Oh, I had a lot to say,
Was thinking my time away,
I missed you, and things weren’t the same,
‘Cause everything inside,
It never comes out right,
And when I see you cry,
It makes me want to die.
He was sitting in front of the grey tombstone, absent-mindedly shredding the flowers he’d brought to bits. The pigment of the leaves was slowly turning his hands green, and still he did not notice. He was not quite sure what he was doing there, in front of that monument to his ignorance, his mistakes, his pain. As the wind whistled past his ear, he briefly wondered why he had even bothered coming. It wasn’t as if she had ever loved him. In fact, he was quite sure that she hated him. The crunch of the gravel under his scuffed shoes and tired old black robes brought him out of his reverie. He had to break the silence. More than had to. This silence was too final, too that’s that to be born. His voice penetrated the still air of the graveyard.
“I- I brought him flowers. I know you would have wanted me to, even though I didn’t want to,” he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat. “It’s been so long, ever so long. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.” Here he had to stop for a moment, shutting his eyes as he fought back the tears that burned hot on the back of his eyelids. His eyelids, apparently of their own volition, opened again and let a couple of salty, hot tears to drip onto the ground. There was a bird singing in the air, and he thanked it mentally for singing, breaking the silence so he wouldn’t have to.
I’m sorry I’m bad,I’m sorry I’m blue,
I’m sorry about all the things I said to you,
And I know, I can’t take it back.
I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds,
And baby, the way you make my world go round,
And I just wanted to say…
I’m sorry.
The bird had left, several hours ago, in fact. Now he was left all alone to face the silence, that strangling silence. It felt like the silence was her, berating him for saying something, frowning at him when he accidentally let something slip. And then, the greatest mistake of all: He had said it. The word. He looked at her grave again, still tearing at the bouquet. “You know, if I could take it all back, I would. I really would. But it’s too late for that. It’s too late for any of that.” His voice was hoarse with pent-up emotions, and he wanted to throw himself at her coffin, scratching up all of the dirt and prying open the lid so he could see her perfection one last time. But, he knew, the face he would see would not be hers. It would be the face of a dead stranger. And he wanted to keep everything about her perfect. Everything. This visit had to be perfect, and he would not chance ruining it.
“I- I hope you’re happy. He’s growing up quite nicely, and I think that you’d appreciate the qualities of you that he has. He… He looks like him, though. But he- there’s…” This last sentence was too much, and he choked, his hair falling down over his face as another tear dripped down his nose. He rocked back and forth, huddled up, wishing she would come and comfort him. But, he reminded himself, she won’t be comforting anyone ever again. And it’s all your fault, it’s all your fault. All your fault. All of it. This was too much. Where was the bird? He needed something to sing to him, to soothe him, to break the silence. He needed her. But she was not there. So he needed the bird.
This time, I think I’m to blame,
It’s harder to get through the days,
You get older and blame turns to shame,
‘Cause everything inside, it never comes out right,
And when I see you cry, it makes me want to die.
The grass he was sitting on was all bent up. He tried to set it right again, for, after all, it was her grave. And so it was important. But, no matter how he tried, rubbing against the way it was bent, rubbing with it, pushing, pulling, it never worked. He had done something else to hurt her memory, destroy the place that was sacred, for she was in it.
“Sorry,” he heaved, staring at the odd little piece of lawn. “Sorry about that.” And when he said it, he meant it. About everything, about what he had said, about what she had done, about how he had treated her legacy, that- that boy. And, of course, sorry for the ultimate crime, the one he kept trying to apologize for but couldn’t. A twisted, bitter smile worked its way up to the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry I loved you,” he breathed, drawing a serpentine pattern into the dust at her grave. The sun was beginning its graceful descent below the horizon, the late afternoon rays casting a harsh yellow light across everything. “I’ll watch the sunset with you, then,” he said to the worn grave, settling against it. “Just like old times.” Yes, old, old times, he thought, that pragmatic, sarcastic section of his mind still in progress.
I’m sorry I’m bad, I’m sorry I’m blue,
I’m sorry about all the things I said to you,
And I know, I can’t take it back.
