asgardmeridiem | Fading sun, what have I done

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Fading sun, what have I done

Who: Severus Snape and closed threads to: Alice Liddell, Barty Crouch Jr., Voldemort, Hermione. Otherwise OPEN TO EVERYONE.
What: The aftermath of Mirror Verse
When: Days 365 through to 367-ish (up to and including the earthquake)!
Where: Various places around the city
Rating: PG for now, though there will be some violence at some point.

[Upon returning to the real Asgard, upon realising with sick dread that he's returned without Lily, Severus goes into hiding for the following two days. It's the only thing he can do while war is still waging outside. He's so bone-weary, feels so physically and mentally broken, that he can't face another moment of devastation and destruction and terror. He can't bare to think about Lily still being trapped there, unsafe, lost, her life horribly in danger.

He's failed her. Again. Seems that's the curse he has to live with: always failing the very woman he secretly, desperately, longingly loves with every wretched fibre of his being.

Despite how sore he is, how much he's aching in his muscles and deep in his bones, how heavily lost in a murky depressed fog he is, he throws himself into working on school schedules and doing what he can to organise school matters from the privacy and safety of his own place. It gives him purpose. Gives him focus. And when the explosion of heat suddenly sweeps across the city, Severus is safe enough to have to only duck down with a scramble under his desk, although the heat that settles heavy and oppressive in every nook and cranny is like being trapped inside a burning oven; very soon, he's scrabbling and tearing at his clothes, desperate to get them off and away from his perspiring skin.

In fact, it's the heat itself - and the apparent end of warring giants that's followed in its wake - that prompts Severus to eventually decide to venture out onto the streets. The heat is blazing, hotter than any heatwave he can remember ever hitting Britain; with very few clothes to call his own save those he arrived in Asgard with all those months ago, he has no choice but to don only his black slacks and white shirt, lest he faint from heat exhaustion.

Though he desperately wants to roll his sleeves up, he doesn't - his Mark has faded back to a faint reddish outline, dead and dormant, but he doesn't want to see it, doesn't want anyone else to see it. He'd rather swelter than ever let his shameful Mark see the light of day. His shirt clings wetly to his back with pit stains under his arms; his black hair clings in sweaty strands to the back of his neck while his forehead is bathed with perspiration. His face, however, despite being ruddy with the heat, is pale, withdrawn, pinched with a deeply repressed bitterness that's dangerously simmering beneath the surface.

It's not just the heat that's getting to him - it's the stubbornly unspoken thoughts and even more stubbornly ignored feelings about the previous several days bottling up inside him. Waiting to explode. Like a ticking time-bomb.

He will be found frequenting the Great Library and the school building he's bought, traversing between the two at regular intervals while he moves everything across to his new office. And in between his trips to the library or to the school, he can also be found making stops at cafes and shops for a much needed drink. Or he can sometimes be found stopping by a fountain or crouching down by a running tap, splashing cool water over his face. Or he can sometimes be found sitting on a bench in the street when he's too overcome by the heat to be able to stay on his feet any longer, broodily staring at the ground or down at his hands.

Anyone is free to stop him, although they may find themselves on the unpleasant receiving end of Severus' very short fuse. One should only approach him at one's own risk.]

[[ooc: Snape will mostly be around Odin district, however feel free to have your character bump into him anywhere, really. Feel free to also have your character bump into Snape post-earthquake on day 367. Prose or action tags are both fine with me! I'll match whatever you reply with. c:]]

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Fiona is finding this funny, and not all of the emotion's kind. See, how do you like asking the questions, huh? But at the same time, cruelty never lasts long in Fiona's heart; the sight of him not knowing something, needing help, is an unexpectedly humanizing moment.

No need to cry over it, though. She leans back with a shrug. "Well, yeah. I mean, that's the point. You overcharge for something rich people make a big deal out of. Tell me that doesn't happen in Wizarding England." Said with perhaps the smallest amount of skepticism.

"So, it's a part of England just for Wizards?" Fiona is pretty sure that'd get you sued in America, but as they've just abundantly covered, England and America are different.

"Of course," he returns, both words punctuated with a hint of distaste. He's picked up on her skepticism and while he's not surprised by it, he doesn't like it at the same time. And when she asks about wizarding England being strictly for wizards, he lets out a sigh and wonders if he truly ought to bother explaining anything to her.

"The wizarding world exists coextensively with the non-magical world on a global scale, Miss Gallagher. The magical world exists coextensively in Britain, in America, Australia, the Middle East, Africa, any country you can think of. Just as non-magical folk inhabit the earth, so do witches and wizards."

