Corruption Of Innocence

Black hair was flung forward narrowly missing the flame, causing it to dance with determined fervency until it finally calmed of it’s own accord.

The man groaned almost inaudibly and pushed his head with some effort away from the tiny beacon of light and warmth, his fingers pushing back the loose tendrils of hair out of harms way. For a few seconds he let the flame warm the exposed pale skin of his cheek until the sensation of burning forced him to pull away.

He stood up, noticing the chill creep through his body and he took a moment to stretch tense muscles, forcing warmth back into his aching shoulders. He had stayed in the same position for far to long.

Then he blew out the candle and went to bed.

***

He lay there alone in the bitter coldness that was his room, too pre-occupied even to notice the hazy chill of his own breath, so cold it was. So he would shiver and shudder under cold blankets until finally his own body warmth made the bed at least a little more bearable.

The Gods would undoubtedly gasp aloud from astonishment if he remembered to light the small neat Victorian style fire that stood empty and forgotten near his large impressive four-poster bed.

It had once been in the style of a large medieval design, rather tasteless and vulgar to Severus’s eyes, but keeping in with the rest of the castle’s style. He however transfigured shortly after becoming potions master at Hogwarts. Contrary to popular belief Severus Snape did have a certain appreciation for aesthetics, why would he ever have bothered in the first place had he not. Very few knew of his taste in the arts of antiquity.

People still wondered why he choose to reside in the dungeons. Apart from the peace and quite, why else would he wish to reside anywhere else? Not to mention to be near his cherished books and potion ingredients. Students meant trouble, especially those inexcusable Gryffindor brats who didn’t seem to be able to avoid getting their mitts on his private stores or in any case getting into Lord knows what kind of trouble.

Right now, he was finding it very hard to get any rest, not that most nights weren’t any different, A few hours of valuable sleep was a blessing if he were able to squash the unpleasant memories from his mind, that seemed to corrupt his thoughts as he was trying to sleep.

Severus signed and blinked in the dark, staring into nothing, his thoughts jumbled with past and present memories, the Death Eater dark revels, the test that was planned for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fifth year class in the morning, Dumbledore‘s meeting in the afternoon, brewing Lupin‘s Wolfbane potion that evening and wondering whether he should have made a new brew of dreamless sleep potion, not that it really worked for him any more.

Every night was the same. Every night when the darkness finally claimed him and sleep ultimately took him into unconsciousness. Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, head of Slytherin house would weep silently unbeknownst to him in his sleep.

Nothing would change, nothing in the last thirty or more years had changed. Painful memories some so intense they had been shut away into the deep recesses of his mind never again daring to re-surface for fear that he would be sucked down into something so despairing that he would never be able to pull himself up and away from.

He lay there counting the steps of a particularly complicated and volatile blood sucking potion, ‘stir four times clockwise, leave for three minutes, add two pinches of essence of crayfish bile, - Lorsekruker - stir anti-clockwise for a further three minutes, bring off the boil, remove from heat, - Lorsekruker - add one gram of angel feathers, leave to cool for ten minutes, return to heat, simmer for nine minutes until aqua marine, - Lorsekruker - add a table spoon of water wait until it turns dark blue- finally remove from heat and bottle - Lorse -’

“Merlin give me strength!” He spat aloud, but his mind was too preoccupied in personal tragedy. Waiting and waiting for the inevitable, his nightmares to start all over again. In his minds eye was a face of a man, cruel, twisted and grim, it resided over his near exhausted disposition, and he tried to snarl to make it go away but it wouldn’t.

He was over tired and Severus new it. Today had been particularly arduous, like others but with the scarcity of sleep the night before he had retired to his bed earlier.

Normally he tried to avoid sleep, something a little potion couldn’t cure, but he couldn’t hang out for them forever. Doing so caused other troubles, the shakes noticeably; a potions instructor with a jerky hand was a potions instructor no more specially when he brought it on himself.

At the back of him mind something almost made him believe that it was all due to him, his past was no more than his past than his future, and he continued to believe it. It was his atonement for what he had done. It was his philosophy for years. Pain and an ever lasting supply of it was all he believed he was due.