I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds,
And baby, the way you make my world go round,
And I just wanted to say…
I’m sorry.
The sun was still setting. He wondered vaguely about the last time he had truly watched the sunset and decided that it was the last time he was really with her. “So,” he began, taking a deep breath. “So.” The rest of his sentence dangled, unfinished, from his lips, waiting for someone to snatch it up and take it. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I- I just wanted to say that I’m glad I got this last day with you,” he started, painfully aware of how odd he looked. “Ever since… Well, you know… The- the death… I’ve always wanted to watch the sunset with you one last time. And now I’m doing it,” he finished, casting a nervous glance at the granite block as if it could nod or respond. The sun continued its majestic descent, colouring the sky different shades of harsh oranges, light purples, pinks, swirling whites, blues, reds, every colour they had ever searched for in the sunset. “Look,” he sat up, pointing to a cloud. “That one looks like… like…” He was about to say something, but the moment passed and he slumped down again. He could not even say a word that could have the faintest connection with her. The cloud leered at him, daring him to finish his sentence, and he simply sighed and let his hand fall limp in his lap again. “Ah, well, it doesn’t matter, does it, now? We can get on just fine without the cloud.”
Every single day, I think about how we came all this way,
The sleepless nights and the tears you cried,
It’s never too late to make it right,
Oh yeah, sorry.
The sun had gone, dipping under, slipping down without a sound. There’s something that never fails me, he thought, the smile that was more like a grimace easing back onto his face. The sun will always set. A cold, evening wind began to blow. He hunched over, arms wrapped tightly around his chest to keep warm. There was no way he was going back before he finally apologized. He just had to wait for the right moment. Another gust of heavy wind. Leaves from a nearby tree came soaring over, hitting him gently on the side. The moon stared at him, urging him to speak. He opened his mouth.
I’m sorry I’m bad, I’m sorry I’m blue,
I’m sorry about all the things I said to you,
And I know, I can’t take it back.
I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds,
And baby, the way you make my world go round,
And I just wanted to say… I’m sorry.
“I- I’m sorry. I’m sorry for calling you a Mudblood, I’m sorry for betraying you, I’m sorry for selling you out, I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m sorry. Please, please, please give me a sign that you are listening, some sign that you forgive me. I need your forgiveness, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for loving you when I could never have you, I’m sorry for trying to get in the way of your happiness, I’m sorry about your son. Please, if you have a heart, if you’re listening somewhere, please. Forgive me.” He sobbed, dry, wracking sobs that shook his lean frame as he waited for a sign, any sign. A sign that she was listening, watching him, a sign that she still cared.
The night grew colder, and the gentle purple colour of the sky began to darken to a velvety black. He waited. The moon was still there, watching the whole scene, the only witness to a terrible crime. For there was only silence, that horrible, terrible silence. There was no forgiveness. It was too late for anything, anything to help him. Slowly, his face paled, almost fluorescent in the moonlight as he realized the terrible truth: There would be no forgiveness. He got up and stumbled away, not noticing the pebbles beneath him, nor the creaking noise of the rusty gate as he swung it open. He did not even see the ruins of the old house as he walked past. He thought back to her epitaph: The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. With a sad, angry smile, he shook his head. No, beyond death, he would forever carry the burden of guilt. Guilt was the last enemy. And he could never defeat it, for he had not received forgiveness. He cast a single, lingering glance at the old graveyard and turned on his heel, walking away into the moonlight.
Back at her grave, the bouquet remained. A bunch of lilies lay on the floor, mangled by his nervous hands. All mangled save for one. One remained whole, resting on the pattern he had drawn before, illuminated by the moonlight, fluttering in the wind. There was forgiveness. He just hadn’t found it. Slowly, the lily began to die. Within minutes, it was brown and withered. Severus Snape did not see, for he was already at Hogwarts, slowly raising his wand, smiling at the irony of it all. How fitting that he should die as she had. His lips opened to form the incantation. A flash of green light. Severus Snape was free from the silence forever. The wind rustled the flower husk, and if one listened closely, one could hear his final word. “Lily.”
I’m sorry, baby,
I’m sorry, baby,
I’m sorry.