Stories of the Mindheart

Far far above the clouds, soaring with the wind
A falcon flies alone silent as the sky
I hear his lonely cry; never can he rest
I walk with you along an empty, whinning road
We're far from the ones we love; never can return
Never can we see again the countries of our birth

When will I ever find a place to call my home?
Sadness circling like a falcon in the sky
When will I ever find the way to speak my heart
To someone who knows what it is to be alone?

Far far above the clouds, against the setting sun
A falcon flies alone, silent as the sky
I hear his lonely cry; never can he rest
I long to spread my wings and fly into the night
Open this lonely heart to one who understands
When will I ever find a way to speak my heart?

When will I ever find a place to call my home?
Sadness and loneliness a falcon in the sky
When will I ever find a way to speak my heart
To someone who knows what it is to be alone...?

Strange what a cube can represent

It was a long time ago, and yet it is happening today.

There was this clearing, this piece of land that was completely covered in pale, fine sand, very close to the sea shore, separated form it only by the thick line of flowers surrounding the clearing in a perfect circle. The flowers made a really pleasant view. Brightly-colored small vegetation of all types was beautifully arranged into a garden. There was a lot of green among them. Harmonious, the dozens of flora grew in a way that suggested some very skilled hands were arranging them. Right in the middle of the clearing, in its very center, there were the most bizarre objects to be conceived. There was a shinny knee-high Rubik cube, with all its faces differently colored, but completely uniform each one of them; not dug into the sand, but unmoving, like it was standing its ground against something. It was completely sealed; nevertheless you could tell that it was hollow, and that if you had cared to try and lift it, you would have found it was feather-light. Weird. And then right next to it there was this wood-carved, sky-high, sleek ladder, three feet tall and with many rungs in it. It was very stylish, made of new, fresh wood and with a lovely finishing to it that gave the impression of being very luxurious. The curious thing about that ladder was that it was neither dug into the ground, nor laid supported against anything, and yet it was free-standing in a diagonal way from the ground. It was sort of forming an oblique angle against the Rubik cube. Suddenly that angle-like shape became a full triangle as a lightning-bolt hit the rapidly clouding sky with a tremendous strike. There was a huge eye of blue just above the clearing, but not covering it all. The rest of the firmament was quickly darkened by clouds tinted in whites, grays, and blues. The sound of the thunder filled it all. Somehow, the sand and the ladder and the cube remained spotlessly dry, but the eyes that saw the scene were damp with the rain that was coming neither from the skies nor from anywhere to be seen. Suddenly, thunder and lightning ceased, though there was no tranquility, and the skies remained clouded as ever. The blue patch of sky that was still visible above began to contract into its center. Inch by inch the foamy shape gained reign over the heavens until periwinkle was nowhere to be seen. Then something happened. Magnificently, a shape began to merge from right above the cube and the ladder, which along with the flowers were the only sources of light in the clearing. Slowly, with nearly irritating subtlety, the superbly colossal head and torso of a cloud-wrought male horse came into view. Its body was a solid mass of clouds and vapors and tinted by patches of blacks, grays, and whites. A powerful sensation was emanating from it. All in all it had the calmest expression, wise and reassuring. Its eyes were the color of the midnight heavens and reflected the lightings that just a split second before were disturbing the region, but that no longer were. It was mighty. It was extremely beautiful. It looked down upon the eyes that witnessed. The eyes stared back in wonder.

Then I woke. The ringing tone of a dear one had brought me out of my stupor. Trying desperately to wrap my head around the vision that now stayed stubbornly iron-clad in my mind’s eye, I looked around me. The scene was dull with familiarity. The mundane feeling of day-to-day life came down upon me. Just a bare minute ago I had been far away, staring into what wasn’t really there, but still existed in a parallel vision, a different level of reality. One that was, alas, much sharper than the one I’d just opened my eyes to.

I look down onto my table. There’s a spare piece of paper lying over the notebook I’d used all the semester. It has been scribbled on, in a different tongue. It read: “El cubo. En el piso-de Rubick-tan alto como mi rodilla- hueco- sobre la arena –cerca de la playa – liviano…”. Hum. Sounds exactly like the Rubik cube in my mind’s eye… is that a description I wrote? Funnily enough I don’t recall even taking the red pen, much less using it to fill up the blanks on the paper.

