Disclaimer:
The Harry Potter Universe was created by J. K. Rowling.
No monetary profit is being made from this
writing
Summary:
Snape contemplates his days at Hogwarts and his only friend.
G
~~~~~~~~~~
WIND
IN THE WILLOW
I don’t know how it happened and I don’t know why I
wasn’t hurt. Well I *was* hurt, that’s
why it happened. I should be used to
the teasing by now. I’m not even safe from my own house mates. I say to myself it doesn't get to me, but
it does. It really does. The relentless teasing, the whispering when
I’m near. The immediate hush when I
walk into a classroom and they think I don’t know they were talking about me. Would they like it? Would they care? Probably not. Some days
were a lot worse than others.
Black was the worst of the lot. He was even more relentless. I avoided him whenever I could. It was not that I was afraid of him. All I wanted was some peace. One time, I punched him in the face when he
called my mother a mudblood and of course *I* as the one who got
detention. Four long hours listening to
Professor Binns drone over and over and *over* the Hogwarts rules. Oh what joy. When the torment was finally over I began to walk back to the
Slytherin common room. The same hush as
I walked down the corridor. And they
think I don't know they’re staring after me when I leave. They think that I don’t know when I’m around
the corner they’ll start to talk about my gawky appearance, my unkempt
hair. I changed my mind. Why did I want to go back to the common room
when I’d be met with the same screaming silence?
I found myself walking outside,
knowing if I was caught out this late it would mean hefty score of points would
be taken off my house, thus making me even more unpopular, but I didn’t
care. All I wanted was a moment’s
peace. To be alone. Alone with the night. Of course I wasn’t about to do anything
foolish like have a midnight picnic in the Dark Forest. Just a stroll around
the gardens, on the grass wet with night dew.
I sat by a large tree. Its branches seemed welcoming, swaying in
the gentle wind. Not a soul heard me
cry that night or so I thought. I could
barely hear my own sobs, soft as they were, and I felt someone touch me. At first I jumped, ready to defend myself,
but it was only the tree. Its branches
felt comforting, gentle as it stroked me.
I stopped my sobs and spoke, or rather whispered.
"You're alone too, aren't you?"
And it was as it I could hear it say
a longing 'yes.'
And so I had made my first friend.
Strange to be friends with a tree,
but then that's me. Strange and it doesn't bother me anymore, their harsh words,
their foul whispering, for I know who I am.
Do they know who they are?
Probably not. I am glad to be
different.
As for the Whomping Willow and I, we
had many more conversations in the nights that lay ahead.
*