I'm Albus Fucking Dumbledore - Chapter 36

Chapter 36

6th of September 1991

Hogwarts

Severus Snape scowled—a scowl so profound it could curdle fresh milk and wither a bouquet of roses at fifty paces. It had been one of those weeks, Dumbledore had begun acting like an over-caffeinated game show host, then there was that bizarre, unexpected tryst with a Muggle woman—an experience both baffling and oddly... refreshing? Then, as if that weren’t enough, he’d been yanked around by the thought of losing his job, only to be offered the gleaming carrot of a research chair, dangled before him like some glittering prize…but one he liked! One he liked so much!

For the past few hours, Snape had been unable to sleep, his brain spinning with ideas for research projects and PhD topics that ranged from the groundbreaking to the utterly impractical. He had already drafted a list to present to Dumbledore, which he’d mentally titled "Snape's Compendium of Utter Brilliance." But now, as he stood outside a door that loomed like an executioner’s block, his scowl deepened. This—this ridiculous, humiliating appointment—was the price Dumbledore had set for the chair. With a reluctant sigh, Snape pushed open the door.

The room was an affront to his sensibilities. It was like a caricature of every stereotype about psychoanalyst’s offices: white walls devoid of warmth, a leather chaise lounge that screamed “Lie down and tell me your darkest secrets,” and a bizarre pyramid chart on the wall labeled "Levels of Evidence". Floating in the middle of this was the ghost of Sigmund Freud. Freud was decked out in an antiquated suit, his pince-nez perched on his nose, his beard puffed out as though it had its own agenda.

“Ah, Herr Snape!” Freud greeted him with a grin that was far too cheerful for Snape’s liking. Wasn't he supposed to be…more stoic? “Please, sit, sit! Albus has told me so much about you—so much zat I feel we are already old friends!”

Snape’s scowl deepened—if that were possible—and he gingerly settled onto the chaise, as if it might suddenly transform into a Blast-Ended Skrewt. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered.

Freud floated closer, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “Ach, yes, yes. But before ve begin, let me tell you, zis new era of psychology—how marvelous! Randomized Controlled Trials, evidence-based practices—it’s a revolution! If only I had access to such tools! Back in my day, ve relied on ze art of ze wild guess, sometimes with a bit of cocaine to help ze process along.”

Snape raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’m not here to discuss your... progress, Doctor. Let’s focus on the task at hand.”

Freud’s grin widened. “Ah, straight to ze point! Very vell. Now, Severus—may I call you Severus?—let us talk about zis... fascination you have vith one Lily Evans. Quite the obsession, ja?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Lily was my friend.”

“Ja, ja, a friend,” Freud replied, nodding sagely. “But tell me, how often do you think about zis ‘friend’? Every day? Every hour? Perhaps vhile you are concocting potions, you imagine zat each vial holds a tiny bit of her essence?”

“What are you implying?” Snape’s jaw tightened.

Freud petted his ghostly beard with a chuckle. “Implying? Oh, no, I am stating! Zis obsession, Severus, is unhealthy. You have turned Lily into a symbol, an ideal zat no real person could ever live up to. It’s like trying to brew Amortentia but expecting it to taste like pumpkin juice—impossible!”

S“She was the only one who ever understood me. The only one who ever cared!”

Freud floated closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And zat, mein dear Severus, is precisely ze problem. You have taken zis singular relationship and made it ze foundation of your entire emotional existence. Zis is not love—it is fixation. And zat is vhy you are here, ja? To face ze truth.”

Snape glared at Freud, his voice as cold as a winter draft. “What’s your diagnosis, Doctor?”

Freud sighed, his expression becoming serious for the first time. “Ah, Severus, I am afraid you suffer from Schizoid Personality Disorder—thanks to the numerous comments of Albus, and my own discussions with your colleagues. And cocaine, of course. But let me explain.”

“You see, Severus, you lack close relationships. Other than Lily—and perhaps Lucius Malfoy, though zat is more of a mentor-idol dynamic from your youth, one you partially replaced with Albus—you do not connect vith people. You are seen as a loner by your colleagues; you do not join ze others for drinks in Hogsmeade or partake in ze social niceties zat bind people together.You are distant and emotionless, Severus. You avoid social contact as if it vere some kind of plague. You prefer to be alone, unbothered by ze world around you. It is safer zis way, ja? But it also means you are cut off from ze warmth and comfort zat others find in each other.”

“You are not known for expressing your feelings,” Freud went on, “and vhen you do, zey are cold and sharp—sarcasm, anger, vitriol. Ze only time ve see a flicker of real emotion is vhen you speak of James Potter vith hate or of Lily vith wistful longing. It is as if you have locked away your heart in a potion’s cabinet, and only a select few memories hold ze key. And zen zere is ze matter of joy,” Freud said, shaking his head. “Nothing seems to excite you, Severus. You excel at Potions, but you do not revel in it. Even vhen you finally achieved your goal of teaching here, did it bring you happiness? Nein. It vas just another task, another responsibility.”