Everyone was analyzing their own visions out loud. I managed to look mildly interested and to keep up a human-like conversation. I caught glimpses of interpretation that was external to me but accurate to an important extent:

The sand-covered field was there. Only I had imagined it near seashore, though. I guess you could pin it on my desire to have all facets of life in the same place. I couldn’t be sure. The flowers were supposed to be the symbol of my achievements and -to my slight embarrassment- my children. Crap, I’d imagined so many. I could only hope there would be more personal achievements than there would be kids. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t envision myself as a mother, I never had. I hated mine, for Heaven’s sake, I didn’t want to turn into that decrepit creature. The flowers were brightly colored, so that was supposed to mean they were my important sources of pleasure. At least the distance between them and me was a kind of reassurance. I had only a slight worry that also my big dreams of grandeur would be just as far from me or either belonging to someone else as I came to find it represented. I discarded that thought, there were other things and the others had moved onto analyzing them.

The size of my cube (knee-high) was a symbol of my self-esteem. No comment there. At least it was pretty balanced, not like a huge ego or a feeling of superiority, and that was something… wasn’t it? I was close to it while bearing witness, so that meant I was a much closed person, and well I do like to operate alone and have my space, but I also need my family close by. And it meant that I lived the present day. Well, yeah, sort of me. The different coloring of the sides suggested complexity, moodily versatile, and with self-consciousness I’ve always been aware of. Yep, it was a stubborn cube, everyone agreed, but also down-to-Earth, which was kind of news. The black edges to it were interestingly suggesting my clearly-defined boundaries; when I say not it’s just simply not, so you’ll just have to deal with it. The fact that it was a Rubik cube said that I was adaptable, ingenious and challenging, which is just the way my life is, and it was shinny, so that was supposed to mean I am oriented to triumph, and I like to think I am. I was sort of concerned to think of myself as hollow, ‘because I’d just imagined my cube to be so. However I was relieved to find out it meant self-protectiveness, toughness I wasn’t really aware of until today, cynical -harrumph-, and venturesome. Like I said, it was just bizarre.

My ladder symbolized the most important, most basic, most sacred thing in my life: My friends, which I have come to think of as my family. It said they couldn’t be relied on, but really, who cares? I know that and I’m happy with them just the way they are. Besides, I’m not that confident with all of them, and if I share myself it’s only with bits at a time, pieces of a puzzle that can only be put together by really interested people. That’s who really cares about me, so they deserve the whole truth to do as they like with it. People I look up to. Many, I do.

There was certainly beauty in the storm. The forms, the colors… so inviting. Challenging. That usually is the nature of all my trouble. It affected only me, but even not I completely, for the cube remained harmless. Maybe it hurt just one part of me; the part of the watchful eyes. I wondered –vaguely- what would that mean. Maybe it meant that the defined, secure part of me was safe, no matter the storm that my eyes perceived. Threats there were, but hollow ones. Illuminating, so I could learn from them, no matter how long it took me. It was localized, confined, and manageable. Now that one felt good.

And that horse! The horse attracted my attention right away. It stood for my lover. Lord. I was shocked. Mysterious, romantic, a good lover, were some of the attributes my subconscious self reflected. In his own world… well, that one held true for many candidates that rapidly jumped to my mind. Vigilant and protective. Well, I was used to protecting, but not to being kept safe. Still, it’d be nice, I think. I hadn’t considered my half-horse was naked. Lord, that meant he was free, and it suggested a strongly sexual relationship. Well, I guess it is something I will have to live with, even if I don’t envision it in a prominent light just now. It’s not a priority. The fact that I saw only the upper part of its body suggested the truth: I care about the way men look, but it’s so much more important what they have between their ears. Proud, spirited, theatrical and also a bit affected, but that I could take care of. A high-achiever; well that there is important: I want to grow by the side of the man I love if ever I come to cross him.

I’d never before given so much thought to an affectionate companion in my life ever before…

Everyone was set into mocking some guy’s female red-haired horse.

It was all into a backstage section of my brain, though. Because in my mind’s eye, I was still staring into the beautiful, profound, lighting-reflecting eyes of that majestic horse I loved. I knew those eyes from somewhere, I’d felt exactly the same gazing into a different set of pupils that was exactly the same set as the horse’s. I knew whose eyes they were. Could that possibly be…?

