The Fool and The Squire

It was a good thing that Severus had stocked up on pasta and tinned soup, because he didn't leave his flat for four days.

The first day he brooded, worrying a hole in the tatty couch as he was worrying his frayed nerves over the night before. He played and re-played the offending observation in his mind, hoping that repetition would rouse his familiar self-disgust from its slumber so he would again feel himself...but all he served to do was feel disgust over how pathetic it was to do so.

The second and third days he divided his time between brewing what was needed to complete the orders he'd collected from his post box and running his hand through his increasingly lank hair as he paced the tiny living room. Five steps forward, turn. Five steps back, turn. Repeat. He was general, infantry, and bystander to a war inside himself between the opposing factions of 'replay it, dissect it, distill it' and 'don't think about it, just suffer the punishment...bollocks to whether or not you need it, crave it...and deny it ever happened!'

It had happened, however, and eventually the part of him that identified dunderheads, idiots, and fools at fifty paces could no longer tolerate any further attempt to play ostrich about the situation.

And so he spent the remainder of day three considering. Considering every single interaction (and all had been catalogued, tagged, and filed) over the previous two decades that had ever called forth the punishment.

Considering the punishment itself.

Considering Lily.

As he lay in the dark he swore he could hear her...and could even feel the sting of the two fingers she would use to poke his shoulder in righteous indignation when making a point...as she said, what he knew with grim embarrassment she surely would have said, had she been there in his flat to see what a pathetic wretch he had become.

"Why do you do this, Sev?"

"Because. Because if I cannot have you, I should not have anyone."

"Why? Do you think it will bring me back? Has it brought me back?"

"No. No, Lily, I..."

"Why do you think you deserve to suffer?"

"Don't I?"

"Do you? Why, Sev?"

"Because. Because I hurt you."

"You were a barely more than a child, you idiot. You made stupid choices, and so did I. You couldn't control your housemates and their prejudices anymore than I could control Sirius and James."

"Because I never deserved your forgiveness."

"You did. You did and I was too stubborn to give it to you when you needed it most, and by the time I had realized what a fool I was it was too late to offer it. And I'm sorry, Sev, I always was."

"It would not have been too late."

"Too late for our friendship, Sev."

"It would never have been too late."

"You're right, and I was never less of a Gryffindor than when it came to you...it would not have been. If I had, would you have allowed yourself to be happy, Sev?"

"No. I gave up any right to that when I joined Him."

"That's idiotic...with such an attachment to martyrdom it's a wonder you weren't sorted into Gryffindor."

"Shut up."

"Make me. Admit you deserve to live. That you've deserved to live all these years you've locked yourself in a crypt and played ghoul."

"Shut UP. I won't."

"Why? Tell me!"

"Because you are dead."

"You did not kill me, and you did not betray me...Peter did."

"The Prophecy..."

"You didn't know who that referred to, not until it was too late, and you know it."

"But I've done..."

"Terrible things. Awful things. Things for which you've offered penance and have long since been given absolution by those who matter most. Things you did trying to right your wrongs and the wrongs of everyone else, things for which you've suffered. Haven't you suffered enough, you twit?"

That was a good question. Lily always was good at painting him into a corner, then handing him the brush she'd used to do it before she smiled and closed the door.

"Well?"

"I don't know, Lily."

"I do. And I think you could admit that you do, too, if you weren't such a stubborn pain in the arse, Severus Snape."

And he agreed. In part. On principle.

Bollocks.

But every time he moved to the door intending to take a walk, to check his post box, or to give in to his base and desperate need to quickly reach oblivion via Muggle whiskey, Ursula's face would swim in front of his eyes. What would he do if he saw her on the street, buying fruit from the vendor (Mr. Grumpy, he could still chuckle to himself) or sweeping the stoop of her shop? Would he cut and run? Would he push her away, like every one of his peers in Britain, with cruel barbs shot with force and accuracy? Would he...could he...act as though he hadn't just, with great precision, skinned himself alive emotionally and left his carcass to bleed?

Until he knew the answer to that question, he dared not cross his threshold.

***

On the fifth day he rose with a sigh, knowing he could put it off no longer...he must leave his flat. His special orders would surely be in, his post box was likely full, his orders needed sending, and he was out of bloody bagged tea.

He was no closer to an answer, but sod an answer...he needed a cuppa. Now.

Hands deep in jacket pockets and wearing his most formidable scowl, he trudged down the pavement to the Merlin-and-Nimue-be-damned Starbucks for overpriced bagged tea served by teenagers who were clearly too stupid to respond correctly to his obviously foul mood. Fortified by the tea, and grateful that the giggling morons hadn't changed the music (from insipid...but relatively quiet...folk to something with both guitars and vocalists screaming incoherently) the moment he exited the store, he took one last longing look in the direction of his flat before making his way towards (my doom) the Post Office.

He made it down the street without incident. Packages mailed, and orders retrieved from his box, he allowed himself a glimmer of hope that the rest of his errands might run as smoothly.

He should not have done. As he exited the grocer (still waiting on the lemon curd, but the Twinings had come in, Circe be praised! He ordered another three boxes immediately, just in case) his waist was suddenly enveloped in a vise grip belonging to a brown-haired force of nature.

"Simon!" he grunted. And glared.

His glare was met by a huge smile. "Severus! I missed you! I've looked for you in the park, but you haven't come."

Momentarily taken aback by the enthusiasm of the greeting, and Simon's refusal to take seriously a perfectly serviceable stern glare, Severus responded, "I've, er, been busy. With important things." He cleared his throat before continuing. "Is there some reason you've been looking for me?" he asked, sternly. Perhaps too sternly.

"Oh, no. No reason. I just wanted to say hi," Simon muttered, staring at his shoes. He looked up at Severus through the fringe of his hair. "Well, um, I guess I'll go to the park, then." He turned to leave.

Severus sighed. He had not only lost his touch, he had clearly lost his mind...well, there was nothing for it. "I was planning to take a walk in the park, ah... would you care to join me?" he asked, mentally kicking himself for going so sodding soft, so sodding quickly.

Simon perked up. "Yeah!" He eyed Severus' bags, and held out his hand. "You have a lot of bags...want me to carry one?"

Severus eyed the hand and the boy before his control over his quivering lip failed and he found himself coming disturbingly close to a smile. He hung the lightest of the bags on Simon's outstretched hand, and started down the pavement with a flourish sorely diminished by a lack of appropriately swirling robes. "Come, my gallant knight."

Simon bounced on the balls of his feet and grinned before falling into a measured trot beside the long strides of the leggy man. "To the park, my liege!"

Severus snorted. It was good to be king.