Freud floated back a little, giving Snape space as he continued. “Your symptoms started appearing in young adulthood, Severus. Zey are rooted in a backstory of trauma and neglect. Your parents had a chaotic relationship, constantly bickering, and you vere caught in ze middle. Ze only bright spot in your life vas Lily Evans, who accepted you as you vere—flaws and all. But vhen you called her a Mudblood, zat relationship vas severed, and you vere left alone.You surrounded yourself with older Slytherin students, but zese relationships vere based on mutual benefit, not friendship. And zen you vere betrayed by your mentor, Lord Voldemort—ze man you sought to impress above all others. He killed Lily Evans, despite knowing your feelings for her. And vith her death, your only connection to ze human heart vas severed.”

Snape’s expression faltered, a flicker of pain crossing his features. How…How could he know so much ! He checked his occlumency shields - they were perfects !

“And now, Severus, you have no emotional outlet. You do not pursue hobbies, you do not engage in interests outside of work. Your only release is sarcasm and snide comments. You do not express emotion in a healthy vay, so you take it out on ze students—because zey cannot fight back, ja?”

There was a long pause, the room filled with an almost tangible silence as Snape absorbed Freud’s words.

“Dumbledore,” Freud said softly, “understands your history and motivations. He knows zat you will protect Harry Potter because of your love for Lily, because you have nothing else to live for. But Severus, zis is not enough. You cannot live your life as a monument to a lost love. You must find a vay to heal, to connect vith ze living, or you vill remain forever trapped in zis cycle of loneliness and regret.”

Snape stood abruptly. “Enough! Thank you, Doctor. I will take your... analysis into consideration.”

“Remember, Severus,” he called after him, “ze mind is both a sanctuary and a prison. It is up to you to decide vich it vill be.”

Snape paused at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, he hesitated, as if he might say something more. But then, with a final scowl, he yanked the door open and swept out, the heavy door slamming shut behind him with a resounding thud.

Freud sighed, floating back to his desk. “Ach, Severus,” he murmured to the empty room, “so much potential, and yet, so much pain. But perhaps, in time, you vill find your vay out of zat fortress you have built.”

His gaze fell on an ornate mahogany box. With a sly grin, he opened it, revealing a small vial of shimmering powder. “Ah, mein old friend,” Freud said, practically giggling as he scooped up a tiny bit with a silver spoon. “Vhat’s the point of being a ghost if you can’t indulge in a little... extracurricular activity?”

He inhaled sharply, his spectral nostrils flaring. For a moment, his ghostly form flickered, almost becoming solid. “Ah, wunderbar!” Freud exclaimed, leaning back in his chair, grinning like a cat that got the cream. “The great Sigmund Freud, still knows how to have a good time—even in ze afterlife!”

He chuckled, the sound bubbling into full-blown laughter. “If only Severus could see zis! Maybe a little powder vould loosen him up—might even crack a smile!” Freud’s laughter echoed through the room, shaking his ghostly form so much he nearly dissipated. “Ach, vhat a life... or afterlife, I should say!”

— — — —

6th of September 1991

Hogwarts

The corridor of Hogwarts was unnervingly quiet, save for the soft, hesitant footsteps of a third-year Slytherin boy. He clutched his books like a lifeline, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. He could feel them before he saw them—the Weasley twins, notorious pranksters, and bane of Slytherins everywhere. They emerged from behind a suit of armor, identical grins stretching across their freckled faces like Cheshire cats on a particularly malevolent day.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t young Master Slytherin,” Fred sneered, cracking his knuckles with an exaggerated flourish.

George, twirling his wand with the nonchalance of someone about to do something thoroughly unpleasant, added, “Don’t worry, mate, it’s all in the name of fun. We’ll have you speaking in tongues in no time.”

Before the boy could even think to run, George flicked his wand, and the boy’s voice was snatched from his throat as if stolen by an unseen hand. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out—just a silent, desperate gasp. Fred leaned in, cupping his ear. “What’s that? Speak up! Oh wait, you can’t!”

George doubled over in laughter, his voice echoing off the stone walls as the boy’s eyes filled with tears. “Looks like you’ve lost your voice! Maybe you should try out for the Hogwarts Mime Club—oh wait, that doesn’t exist!”

As they mocked him, the boy’s face crumpled, the tears now dangerously close to spilling over. But before the first tear could fall, the torches lining the corridor began to flicker wildly. The air grew cold, the kind of cold that claws at your bones and makes your breath catch in your throat. The light dimmed until the corridor was shrouded in near darkness.

Fred and George stopped laughing.

“Did you do that?” Fred whispered, glancing nervously at George, who shook his head, his grin faltering.

“No… did you?” George’s voice wavered, the bravado slipping away like sand through a sieve.

