A/N: Small drabble-et at about 350 words. The thoughts of a niave boy, and
what power means.
"Merlin take the stupid thing!" he exploded, kicking the torn satchel under the bed. He collapsed on top of the quilt, willing the tears to stay back, behind his eyes. He didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. If Father caught him with his eyes streaming there'd be bloody hell to pay. He stared out of the window at the grey sky, watching the small dots of Quidditch players bob and dance, listening to the roars of the excited crowd, expressionless.
He sat up, sliding a hand over his hair, greasy as ever. He had no time to take a bath and wash it, nightfall inevitably meant some intricacy would go wrong, and he'd bend over the potion, absorbed until the dormitory filled once more. Ruefully, an image flickered in mind, of a snobby, arrogant boy, seated underneath a tree, dappled sunlight flickering over his shiny hair, a casual hand raking through it-
He wasn't a Quidditch player. He intended to do something with his life, rather than spend it being chased by magic-ed balls.
He sat up, and tinkered with the potion sitting peacefully on his trunk, sat beside a stack of textbooks he'd retrieved from the lake. If he was good at Charms, he could've dried them, but as it was, the pages stuck together, and a large, nasty looking stain had seeped through.
It didn't need help, the clear, bright green of the potion indicated that it was perfect. Perfect potion. The same colour as the eyes of the girl who came to his rescue, who he loathed on principle, and secretly thought of, deep in the recesses of the night. A girl whose long hair fell in the same soft waves as his mother's had.
Severus pulled up the sleeve of his robe, and gazed down at the pale, blue- ish skin of his under-arm, not seeing the clear, un-blemished flesh, but the searing red mark that would be on it, in such a short time.
They would pay. He'd be powerful, and able to laugh at those who scuttled back and forth, those who had to work to reach where they were. He'd be able to have who he wanted, the girl he dreamed of by his side. She wouldn't want Potter anymore, not when Severus was rising in power. It would be his time soon.
It had to be.
A/N: Weird, and kind of touching, I hope. Severus is worldly now, but back then, he must have been burning with pain, and suffering, and dreams. Please review.
"Merlin take the stupid thing!" he exploded, kicking the torn satchel under the bed. He collapsed on top of the quilt, willing the tears to stay back, behind his eyes. He didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. If Father caught him with his eyes streaming there'd be bloody hell to pay. He stared out of the window at the grey sky, watching the small dots of Quidditch players bob and dance, listening to the roars of the excited crowd, expressionless.
He sat up, sliding a hand over his hair, greasy as ever. He had no time to take a bath and wash it, nightfall inevitably meant some intricacy would go wrong, and he'd bend over the potion, absorbed until the dormitory filled once more. Ruefully, an image flickered in mind, of a snobby, arrogant boy, seated underneath a tree, dappled sunlight flickering over his shiny hair, a casual hand raking through it-
He wasn't a Quidditch player. He intended to do something with his life, rather than spend it being chased by magic-ed balls.
He sat up, and tinkered with the potion sitting peacefully on his trunk, sat beside a stack of textbooks he'd retrieved from the lake. If he was good at Charms, he could've dried them, but as it was, the pages stuck together, and a large, nasty looking stain had seeped through.
It didn't need help, the clear, bright green of the potion indicated that it was perfect. Perfect potion. The same colour as the eyes of the girl who came to his rescue, who he loathed on principle, and secretly thought of, deep in the recesses of the night. A girl whose long hair fell in the same soft waves as his mother's had.
Severus pulled up the sleeve of his robe, and gazed down at the pale, blue- ish skin of his under-arm, not seeing the clear, un-blemished flesh, but the searing red mark that would be on it, in such a short time.
They would pay. He'd be powerful, and able to laugh at those who scuttled back and forth, those who had to work to reach where they were. He'd be able to have who he wanted, the girl he dreamed of by his side. She wouldn't want Potter anymore, not when Severus was rising in power. It would be his time soon.
It had to be.
A/N: Weird, and kind of touching, I hope. Severus is worldly now, but back then, he must have been burning with pain, and suffering, and dreams. Please review.