The body of the Muggle lay grotesque in the barren field, remnant of another sickening night of Death Eater folly.

“Now. Should any one of my own dare defy me…” Voldemort prowled around and the cackles of the Death Eaters died down. “Know that he awaits a fate much worse than that of this Muggle. I,” Voldemort said as he raised his arms, “am developing a new curse that I will be quite…eager to use.

“In the meantime, let me leave you with this little reminder not to fail me…Crucio!”

sSsSsSs

Snape opened his eyes with the feeling of cold, damp earth beneath him. Momentarily confused as to why he found himself alone in the middle of a neglected field, the ghostly aches of the cruciatus curse pulled him back to reality. Staring up at the darkness of the night sky yielding to indigo, he was reminded of the things to come that would be much worse than last night’s Death Eater meeting. Snape jerked into a sitting position, immediately regretting it. Easing to his feet, he mustered enough energy to apparate.

sSsSsSs

Collapsing to his knees upon landing near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Snape instinctively glancing around to make sure no one saw him in such a pathetic state. Of course, no one should be roaming through the forest at this miserable hour. He regretted looking around, though, for the argument he had with Albus in that very spot two days prior sprung to his mind, and his heart constricted upon recalling the deplorable revelation Albus made that same evening about the Potter boy’s fate. He huffed as he struggled to stand. He had to come up with an alternative.

Grasping a rough tree trunk, he made to get up and out of there as quickly as possible. The sound of the magical creatures busy with their morning activities felt too much like his Muggle primary school teacher screeching chalk on the blackboard. Then a noise akin to a giant storming through the forest assaulted him. His perception proved correct as the half-giant Hagrid emerged through the trees, whistling at a level of exuberance that left Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes wanting.

“Top o’ the mornin’ ter yeh—“ Hagrid started, then his eyes widened as he took in Snape’s appearance.

“’fessor Snape, what ’append ter yeh?” Hagrid hustled over, cracking not-too-small branches beneath his feet. “Don’t tell me yeh gone ter one of ’em awful meetings again.”

Seeing Hagrid’s enormous arms descending upon him, Snape swiped his hand through the air.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting my own person to the castle,” Snape rasped and then quickly cleared his throat, hastening to stand upright.

“Oh don’ be silly, Professor. Lemme getcha inside for some breakfast so yeh can regain yer strength.”

Too weak to resist, Snape found himself being hoisted over to the hut. Anyone else but Hagrid Snape would have cursed to oblivion, but he was loath to admit the hut seemed quite welcoming on this bitter cold and onerous morning.

He looked up at Hagrid, who still had too much zest in his stride, and envied his ignorance of what was to come.  On second thought, that wasn’t quite fair; any glimmer of hope in Hagrid’s eyes was sure to be extinguished by the events to come. As much as Snape himself was content at being a cynic, he couldn’t help but think Hogwarts would cease to feel like home should the rest of the staff and students be engulfed in despair.

A thud brought him out of his brooding and Snape found himself at the table with a plate of rock cake in front of him. He let out a groan, which Hagrid must have mistaken for pain.

“Can I get yeh summat else, Sev’rus? Yeh mus’ be hurtin’ a lot…”

Upon hearing his given name, Snape looked up into Hagrid’s eyes and took in the rare shimmer of compassion directed at him. A twinge of sorrow struck him as he realized those eyes, and those of the rest of the staff, would soon look upon him with nothing but hatred and revulsion.

Hagrid must have figured Snape wasn’t going to say anything, and busied himself with pouring tea in the corner of the kitchen. He came over and plunked two giant mugs on the table, oblivious to the hot water sloshing over and soaking the wood. Snape withdrew his hands from the table just in time.

“Yeh know, times like these...” Hagrid trailed off as he added generous lumps of sugar to the mugs. “Hard times, they are…” He seemed to be watching something out the window, rather than the cups to which he was adding cubes with abandon, and Snape wanted to snatch the sugar bowl from him.

“Sev’rus, I’ve known yeh since yeh was a laddie.”

Snape surpressed a jolt as Hagrid faced him and plumped down on a chair.

“An’ I know you’ve been through a lot…”

Where Hagrid was going with this, Snape could not fathom, but Hagrid broke eye contact without elaborating and began engrossing himself with the spoon, stirring the tea in hypnotic circles. The stirring picked up the pace and Snape was ready to swat the mug out of Hagrid’s hand—never mind the mess, but then thought it’d be better to take advantage of Hagrid’s preoccupation and attempt an escape. But something in Hagrid’s tone when he spoke next induced Snape to stay.

“Whenever I get—when I have trouble with the Giants…it helps me to think of the ‘eroes before us. Whether they died or survived, they sacrificed what was most dear to them.” Hagrid had grabbed a rock cake and was breaking off small pieces. He looked nervous, or maybe frustrated or distressed, Snape couldn’t tell. There was only one person’s sacrifice other than his own—and now Potter’s—that he had ever dedicated thought to. That was about all the dwelling on sacrifice he could bear.

“This war’s gonna take big sacrifices, I know it. Jus’ like the firs’ war…”

Snape stared as Hagrid passed him the plate of now crumbled rock cake, wondering if Hagrid thought the substance would transmit his resolve. Snape was not one to accept sympathy, and by no means was he about to start wallowing in the past, certainly not in front of another sentient being. Yet Hagrid continued with all his zeal.

“But it’s our very willingness to make these sacrifices that counts, innit? It’s what we’ve got that the bad guys don’t ‘ave. An’ it’s why You-Know-Who went down the firs’ time. I’ll be dammed if these sacrifices—”

Snape grasped the table and rose, staring into Hagrid’s eyes as if he were reading in them all the answers to the impending tragedy.

“What—what is it, Professor?”

But without an answer,  Snape lurched out of the hut, his pain evidently forgotten.