Reencuentro

Lili Evans.

El gran amor de Severus Snape.

De pie, a un palmo de distancia de su rostro.

Imposible.

Lili permaneció mirando a Severus con una sonrisa apacible, mientras él se debatía por reencontrar su voz.

No se percató del momento en que la mano de Dumbledore se desentendía de la suya. Estaba absorto en los ojos de Lili Eans, tan verdes como recordaba. No, más aún. De pronto se percató que sus recuerdos, que todas sus memorias de Lili, eran erradas. Ninguna le hacía justicia a su belleza. Sus ojos almendrados de brillante verde esmeralda; su ondeante melena roja como el fuego; sus dientes brillantes como la luna; su piel, pálida a excepción de ese hermoso rubor en sus mejillas. Y algo más... estaba sonriendo.

Verla de pie ahí, era como si un ciego viera el sol por primera vez.

Su cerebro no funcionaba bien... Pero aun así logró hablar -¿balbucear?-:

-¿Lili?

(Dios santo, ¿qué no la estaba viendo? Caray, una neurona extra que lo ayude, por piedad. . Todos los hombres son iguales: taaaan elocuentes...)

Lili debía pensar igual. Y también debía ser treméndamente tolerante, porque amplió su sonrisa, asintió una vez, y lo abrazó.

¡Bendita la gravedad por impedir que Severus flotara! Y justo en el momento en que todo iba taaan bien... Tenía que hablar Dumbledore.

-Está empezando ya...

Se refería a la guerra.

Lili soltó a Severus muy despacio, volviéndose hacia el anciano profesor y asintiendo solemnemente una sola vez. El momento había llegado. La última gran batalla contra Lord Voldemort daba inicio de nuevo. Todo estaba listo.

Lili no soltó la mano de Severus mientras caminaba hacia el profesor, detrás de quien había una ventana.

-Dumbledore, -susurró ella. -Mi hijo está ahí abajo. ¿Tú creés que lo logre?

Severus miró el consternado rostro de Lili, y luego a Dumbledore.

-Temo, -dijo el anciano profesor, -que tendremos que esperar por verlo.

El despertar

Cerró los ojos.

De repente el dolor cesó. Todo quedó en silencio. El suelo ya no estaba frío. Solo... solo existía, solo estaba. No percibía ningún aroma. Ni siquiera la brisa. Se preguntó si ésto era estar muerto. Y de verdad, estaba muerto.

¿Estaría en el infierno? No cabía duda. Ser un Mortífago te daba un pase directo. Entonces, por qué había dejado de sufrir.

Se dio cuenta de que tenía que existir físicamente, de alguna manera. Definitivamente sentía el suelo bajo su cuerpo, aunque la herida de Nagginni ya no le punzaba. Al abrirlos descubrió que tenía ojos.

Todo era extraño. Parecía niebla. Pero no era cualquier clase de niebla. Era de un blanco brillante, y parecía que aun no hubiera topado con ningún objeto. Paredes, techo, muebles, rocas... nada.

Se encontraba desnudo enmedio de ese resplandor blanco. Tan pronto lo deseo, encontró una toga negra que antes no había estado ahí. Se la puso; era de su exacto talle.

-¿Qué es esto?, -dijo para sí. Una de esas preguntas que tú mismo te respondes, o que solo lanzas al aire sin esperar una respuesta. De hecho, ni siquiera estaba seguro de haberlo dicho en voz alta. Pero contra todo lo posible, alguien le respondió.

-Bienvenido, Severus. Sabía que llegarías aquí,- dijo la anciana voz. Una voz que a pesar de ser vieja, era electrizante. Una voz que recordaba muy bien. La última vez que había escuchado esa voz viva, le había suplicado... que la matara.

Albus Dumbledore.

El Príncipe estaba atónito. Caminó lentamente hacia la figura de excéntrica apariencia, hasta llegar a solo unos metros de él.

-Dumbledore..., -dijo en poco más que un susurro. -¿Cómo puede ser...?

El poderoso anciano le sonrió. Snape supo la respuesta tan pronto formuló la pregunta, pero no podía creerlo. Él y el viejo director se quedaron por un tiempo inmedible mirándose uno al otro, Dumbledore con una sonrisa apacible y el Mortífago completamente confundido.

-No es... posible,- dijo por fin el Mestizo.

