Why my heart belongs to Severus Snape

What it is, more than anything, I think, is that moment when we see him craddling her lifeless body, while not simply sobbing but actually wailing. Because it is a voice-over scene, his lament is soundless and, therefore, infinitely more powerful and tragic.

The master of a disciplined mind and of concealment reveals himself in his truest instant to be utterly devasted with grief.

In the past, his calculated frigidity has only once let slip some base level of rage, tempered with shame, at a recollection of school yard bullying, and some infrequent minor fears due to the burdensome demands of his headmaster.

When, as a theatre student in university, I had to explore the four major emotions of joy, fear, rage, and grief, I always felt my resources for the joy corner of the room were rather limited. Yet, I was full of information for grief. I, too, have often felt that I live my life behind a veil--forcing myself to be strong and to appear flawless--while concealing a fundamentally wounded core.

To live with, despite, or perhaps for a true love once glimpsed and then lost is a dank, musty, breathless tunnel. From the chasm, to live based on love seems somehow naïvely pure. Deceivingly simple in its complexity. And profoundly courageous in its honesty.

That is why my heart belongs to Severus Snape.