Walls

Walls
Chapter Three
Severus

He hated this place. All he really wanted was to be left alone but that damned mediwitch they had assigned to him wouldn’t leave him in peace. To add more brimstone to the Hell he was in, Albus had visited him yesterday. Albus, who looked at him with pity, who looked at him as if he were in pain. The man had no idea what pain was, even though, Severus acknowledged reluctantly, the Headmaster knew him best.

Oh, yes. His colleagues would all say that they knew Severus Snape. That they liked Severus Snape in spite of his rudeness toward them. They would say, behind his back of course, that once the war was over and he had a life again the true Severus Snape would come out of hiding. Oh how they admired and feared him. Admired his bravery, his selfless giving of himself to the war effort. The stoic way he took his punishment from a madman for his own enjoyment and continued to submit himself even after his body had threatened to give out.

He had, much to his horror survived the injuries he had sustained in the final battle. ad tad taken him months to recover and no one would listen to his pleadings that he just be allowed to die. Albus had said that he was too loved to be let go of. One by one all of the surviving staff had come to call on him once he was fit to receive company. Company that he didn’t want or need. Then that Potter boy had the nerve to visit along with his two sidekicks, to thank him for saving his worthless life.

How they had looked on him, with pity in their eyes. Except for the Granger girl. She had looked horrified, which was perhaps the most truthful glance he had received during that time.

Well he had looked horrible, more horrible than before his injuries if that were possible. His hair had been all but burned off in the fire and he had sustained burns on most of his body as well. As luck would have it, it was his face that had remained relatively untouched. The only burn that marred his countenance was on his right cheek. He still carried a slight scar and would, along with the ones on the rest of his body forever. Except for the Dark Mark, that had disappeared at the death of Voldemort.

It was the absence of the scar that finally did him in, along with the insincerity of the others. The sudden crowding of his life by the press and well-wishers. His elevation to hero status, the awarding of the Order of Merlin, First Class-something that he had thought he had wanted. It all rang hollow to him. It was all such bullocks.

He was no hero. He was a destroyer. A rapist. A murderer. He had allowed Harry Bloody Potter to become an orphan, he had allowed the murder of Lily Potter. He had failed to pay the debt he had owed James Potter and had been forced to repay the dead wizards debt to his son. The savior of their world.

The spawn of that bastard Gryffindor who had made his life an even bigger Hell than it was.

The thief of his dignity.

He hated those “Marauders” as they had been called. Hated their camaraderie, their easy going ways. He hated them for picking him out of all of the students at Hogwarts to make a victim of their “fun”. He had long ago ceased trying to figure out why it had been he and not another that they had chosen.

He had long ago quit wondering why he hadn’t stood up to them, or to the others sooner. Instead it had been the catalyst that had driven him to The Dark Lord. The anger that he had carried inside was the tinder that Voldemort’s flint had needed to set his Slytherin need for vengeanceame.ame.

How that flame had burned.

He had been Voldemort’s most efficient Death Eater. Until the pleading eyes of Lily Potter pierced the layer of frost that had surrounded his black heart.

He had been there when they died, too full of hate to stop their deaths. Too full of venom to fulfill his debt to James. He merely watched him die.

He had seen Lily’s last pleading glance before she threw herself in-between her son’s crib and The Dark Lord’s wand. He had seen his master fall to that boy and he didn’t know what to believe anymore.


So to Dumbledore he went, prepared to give up his life for failing Lily, but no. Albus’ big heart and even smarter mind was unwilling to let him go. He had known even then that Voldemort would return one day, and the one way that Severus could redeem himself was to work for good. To teach the children and bide his time until Voldemort’s return.

To put up with that Potter brat and his gang of sycophants. To pay and repay his debt to James by extricating Potter from danger time and again. To see and hear the students mock him just as he had been mocked before. To put up with the polite attempts at friendship, at inclusion that his co workers foisted on him. He hated the pity he saw behind their eyes.

He enjoyed the fear he instilled in his students. It wasn’t just a teaching technique, although it was effective. He had begun well enough, but the students from the years below him remembered the Marauders and their teasing and his classes thought that they could take advantage.

He had disabused them of that notion soon enough and gradually gained his current reputation. He drew further and further within himself and kept to his dungeons. He had evolved into the creature he was today.

Bitter.

Hateful.

Lonely.

Pitied.


Join my yahoo group! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SexySlytherin/