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The morning Severus woke up to kill himself, he noticed that, oddly enough, the pupa living in the cocoon hanging in his window had metamorphosed into a beautiful black-winged butterfly.
It was like a fright—noticing, just like that, life suddenly blossoming in front of him, who within seconds was planning to die. Scary and ironic, perhaps. But Severus had always taken the ironies of the universe as just a recurring thing in his life—often, in fact, he was the object of the greatest of ironies, followed then by the greatest of sorrows. Everything in his life was dramatic and exaggerated, and he was terribly used to it. He had actually become as much a part of that drama as anyone else involved in his life.
Because of the butterfly, however, a horrifying thought awoke within Severus. His life, or his death, mattered little—something that, frankly, he already knew. But not only that—his life or death or absence—or just him, perhaps—were not important when looking at the continuity of the world. Not anymore, at least. At one time, at the peak of the war, probably, Severus was the most important man in the world, but there, isolated in Cokeworth, he was absolutely and precisely nobody.
It was somehow liberating—and at the same time absurd. How could someone be so important and yet so useless in such a short time apart? Severus couldn't exactly embrace the meaning of his existence itself, and perhaps that was why he so wished to be rid of it altogether. It was easier to think about not existing—or not thinking at all, really. Not existing was certainly the equivalent of not thinking. Not thinking was good. Safe. If he didn't think, he wouldn't be so—so Severus Snape.
But the absurdity of it had found him before the tranquillity of 'not thinking'. Now Severus couldn't ignore the butterfly, or even the life following despite her metamorphosis—and his own metamorphosis, too. The two of them had, in a way, morphed into something that morning, the difference being that the pupa had become a beautiful insect, and he was still the same old Severus Snape—ugly, moody and pessimistic.
In retrospect, perhaps it was a good thing that he had postponed his own death. Not because somehow the hope of a new life captured by absurd equivalences seemed more interesting, but because Sirius Black showed up at his house later, a little after lunch. Sirius Black.
"Snivellus!" he greeted with a smile that seemed genuine, "Good to see you!"
Severus frowned, unable to fully comprehend what exactly was going on. Sirius Black stood in the doorway of his house, smiling, saying he was happy to see Severus. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe he really had killed himself.
"What do you want?" Severus grumbled.
"What I really want is a ticket to an Oasis concert, but they're sold out." Sirius made a saddened expression, but soon smiled again. "But you can help me with something else—Harry told me you've started taking pottery classes."
Harry Potter. Severus was taking pottery classes. It sounded funny for some reason.
The classes had been a recommendation from the healer, to supplement with physiotherapy. Although he hadn't died, Nagini's poison had paralyzed Severus's limbs completely, and although his legs had returned to function more quickly—or at least more quickly than his vocal cords, which had been permanently damaged—his hands remained unsteady even months later. The healer recommended an activity that would allow greater mobility, and Severus chose pottery.
It certainly seemed better than music at the time—nowadays he somewhat regretted not choosing to learn to play the piano.
"I'm not quite understanding where you're going with this."
"Well, I know it's going to sound absurd—and I promise I have a reason—but, huh, I really wanted to learn too. Not ceramics, exactly, but—something new, you know? Something I've never done before. And I—well, you know, Purebloods and all—" Sirius rolled his eyes, and continued talking even though Severus had given no indication whatsoever that he knew what he was talking about. "I wanted to learn something different. Something—something like pottery."
"And you want me to teach you?" Severus asked, his tone laden with a certain trepidation.
Sirius laughed—really laughed, "No—! Not at all. Harry told me that you would probably never teach anyone else in your life. I wondered if I could— huh, are you still going to class?"
Severus nodded, and suddenly it struck him that he had never stopped going to class—even when he thought about killing himself. He never stopped signing the list for the next class, and he never cancelled his morning subscription to the Daily Prophet, and he never left—never did anything at all in preparation. As if the event—the planned suicide he had woken up that morning to carry out was—was always doomed to failure anyway. Severus was too methodical not to organise everything in the smallest details. Huh.
Absurd. The very idea of ceasing to exist was continually becoming more and more absurd.
"Yes, every Friday."
"Perfect. I was wondering if I couldn't, huh—go with you? I know it's been a few months since the war ended, and everyone—everyone has moved on with their own lives. But I still get a little nervous—and confused, too—when I don't see anyone familiar around. And everybody's— huh, everybody's pretty busy—"
"Living." Severus nodded. It was true. Everyone had moved on with their own lives.
"Yeah— living." Sirius huffed. "So?"
Severus frowned. He didn't like Sirius Black—he shouldn't, at least. Their history was terrible, and full of conflicts that hadn't been entirely forgotten. But in place of the normal hatred at the sight of Sirius Black, Severus was feeling— nothing at all. He could no longer hold onto the grudges from their time studying together, not even the intrigues they had when the war was going on. Not even the way Black called him— Snivellus—really bothered him.
It sounded childish now. He had been through so many traumas more terrible than almost serving as food for a werewolf—so many things more horrifying and traumatic. He'd killed, and watched important people die, and lied, and told cruel truths—and he'd been cruel and terrible too, sometimes—almost always, in fact. And Sirius Black was there, but he—he wasn't important. He'd stopped becoming important the moment Severus got that horrible mark and other things became his priority.
Like surviving. Something like that.
"I could say no."
"You could." Sirius nodded, but he kept smiling. "But now we all know your secret—that you're kind of— of a romantic— worthy of some Shakespeare work. With a good heart. A creature full of love and—"
"I get it." Severus grumbled, irritated. "That doesn't change the fact that I'm still an asshole."
"Uh huh." Sirius nodded. "And I think it makes you even hotter."
A cough, "Excuse me?"
"So? Can I go with you?" Sirius ignored Severus' expression of pure shock, blinking his eyes as if this was somehow completely charming.
And it was. But Severus wouldn't admit it out loud. "You need to sign up to participate."
"Perfect. And where do I sign up?"
"At the municipal centre. I can give you the address."
Sirius grimaced, "Can't you come with me? Then we can have dinner somewhere. What do you think? I know some good places."
"It's two in the afternoon."
"I'm sure we can entertain ourselves until dinner time." Sirius smiled.
Severus blinked, a little dumbfounded by the situation, but nodded in the end. Why not? He had tried—
"I thought about killing myself this morning." Trying was too strong a word. He didn't try—but he thought about it!
"Oh." Sirius choked, his eyes wide. "You—"
"But then I realised that the pupa that lived in my window became a butterfly." Severus shrugged. "Life would go on without me. Or with me. And then—then it gets hard to exactly measure right or wrong. The useful or the useless. If my life was really the main problem— you know."
"Snape—"
"And then you turned up on my doorstep. Kindly asked me to spend the day with you. Flirted with me." Sirius blushed, but didn't deny it. "It's absurd."
"If you had killed yourself—"
"I guess it would still be absurd." Severus grumbled, thoughtfully. "Because I almost died several times. In countless ways. But not even by my own hand have I actually died. I am considering the idea that I have become immortal."
Suddenly, Sirius began to laugh, almost doubling in half from the intensity of his own laughter. Without realising it, Severus caught himself smiling a little watching him.
"Severus, that's hilarious!" Sirius propped his hands on his knees, still laughing. "You're a delight!"
Absurd. Absurd.
"I'll get my coat, and we can go."
Sirius nodded, excited. Almost as if Padfoot was commanding him at that very moment.
"Yeah, and then I'll get to flirt with you some more."
"Yes, and then you'll be able to do whatever you want with me."
Sirius's eyes sparkled in pleasure, and somehow Severus was sure right then and there that he probably wouldn't die anytime soon.