He shut himself off from the world and took refuge in his dungeons.

When in public he would display cruelty, sarcasm and nastiness to anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. Friendship was of tof those un-necessary relationship ‘things’ that held no basis or purpose in his life. He merely existed. He was a practical soul and life was thus. But truthfully, perhaps he was just a little afraid deep down inside; he was more fragile than he gave himself credit for. Maybe it was a fear that even for a split second the tiniest display of humanity would destroy his torturous control over himself battering and smashing away restraint forever.

Hartearted to ponder Albus Dumbledore, perhaps the only person in recent years with whom he could loosely be described as a friend. He was the headmaster of Hogwarts, an aged, wizened, yet powerful wizard. The sole person he could admit he truly trusted. The man who had brought him out of one particular hell and threw him unknowingly into another, spared him from the wizard prison Azkaban, and for his retribution made him a teacher and double agent, to spy on the Death Eaters, particularly Voldemort‘s inner circle, a division of which he had once been a member of himself.

It had been costing Severus’ his new found fragile freedom as well as his emotional and physical health, but some how he always managed to get himself out of a dangerous sticky situation without the Dark Lord suspecting he had returned to the other side and make it back to Hogwarts reasonably safely, if not exhausted, and that a medial potion co’t c’t cure.

Professor Dumbledore would never know the exact truth concerning Severus’ past. Only one person had inkling and she was gone from his life a long time ago and then it was only by a misfortunate turn of events that she did know. By accident and telepathy.

He was too ashamed, to proud to openly admit the secret tragedies that had befallen him many years ago. As a child, orphaned from the age of one, then later as an adult, and what finally drove him over to the other side in the first place.

With Voldemort finally defeated along with his merry band of followers, Severus Snape was free. Free to leave Hogwarts free to leave England if he wished; free to leave the land of his twisted and bitter past. Only that he couldn’t. Something kept him from taking that final step and begin a new life. A life he genuinely deserved. He wasn’t sure what it was, and why that strange nagging feeling at the back of his brain told him to stay put.

***

The nightmare came, blindly real, Severus awoke screaming and sweating. Sitting bolt upright in the bed, the blanket fell to his waist revealing pale almost white skin, flesh that probably hadn’t seen sun light in years, and scarred from years of torment and pain. He ached terribly and leaned forward as if to vomit. Nausea subsided, as did the memory and finally after minutes of just staring at the folds in his blanket he relaxed just enough to sigh and slump back down against the pillow and curse all the Gods for creating him.

Black strands of damp hair were plastered over his face and he weakly pushed them back out of his eyes. He moaned softly then flung his right arm rather haphazardly over his face, shielding his eyes from the deep crimson to violet light as the sun slowly made it’s progression across the sky, advancing into day.

What time is it? He thought with a sigh.

Finally he moved his arm just enough to see the clock, an old battered wooden thing positioned next to his four poster bed on the small cabinet. Six thirty, he read. The professor moaned again realising that in less than two hours he would have to suffer the consequences of bothersome children once more. And he felt as if he had only just got into the blasted bed.

Bloody hell, he thought and closed his eyes. Damn them all, he lay there letting himself fall into a restless slumber once again, permitting his dreams to take over his mind, flicking their angry flames into his wounded and battered soul.

At first he dreamt he was standing in a night time desert of barren sands.

The man lowered himself onto him. He yanked Severus’ legs back painfully, and lowered himself. The younger man prepared himself for the onslaught.

Then he woke up. The sound of his alarm clock going off. Pain gnawed at his brain. He sighed. At least he had been spared the rape for tonight. Anger tore through him. Severus grabbed the small wooden clock and flung it across the room, where it smashed into the opposite wall facing his bed. It slid down to the floor where it rested for a few seconds before magically reforming itself.

The clock was as battered as ever, scars of previous attacks of rage permanently etched across its face and casing.

He was angry at his old master, mad at Taya for appearing like that in his dream, mad at her dream image making love to him, something that perhaps he subconsciously craved for.

Severus hauled himself out of the bed and stalked to the bathroom.