burned into his memory, and so was every mistake and regret he’d ever made when it came to her.
Percy cradles the cup of tea like it’s the most precious thing in the world. He gazes down into the amber liquid, perhaps looking at his own reflection.
“I just want to be normal.” His voice is small.
If Severus weren’t burned with the weight of a long, terrible life, his heart would almost break of the boy.
“People are rational, sir. Right?”
This question takes Severus off guard.
“What do you mean?’ he asks quietly.
The boy doesn’t look up from his tea when he speaks.
“It’s like… people try to do everything they can to feel good and do everything they can to avoid feeling bad. Then they make decisions based off those feelings. I hate waking up early for classes, but if I don’t, I’ll fail. So, the bad of waking up early when compared to the bad of flunking out… it’s not as bad. But when I try to think about the bads and the goods… I can’t find anything good.”
Severus stares. That was surprisingly insightful for a fourteen year old boy.
“I tried, I really did, to see anything good. But I can’t. I don’t.”
Finally, the boy looks up from the cup, which is still untouched. He looks young, younger than his age.
“I’m just tired of trying to find the good.”
Severus is not at all sure of what to say. He feels both overwhelmed and woefully unprepared for such a thing. What do you say to someone, a child no less, who looks you in the eye and tells you there’s nothing worth living for?
First, he considers telling the boy what good things there are-, the boy had two living and (if Molly and Arthur are anything like they were when they went to school together) loving parents. He had magic and was learning to use it. He had his brothers. But as he goes to point this out, he stops himself. This doesn’t seem like the moment to start offering solutions.
The best option is to allow the feelings, rather than trying to solve them.
“I see,” he says dryly, allowing himself to sip at his tea as he tries to figure out what to say. The boy realizes he’s holding a cup of tea still, and he mirrors the professor’s actions by taking a sip of his own.
“I will not lie to you.”
(This is true. Severus was not in the habit of lying to his students about anything other than his past). The boy seems to bristle at this.
“Sometimes, Percy the 'good' is buried beneath layers of hardship and disappointment. And the ‘bad’. It is not always easy to see,” Severus sets his cup of tea down.
“But it is often worth the effort.”
“But not always.”
He thinks of Lilly.
“Always.”
The young wizard sets his own cup down, half finished, and leans back in the chair, as far as the high wooden-backed thing would go.
“Can I go, sir?”
Severus narrows his eyes. There’s no guarantee that the boy won’t just walk himself back up to the Astronomy Tower and fling himself over the edge. But he’s certain he’d completely shut down if Severus insisted he go to see Madam Pomphrey.
“You may. However, I expect you to come back to my office Friday by six.”
Percy blinks.
“Er, what for, sir?”
Severus sighs nasally, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
Patience is a virtue, one he’d never quite mastered.
“Have you ever heard of Occlumency?”
The child nods.
Severus stands and walks to one of his bookshelves and finds the book he’s looking for. He walks back to his desk and places it in front of the boy. The child reads the title.
Silent Mind, Still Soul: A Beginners’ Guide to Clearing the Mind by Edric Thorne.
“The first step to mind magics is clear mind. Read that book. I expect an essay on the first two chapters by Friday.”
“You-,” The boy stutters. “You’re going to teach me Occlumency?”
“I intend to instruct you, yes.”
Percy perks up at this, whatever fleeting sense of doom that had brought him so, so very close to the edge of the tower seemingly gone. It was a good sign- the feeling had been temporary. Even though the chances are sure it would come back. If he could plan meetings with the child and give him the expectations of appearances, it could delay the thoughts. Certainly, the boy needed a mind healer. He could write to Molly-,
He groans internally. Molly had always been a bit… much at school. Perhaps he’d be better off writing a letter to Arthur. Although what the boy had told him seemed to be in confidence, and he didn’t seem like a treat to others. Maybe only to himself?
So, keeping an eye on him would be the next best option.
“Mindfulness is every Occlumens’ starting point. Master that, and we’ll move on to magic itself.”
The boy stars at the book cover for a few long moments.
“Are you-,” he pauses. “Are you not angry?”
Severus blinks. It had never occurred to him to be angry. Frustrated, yes. Perhaps annoyed. Surely, he didn’t have such a reputation that one would think he’d be angry at a suicidal student.
“I am not, Percy. If anything, I am…” he winces. “Empathetic. I understand-,” he searches for the correct words. “That it can be exhausting trying to find the ‘good’. Occlumency, and the mindfulness it requires, assisted me greatly. It may assist you as well.”
The boy’s jaw drops.
“You mean you-,”
“When I was your age, yes.” Severus deadpans, unwilling to give up anything more. He wouldn’t want the boy knowing just how damn close he’d been right after he lost Lilly, or even how awful he felt during the war.
The boy looks down at the worn book. Its spine is cracked, pages crackling and dog-eared. Severus hadn’t used this particular book during his own studies of course, he’d gotten it in this condition from a second-hand shop, but if the child wanted to make assumptions about it, then so be it.
“Thank you.” He mutters, so quietly Severus almost didn’t hear. Finally, there’s some emotion in the boy’s voice. It sounds almost like… awe.
“In return, I expect you to be prompt. My office at six on Friday after dinner, with two feet of parchment about the first two chapters.”
“Of course, Professor.” The boy says quickly.
Severus stands, motioning for his student to do. He does, tucking the book under his arm.
“I will walk you to your dormitory, lest you run into a prefect or another teacher.” Snape tells him. Wordlessly, he opens the door and ushers the child through it. They walk in comfortable silence to the Fat Lady.
“Percy Weasley! Where have you been?” the portrait exclaims, getting ready to start chewing out the young wizard for being out past curfew. The boy flinches.
“He’s with me. I required his assistance.” Severus says smoothly. The Fat Lady’s eyes narrow, but she just huffs. “Password?”
“Pygmy Puff.” Percy says.
The portrait swings open, revealing just the entrance to the red- and gold clad Common Room.
Percy looks over his shoulder at the dour professor.
“Thank you, sir. Really.”
Severus lets a bit of air escape his nose.
“Friday. Six o’clock.”
“Yes sir.” Percy says firmly. He walks into the Common Room and the door slams shut behind him. The Fat Lay peers at him curiously.
“Since what does a snake want anything to do with a lion?” she asks.
“When the snake and lion find a common enemy, they are better off together.”
It’s a quiet walk back to his office.