„I hate you"
But the words didn't hold any malice to them. A mere statement, maybe only added as an afterthought. The boy – no he was a man – stood and walked out of the room. Sure to hear the door slam shut Severus internally prepared for the bang. It never came. Only a soft click indicated that the door was indeed closed. Maybe that was even worse.
He could deal with an angry, screaming Harry, one who destroyed the furniture in his rage. Hell, he could deal with a ridiculously happy or even a terrified Harry. Merlin knew how often Severus had offered comfort when Harry relived the meetings, the war, his many encounters with the Dark Lord.
This emotionless state though, here he didn't know what to do. How to react. Nothing seemed to get a rise out of the boy – man. I hate you. The words seemed to echo in his head. He definitely deserved them. He should have known better, hell he did know better than to resort to insulting Harry's friends. Even though some actually did deserve his ire. Well, perhaps… perhaps not everything he had said was on par with the truth. But then nothing was really far-fetched either.
I hate you.
Why did those words bother him so much? Did he really expect an outcome different from the current one?
I hate you. I hate you. I. Hate. You.
Hate.
Such a strong word. Not dislike. Hate. A passionate word. A word that held much emotion indeed.
Why did it upset him? Wait, upset? He wasn't upset just – well yes, he was upset. After all he was only human. Despite the rumours claiming different, that flitted year and year again through the halls.
But he should be indifferent nonetheless, shouldn't he? His years as a spy should have seen to that. He wasn't a spy anymore. The war was over, had been for over a year now. Yes, the Dark Lord had been defeated even longer but his demise hadn0t marked the end of the war. Only the beginning of the end.
I hate you.
Severus had been the recipient of many harsh words, had been the curse of almost every student not in his house. The words were not foreign to him. On the contrary he was very much acquainted with them.
Never before though had they hurt him as much as now. His chest constricted, his breath came shallow. He knew he was hyperventilating, going into shock.
He shouldn't have thought about the war. It only brought up memories of dead bodies littering the floor. Of pain shooting through his left arm. Ear-deafening screams and crying. Blood everywhere. He stumbled. This was the end. He wouldn't survive. None would. The Dark Lord couldn't be defeated.
On some level Severus was aware that he was still in his sitting room, not on the battlefield. He heard someone screaming. Flashes of green and red filled his vision. The screaming stopped. His throat hurt and he couldn't breathe.
I hate you.
His potions never worked anymore. At least not on himself. The nightmares came every night. Harry had been his anchor for a while but now he was gone. He shivered, it was suddenly cold in his dungeons. Severus knew Harry wouldn't come back this time. He had messed up too much. There was too much damage, too much history.
In a trance like motion he got up. He was shaking like a leaf, cold sweat clung to him like a second skin. Somehow he made it all the way up to the astronomy tower. The wind was freezing as rain soaked through his robes in a matter of seconds. He didn't mind. Nothing really mattered at this point anymore. He wasn't needed by anyone.
As a teacher he had been horrendous and his colleagues hated him for the things he'd done during the war. He didn't blame them. He couldn't forgive himself either. Well, there had been somebody who hadn't hated him, but that wasn't true anymore.
He had nothing left, nothing worth living for. There was only pain. Pain in his chest and where he'd been injured before. Physical pain. Emotional pain. Pain he wanted to finally stop. To no longer feel anything. To be numb.
He couldn't take it anymore. He threw a last glance at the railing where he had killed Dumbledore. Where he had killed his mentor and part of himself. Now after four years the rest would follow. He stepped on the bars, holding on the pillar.
For one second he believed someone would stop him. Would care enough to make him come down. Show him what he missed. But none was there. None ever was.
I hate you.
He let go.