Then, from the deepest shadow at the far end of the corridor, a figure began to emerge. The twins squinted, trying to make out what it was. It looked small—round, even—but as it drew closer, they felt an inexplicable dread creep into their hearts, squeezing them in an iron grip. The figure stepped into the flickering light, and the twins’ eyes widened in sheer terror.

It was their mother—Molly Weasley. Her eyes glowed a hellish red, casting an eerie light across her plump, round face. Her hair seemed to bristle with static, crackling like a live wire, and the shadows around her twisted and writhed as if alive, whispering unspeakable horrors.

“Frederick. George,” she intoned, her voice low and menacing, like the growl of a beast ready to pounce. The very walls seemed to tremble with the weight of her words.

“M-Mum?” Fred stammered, backing away as far as the corridor would allow, his voice a mere squeak.

“Oh no,” George whispered, eyes wide with fear, “it’s the She-Demon-Lord!”

Molly’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and the temperature in the corridor dropped further. “Fun, is it? You think stealing someone’s voice, mocking them until they cry, is fun?”

Fred and George exchanged a glance, their earlier bravado completely drained. “W-we were just—” Fred started, but Molly cut him off with a snarl that echoed like thunder.

“Just what? Just tormenting a poor boy for your amusement?” She took a step forward, and the twins swore they saw her grow taller, her shadow stretching out like a dark omen. “Do you think I won’t teach you a lesson you’ll never forget?”

Fred and George fell to their knees, raising their hands in surrender. “Mercy, Madam Lady Mum! Mercy!” George pleaded, his voice trembling as he clutched at Fred’s arm.

“We swear we’ll never do it again!” Fred added, but it was too late. Molly raised her hand, and with a speed that defied all logic, she began to rain blows upon them—magical and otherwise. Her hand seemed to multiply, each slap accompanied by a jinx that turned their hair neon green, their tongues tied in knots, and their ears sprouting fur. All the while, her voice boomed through the corridor like the roar of an avenging spirit.

“Disrespectful, thoughtless, cruel—how dare you?” she bellowed, each word punctuated by another swat or curse. The twins cringed, desperately trying to shield themselves from the onslaught, but there was no escape from the wrath of Molly Weasley in full demonic form.

“We’re sorry! We’re really, really sorry!” they begged, their voices high-pitched and panicked, as they scrambled to reverse the spell they had cast on the Slytherin boy. With trembling hands, they waved their wands, restoring his voice and nearly tripping over each other in their haste.

The boy gasped as his voice returned, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror as he watched the twins grovel before the She-Demon-Lord who had once been their mother.

Molly, her eyes still glowing with that hellish light, finally relented. “Good. Now apologize to this young man properly.”

Fred and George, their voices quivering with fear, stammered out, “S-sorry! We’re so sorry!”

The boy, now able to speak again, stared at Molly Weasley with wide, awe-filled eyes. He had just witnessed what he could only describe as divine retribution, delivered with the precision and fury of a vengeful goddess. His legs trembled beneath him, and before he could stop himself, he dropped to his knees, bowing his head low to the ground.

“Oh, great She-Demon-Lord,” he whispered, his voice quivering with a mix of fear and reverence. “Please, accept my humble offerings of thanks for saving me from the torment of those unholy pranksters. I promise to spread your name among the other Slytherins, to tell tales of your mighty wrath and unmatched power.”

Molly blinked, her fiery demeanor softening into one of bewildered confusion. “Dear, what are you—”

But the boy, now fully committed to his impromptu worship, clasped his hands together in fervent prayer. “I will light candles in your honor, offer sacrifices of chocolate frogs and licorice wands! Please, protect me from all who seek to do me harm, O Mighty Avenger of the Wronged!”

Molly’s expression twisted between amusement and exasperation as she realized the poor boy genuinely believed she was some sort of dark deity. “Now, now, none of that,” she began, trying to pull him up from the floor. “I’m just a mother, doing what any mother would do—”

But the boy remained firmly prostrate, muttering incantations in what he assumed was an appropriate language to communicate with deities. “Hallowed be thy name, O She-Demon-Lord, bringer of justice—”

Before Molly could protest further, the lights flickered ominously again, casting long, eerie shadows along the walls. The temperature in the corridor dipped once more, and a gust of wind swept through, extinguishing the torches in rapid succession. The boy’s prayers grew more fervent as he took this as a sign that his newfound goddess was preparing to ascend. Molly opened her mouth to speak, but…she sighed. If it worked and made them stop bullying…With a final flash of light, she vanished, her plump figure dissolving into the darkness as if swallowed by the very shadows themselves.

The boy looked up, eyes wide with awe. “She’s gone... returned to her divine realm,” he whispered reverently. He sat back on his heels, a look of solemn devotion on his face. “I must tell the others. They must know of the She-Demon-Lord’s power.”