And goblins and giants and elves and unicorns and centaurs... But he's going to keep this simple for Miss Gallagher. He doesn't have the patience to go beyond simple when it comes to explaining his world to a muggle.

And while he's telling her this, he spoons a teaspoon of coffee into her mug, pours a generous splash of milk into the mug, along with a teaspoon of sugar, and begins stirring it quickly. A little trick of basic chemistry where coffee reacts better to dissolving in cold liquids rather than hot.

"What I don't understand," he continues, standing the spoon in the mug to reach for the kettle, "is why you are still so skeptical after everything that happened in the mirror world." And by 'everything', he specifically means that which she saw and experienced him doing with his magic.

Fiona listens intently, trying to envision a sort of secret service program for Wizards. They live among you, and you'll never know! Sounds like a bad Lifetime movie, but whatever. She listens, head slightly cocked to the side in interest. And then Snape has to get all hissy about it, and she nearly rolls her eyes.

"What I saw in the other Asgard," she says, with an edge of aggression that may mask the fact that this is how the explains complex concepts to children, "was people using magic, so I believe that in other places, people use magic. Excuse me for not eating up everything else I hear about it with a spoon."

Snape is a weird guy, and Fiona trusts him with her life, but not much else. And that's not a choice so much as a statement of fact; clearly, for whatever reason, he'll still protect her if he has to, and he's clearly capable. She trusts him to do what it's obvious he already does. She has yet to see if he's a liar.

Well, now, that does get his attention, and, boiling water poured into the mug, he puts the kettle back down and turns to regard her thoughtfully for a moment.

"A wise way of approaching things," he says of her not eating up everything she hears on a spoon, and he delivers the statement in a rather nondescript tone - neither approving nor strictly condescending. He does, after all, approve of that response, though he doesn't really want her knowing that he approves.

He faces back to the coffee and gives it a quick stir before moving onto making his tea. Black, no sugar, a twist of lemon. And for her response, he decides to afford her a little more explanation.

"The reason our world is unknown is because it is not only hidden by means of charms and spells, but we, the global wizarding community, are bound by law to not reveal any aspect of our world to the non-magic community. The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy forbids us to speak of it. Breach of the Statute can result in punishment as severe as imprisonment."

And his secret's safe. Fiona finds Snape just about impossible to read, at this point; she figures he just doesn't care about what she says, and hey, that suits her fine.

(It doesn't.)

"Well," Fiona takes the coffee with a sort of false daintiness, pinky out. It's meant to signify that her next comment is a joke: "I won't tell if you don't."

It's good coffee, and she gives a little nod of approval and thanks, before continuing. "Why's it secret, though? I mean, if it can just make water from nowhere, it could really help some-" Fiona gets, suddenly, the vivid image of what her father would do with himself in a world of magic and wonder. "Actually, y'know, maybe it's a good idea to keep it a secret. I mean, you guys'd know best."

Bringing both her coffee and his tea across to the table, he takes a seat opposite her and puts his cup down after handing Miss Gallagher hers. Interesting, her sudden change in mind while she ponders why magic isn't done openly; he wonders what it is that she's thought of that's made her realise why magic ought to be kept under wraps.

Damn, but he misses being able to sneak his way into his people's minds. He can only guess Miss Gallagher's would be very easy to sneak into - as much as she maintains as much a front of control, he strikes her as quite emotional. Emotional people are the easiest minds to penetrate.

"Are you at all familiar with the Salem witch trials, Miss Gallagher?" he asks. "Surely you are, being American."

"Yeah, yeah," she's never grown up with that being a great tragedy so much as a cultural oddity; she is, in turn, flippant. "Even my school wasn't that sh...shoddy that I missed that." Also, there was a documentary special on it when she was eleven.

"I dunno, I mean, I saw what you did in the other place," She's still a little impressed and horrified by it, and honestly, selfishly glad for her own sake that he doesn't have such powers here. "You versus a bunch of New Englanders in pilgrim costumes?" She scoffs, and drinks her tea. The subject is light, and she considers the conversation light as well. She's not trying to argue any point, really.

He sets a deadpan look on her. 'You versus a bunch of New Englanders in pilgrim costumes'? Is she inferring that he's from another century?

"Contrary to what you seem to be implying, I was a child of the 1960s, not the 1600s."

The corner of Fiona's mouth twitches, and she resists the urge to smile and continue teasing him. "I know, I mean..." She shakes her head. Years of rigid self-control come into play... as she attempts not to laugh at her boss' confusion.

"I mean, I saw what you can do. I got a pretty good demonstration." That memory kills the smile; it's hard for her to hold onto ire, but she doesn't enjoy being zapped, or recalling the sensation. "I think you could probably take a bunch of guys with pitchforks from Salem without breaking a sweat."