Albus Dumbledore irguió la cabeza, levanto una ceja, y acto seguido volvió a colocar su penetrante mirada enmarcada por gafas de media luna justo a la altura de los espejos negros del Príncipe.

-Severus, te arrepentiste. Soportaste un dolor que muchos no somos capaces siquiera de imaginar. Cumpliste penitencia, pagaste voluntariamente en vida por los crímenes cometidos, todo ello con indescriptible valor, y poniéndo tu propia vida en riesgo. Eso restauró tu alma. Te permitió llegar aquí.

Severus Snape sintió como el calor de las palabras de Dumbledore le recorría el cuerpo. De repente dejó de ser el Príncipe Mestizo. Las comisuras de los labios se curvaron hacia arriba. Volvía a sonreír.

Dumbledore, en cambio, era otra historia. Snape lo miró inquisitivamente.

-Harry, -fue lo único que escapó a los labios del director. Por vez primera, parecía cansado.

Severus lo sintió también. Todavía estaba el asunto del muchacho y la batalla que tenía que librarse.

-Le dí lo que necesitaba saber, -susurró Severus. -Todo lo que me dijiste sobre su destino, y también...

Se paró en seco.

-Y también lo de tu amor por su madre, Lily, -dijo asintiendo Dumbledore. Severus volvió el rostro. Sintió cómo su corazón se achicaba al recordar que su gran amor estaba muerta, como su esposo, como el hombre que tenía frente a él, como...

... Como él mismo.

Se volvió de frente a Dumbledore una vez más. El anciano profesor irradiaba seguridad y... algo más... ¿afecto por el hombre de negra toga frente a él? Muy despacio y como si estuviera perfectamente conciente de cada uno de sus movimientos, el anciano le tendió la mano, y Severus la tomó. Caminaron en silencio, sin que pareciera que llegaran a ningun lado.

Hasta que...

-Ella te ha estado esperando, Severus. Y debo decirte que deseaba que fuera más tarde que temprano.

La figura pelirroja avanzó lentamente hacia Severus, mientras este permanecía clavado en el suelo insustancial.

La muerte del Príncipe Mestizo

El Príncipe Mestizo sentía sus fuerzas diezmarse.

Ya no tenía nada que dar; sus memorias estaban ahora en manos de ese chiquillo que tanto se parecía a su arrogante enemigo de toda la vida. Harry lo creyó muerto y se alejó de él lentamente. Lo último que Severus vio en su vida fueron los verdes ojos de Harry... Eran iguales a los de su madre.

Oscuridad.

Pero no el final. El Príncipe seguía sufriendo, tan poderoso era el veneno de la serpiente. Un pensamiento doloroso lo asaltó al pensar en la mujer a quien tanto había amado. Había muerto para salvar a su... hijo. Le dolía no poder pensar nuestro hijo. Y pensar que todo eso estuvo al alcance de su mano, de no ser por su completa estupidez y por una palabra: sangresucia.

Lily Evans... su gran amor, había muerto. Por proteger a ese chiquillo, arrogante como su padre. Y él, Severus Snape, había jurado a Dumbledore ayudarlo a protegerlo. Ahora, Dumbledore también estaba muerto. Y Severus estaba seguro de que pronto él también lo estaría. Y el peligro aun no había cedido; al contrario, era más poderoso que nunca. Ahora, todo dependía de ese eclenque muchacho y sus compinches.

Imaginó el rostro de Harry. ¿Cuántas veces no había visto a ese mocoso en las tres clases que le dio? Pociones, Oclumancia, y Defensa Contra Las Artes Oscuras; en todas menos tal vez en la última, el mocoso era un perfecto inútil. Y aun así, jamás se había percatado de lo mucho que se parecía a ella...

Que extraño. El rostro de Harry estaba cambiando... hasta dejar de ser el de un chico de despeinado pelo negro, hasta que las gafas desaparecieron. Sus facciones se suavizaban cada vez más. Sus labios, mucho más carnosos, se curvaban en una dulce sonrisa. Y sobre su frente caía una cascada de largo y sedoso pelo rojo...

Y la blanca luz lo cegó por fin.

-Aguanta, Sev. Tranquilo, -dijo alguien. Severus contuvo el aliento (o por lo menos sintió que así era). Esa voz... esa hermosa voz. La que no podría volver a oír... Imposible.