The Prince's Tale

Failure

The Professor was up soon and moving around, slowly at first, and then more steadily. The first time he got up on both feet, I jumped up to help support him, but he held up a hand in stubborn resistance. Then his feet buckled and much to his protests, I had to help him back up. No amount of scolding, ordering or pleading would make him do what I asked him to. He simply acted according to his desires which often did not match his strength. But the fact that I had nursed him back to life did not seen to alter his attitude towards me at all. I kind of hoped it would. I had never been anything but a pest to him, and although I was grateful at times for his lack attention, I had always heard that people who had been so close to death had changed in some way, and I thought maybe when he recovered, he would look at me as his savior rather than the nuisance he always saw in me. But he did not.
And then he had the guts to say he didn't want to be saved. What an ungrateful brute. It was so easy for him to say it once someone had fretted over him that he didn't want his life. If he was aware of being so close to death I'm not so sure he would have said it. For although Snape was a big git, his opinion of me mattered. Not because I valued his opinion, but because I needed to be in his good books. Hopefully that was going to grant me my freedom.
So when Snape woke up and snapped at me the first thing, I was shivering at impotent rage, and I was doing everything to stop myself from lashing out at him. I spoke sharply because I am the type of person who cannot accept to be treated that way. I have my pride. And having to take care of my captor was something that broke it. To be nice to him would be breaking it even more.
But at that moment, I knew I had valued my freedom more than my ego. So, I decided I'd be nice to him. Even if I forced myself. I even found myself liking him as I set next to him looking at the sunken features of his face, as I took care of him in his most vulnerable state, and sponged his tired face. I even pitied him for being so close to him had allowed me to study every feature and I found that some lines, particularly the dark rings around his eyes made him look like he had lived a hundred years. I knew he was young.
The dark mark was a constant reminder to me of who I was dealing with, however. I tried not to be scared, but then all I had to do was to remind myself that there was a moment Snape had the perfect chance to kill me. But he did not, and in the state he was in, had dragged me to his home. I did not know why, and I to be honest, I really wanted to know. I often found myself staring at the wand on his bedside table, knowing all it took was one spell, and I'd be free. Free to go and leave this man forever. But the thought of leaving a human being unconscious and sick in his bed has knocked on the door of my moral conscious, and that's when I knew I couldn't leave him. Not now, not like this. Perhaps I wasn't his prisoner after all.
Nursing him had softened my feelings for him, and I thought that maybe playing nice with him would not be that hard. That is until Snape had opened his eyes and there was pure loathing in them. Moreover, he spoke sharply, and as much as I tried to tell myself it was the illness talking, I couldn't help reminding myself that this had always been a part of his nature. He hadn't changed at all.
At his cold treatment, I was first filled with rage, then an incredible sense of failure. I realized as I stumbled out of the room with tears stinging my eyes, that I had wanted someone to appreciate me. No one in Hogwarts except the house-elves had been nice to me. No one ever thought of treating me better then you would treat a street rat. I refused to be seen, and I had remained invisible. My actions in the Battle of Hogwarts were minimal. I did not fight. I did not want to fight. I did not belong to either side, and although my job as a journalist was significantly controlled by the Dark Side when You Know Who came in power, that doesn't mean I supported them. I worked for them because I didn't have a choice. And now when the battle of Hogwarts came, I had no intentions of acting the misunderstood hero. These people had rejected me. Why should I fight for them?
Snape had been the center of my attention, again because my job was controlled by the Ministry. I was constantly being told what to do. I was the spy, and not a very welcome one either. The staff played along by simply not saying anything, including Snape. I thought he might ask me where I was from or interviewed me such a manner that I would indirectly give away my position. He was a dangerous man to play with, and I knew it. He had me kicked out several times from the dungeons, simply because I was there. Once I had caught him kneeling in the middle of his office, his head down, and his body shaking. I was so shocked I approached him and asked him if he was ok. When he looked up at me there was so much anguish, so much grief, that I did not recognize him at first. Then so swiftly that I never had the chance to react he had pushed me out of his office and locked me outside. The fact that he hadn't said anything had hurt even more than had he barked orders for me to get out. It had occurred to me to go seek for help, but I didn't really know who to ask. Judging by the recent rejection of help, I assumed Snape was the type of person who liked to deal with his problems alone. But that face of anguish I could never get out of my head. What was it that could be hurting so much the most cruel Professor in the entire school?
I had never done anything good in my life, and I knew all that I ever wanted was some sign of appreciation. I never got none. I felt like I had failed in every task that had been laid before me. I failed as the spy because I never found out Snape's true position. Although he had killed Dumbledore, the thought that Dumbledore had continually insisted that Snape was to be trusted puzzled me. I failed as a journalist. I failed as a Hogwarts staff. I failed as a girlfriend, even Frank was starting to get peeved my absence. I failed in acting in the most important battle of the Wizarding World. I failed as a witch. I failed as a human being. But then an opportunity had been laid in my way...and I had saved a life. For the first time ever, I had felt proud of something I had done. I saved a life...that's an incredible feeling. But obviously, I wanted a reward for it. First I wanted Snape's appreciation. I wanted him to see me for the first time. Because every time he had looked at me, he had either looked at me without seeing me, or with some kind of reproach. It had made me aware of my insignificant existence. And for some reason, it had made me incredibly sad. I had an ego that needed feeding.
So of course, I expected a recompense for saving Snape's life. So if not appreciation, then freedom.
His cold words broke me, however. He had managed to make it look like even saving a life was a bad thing.