Well, that makes more sense; Severus visibly relents and lifts his tea to his mouth for a careful sip.

"And yet, had I been a child of the 1600s," he replies, and he does actually agree with her, that he'd be able to take on mere muggles from a rather primitive era in time, "I, along with my family and anyone known to be associated with me, just like many wizards and witches of the time, would have been captured and executed. Muggles suspected of practicing witchcraft were also imprisoned and put to death. All because of fear of magic; fear of that which Muggles - those belonging to the non-magical community - did not understand."

He pauses to take another sip of his tea. "So, of course, something had to be done. The International Confederation of Wizards - I believe the Muggle equivalent is known as United... Nations? Something along those lines - banded together in 1692 to form the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. The moment it was imposed and made law, every wizard and witch throughout the world went into hiding, and it's been law ever since to keep our world hidden from the non-magical world. To avoid any such atrocities from occurring again."

"But... going into hiding... I mean, I bet it worked, and all," she's grateful for this simple conversation, though she's sure it's unspeakably boring for Snape; it's interesting, to hear of a world grander and wider than her own. The depressing details only ground it more in believable reality.

But still, this is all over Fiona's head, far out of the realm of her experience; to compensate, she equates it to something she knows: "Shouldn't you be, like, out and proud?"

Edited (oh my god i misread my own tag and made a completely unnecessary edit i'm going back to sleep) 2014-01-01 17:58 (UTC)

Out and proud? Severus purses his lips. Regardless what the past has taught him, of what being a double-agent has taught him, of what his mistakes have taught him, there's a part of him that still doesn't like the idea of sharing his magic with muggles. A part of him that still harbours deep resentment towards, well, muggles like his father.

But of course, he supposes that doesn't truly matter anymore, not here in Asgard. Still. Old habits die hard.

"Tell me, Miss Gallagher, were we not in Asgard and had you not experienced that which took place in the mirror world, were we having this conversation while sitting around, say, your kitchen table, how do you suppose you would react to me being 'out and proud'?"

Fiona tries to picture Snape at the little kitchen table Frank stole from someone else's yard when she was seven, shoved into the kitchen that they still all thought of as Aunt Ginger's. The wallpaper is a bit yellowed, and the kids are all in another room, watching a PBS show about sharks. Lip and Ian are leaning over the side of the couch, trying to pretend they're not listening in while straining their ears to hear the strange man in black explain that he can do magic.

In her imagination, Lip slips Ian a fiver.

"I'd tell you you should have been cut off sooner." And she'd know he hadn't gone to the Alibi, because Kev is a better bartender than that, to let someone get so wasted they think they're a fucking wizard. "And then you'd probably turn me into a frog and win the argument."

Despite himself, the faintest hint of an amused smirk quirks on the corners of his lips. He would be able to turn her into a frog, too, if he'd wanted to, were they back in a world where his magic was alive and running through his veins. And given he'd have significantly less reason to tolerate her back in his world, transfiguring her into a bloated, slimy, croaking frog would be quite satisfying.

But of course, the Ministry would know instantly if he did such a thing. The consequences would far outweigh any satisfaction. Even more so had such a thing occurred while Voldemort was in control of the Ministry. Fancy only transfiguring a Muggle when Voldemort would have wanted and expected Severus to destroy Miss Gallagher on the spot. And Severus would have no choice but to do so in order to ensure Voldemort's trust in him; to prove that he was unwaveringly on Voldemort's side. Severus sobers at that thought, all traces of the smirk vanishing from his lips.

"And then I'd be whisked away and charged with performing magic in the presence of a Muggle," he says, lifting his tea back to his lips, and thinking about Voldemort, he adds, "Or worse, executed."

Fiona just figures he's smirking because getting turned into a frog is funny. You know, normal people reactions to normal things. She even feels a moment of pride, for having managed to make a joke penetrate, before squashing it. He's your boss, not your friend. It doesn't matter if he likes you. Keep your head down.

"Jesus," she says, "wizards're harsh. Guess it works out well for me, though. If you're ever in town, can we try to avoid slimy animals?"

You don't even know half of it, Severus thinks grimly to himself, another sip of tea going down to wash away an unpleasant and mild twist of anxiety threatening to rise up his throat like bile. Just thinking about the past has been managing to cause that feeling in him quite a lot lately.

"Why? What have got against slimy animals? Frogs are very useful in potions, I'll have you know." So there, Miss Gallagher, although he admits as he sets his cup back down, "Luckily for you, however, turning up in your town to turn you into a frog won't ever be an issue."

"They're better than rats, I'll give 'em that." She doesn't know anything about potions, and blocks it from her mind as a matter of course. That's all beyond her, surely.

She gets up to refill her coffee-- no need to make him bother with it-- and looks back as she goes, enjoying the fact that they seem to be capable of idle conversation. "Yeah, I guess Southside is pretty far from... wherever you're from in England."

"Lancashire," he supplies, looking down at his tea a little pensively while she's not sitting in front of him. "And that's not strictly what I meant."

Is he opening up to Miss Gallagher of all wretched people? Good grief, but that suddenly strikes him as disconcerting. He casts a furtive glance over in her direction, wondering what by means of trickery has she managed to coax such conversation out of him. Perhaps, a thought pops up in the back of his mind, it has to do with what happened in the mirror world. It is, after all, a little difficult to pretend they both didn't go through something rather traumatic together.

His eyes settle back on his tea. Forefinger tracing up and down the cup's handle. He tries very hard not to fidget when he's uneasy but it seems to happen of its own subtle accord.

"I was, in fact... murdered. Directly prior to winding up in Asgard."

Edited 2014-01-04 05:48 (UTC)

Fiona turns around quickly to face him, her expression open and sympathetic. There's no guile in it, no sarcasm, just empathy. She can't help but to care, to try to help people where she can. It's what she's best at, what she knows best, it's what she does. It's the only thing she's good for.

(Fiona will do her damnest to pretend they didn't go through anything traumatic, together or otherwise. Gallaghers don't need therapy.)

"Oh, my God," she says. "I'm sorry. Is everything okay...?"

Severus bristles. Sits a little straighter. Throws a look at Miss Gallagher as if to say, Don't be so foolish. He's fine, thank you very much, even if thinking about his final moments before Nagini was ordered to strike still send chills down his spine. Even if that very moment still causes nightmares that sometimes have him waking in the middle of the night with a scream trapped in the back of his throat. He's fine, Miss Gallagher, absolutely fine.

"I was simply pointing out, Miss Gallagher," he replies, a tad more defensively than he intends to sound, "that once this city decides it no longer has any use for me, the chances of me appearing on your side of the world are even slimmer to nonexistent than they already were."

Yes, that's precisely what he was doing, not opening up to her, he firmly tells himself, raising his tea back to his mouth for another drink.

She's shit at reading Snape, but she can see him clamming up. Too soft, then? She must have seemed condescending. The old mental muscles start working again-- caring for another person, and how best to do it. Obviously, she should be less obvious.

It doesn't occur to her how fucking futile and useless this endeavor is. What's the point of her if she doesn't try?

"Yeah, gotcha." She crosses her legs, taking a more casual position than before. The guile returns to her face in an expression still kind, but hopefully less like a Precious Moments Doll. "You wouldn't wanna show up at my place, anyway. Five kids is kind of messy." She assumes he's like her, desiring a change of subject when weakness is shown. That's one of the best ways to be kind, in her opinion; don't put a magnifying glass up to it, if the other person didn't ask for advice.

What was that thing Frank said, once... tea and sympathy? She wonders what that's from. Maybe it's an English thing; it'd explain a lot.

He doesn't meet her eyes when she returns to the table. He's staring down at his tea instead, expression tense but otherwise unreadable. It's only when she speaks, giving a tiny insight into her own life, that he looks up at her. Five kids? Messy?

"Sounds like a nightmare."

It's one thing, for her to lightly complain about her life at home, but it's quite another to agree with the complaints of an educated professor. She shrugs. "It's not so bad. We all help each other out. They're my younger siblings." She adds quickly, as an afterthought, before he thinks she's had five kids, oof. Even if she doesn't generally care what people think at home, the judgement here seems heavier.

"I had thought as much. Unless you'd started breeding at some ungodly age, you seem too young to have already done so five times."

He doesn't actually know her exact age but he guesses early twenties. Birthing five children tends to take its toll on a woman's body - another thing that had clued him into assuming these five children she speaks of aren't hers. That, and the fact that she seems too fiercely independent to have had so many children.

"Surely you must be glad to no longer have to deal with five siblings crawling all over you like flies."

Fiona assumes he's trying to get a rise out of her with that talk, and it's so openly antagonistic that just earns a look. She cocks her head slightly to the side and raises an eyebrow, a silent 'you can do better than that'. "I'm twenty-two," she says, because in her neighborhood, that means she isn't too young for anything. "But thanks for your expert medical opinion."

She relaxes a bit, and considers her possible replies. "Not really. Only one of them's in diapers, the rest just want space, so I give it to 'em." Of course, there are days, many days, when she wants more space of her own, but like hell she'll reveal that to this prick. And like hell she'll ever admit to wanting to get away to anyone, herself included. She's not like Frank and Monica. She's not selfish.

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Fading sun, what have I done

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