Author's note: Hello dear Reader who has stumbled upon my story! Thank you for reading this. But first, some guidelines.
To begin, I own nothing apart from the plot.
And secondly, the fic is going to be slightly darker than my previous one (go read it while you wait for me to update! It is called Secret Love (crappy title, I know…)). It will deal with the subjects of suicide and depression. If you are depressed, talk to someone. If you are suicidal, talk to someone. Life is a gift, no matter the darkness you think is everlasting. I swear to you, you are stronger than the obstacles in your way. I've been there and trust me, the only thing you need to do to leave that place is speak. Speak out, yell, scream, whisper, write. You will be heard and it will only get better from there. But break the silence. You can do it and you will.
That all being said, I simply couldn't wait to post this chapter, so leave a review if you want to! It will take some time before I post again, but reviews are a very good incentive.
Oh the places we'll go
Chapter I
Awakening
There was no other way to describe it.
Agony.
Agony in its worst form.
Agony of the mind, not of the body.
Severus wasn't sure when he had first awakened, if it was even possible to call this state awake. Time had ceased to exist. He was conscious yes, but what is to say that this consciousness was the same consciousness he'd had when he was alive? Alive and gifted with all of his senses. Oh, how he couldn't stand that he was conscious but robbed of all them. To taste, smell, touch, hear, see. What he'd do to have those gifts back, to be liberated of this torture he could feel was slowly driving him insane. Slowly? How could he even know! It might be fast for that matter; the speed of time only exists when compared, rooted, grounded. He didn't know how long this had lasted and for how long it would go on.
Was he alive?
Was he dead?
Was he in between both?
He had never pondered much about death during his living. Strange, because ever since the return of the Dark Lord, Severus had been certain of his impending doom. But now, he seemed to have all the time to think about the very concept he'd so carefully avoided before.
And he didn't know.
...
..
.
And then, when he'd really, truly, fully given up hope of salvation, he heard it.
The most beautiful and ordinary sound.
A muffled voice speaking.
Undecipherable.
But there.
Filtering into his mind.
Rekindling the fire that had almost died.
And he heard it.
He had heard it.
The flames grew stronger.
...
..
.
The second sense that came back to him was the sense of touch.
He was wrapped up in softness.
If bliss was a cloth, this certainly was it.
He could feel but he couldn't move.
It was enough.
He'd suffered the worst.
He was patient.
...
..
.
And then, one beautiful day, he awoke.
Rapidly, but completely, the rest of him coming back in an instant of flooding relief.
He could smell, he could see!
Relief, that quickly turned to anger, to sadness and then to disgust.
He was supposed to die.
That had always been part of the deal, the unspoken agreement, the fine print at the end of his contract with life.
He was to die.
Hopefully effortlessly and painlessly, like a much-needed sleep after a long, hard day.
But Severus would accept the hard death too.
Merlin knew he deserved it.
He deserved to die.
He wanted to die.
Nothing was left for him now.
He had accomplished his role.
Had played his part in the play.
The final curtain had fallen.
He could drift off.
Be forgotten.
He wanted to die!
His wand. He needed his wand. He tried to move and found that it was easier than he had expected.
He briefly felt remorse for having to destroy the handy work of those who had brought him back to the other side.
Only briefly.
Darkness had surrounded him, but he knew where he was: at the Hospital wing at Hogwarts in the dead of night. For some reason, he was stark naked, with a bandage on his neck. He rose in his bed, the sheets falling away as he groped around for his wand, softly at first but then with a frenzy that could only be explained by the insane urge to end his life right then and there.
He needed to die.
A flick of his wrist, a murmured spell and then he had it.
The weapon of choice.
Arsenic.
Simple and undetectable.
A single spoonful of the white powder and he'd be gone.
The small bottle felt feather-light in his grip as he read with fascination the label, thanks to a single moonbeam that penetrated the window above his bed.
He tossed his wand next to him as he used that hand to unscrew the cork that was the only thing keeping him between life and the life he wanted.
Death.
Give me death, he whispered in the silent and still room.
Give.
Me.
Death.
But the hands of the famous Potion Master, those hands that had healed and killed, those hands, his hands…
They shook.
No.
NO!
And for the second time that night, Severus awoke, now from a trance that would've proven fatal.
He bent over, picked up his wand, vanished the potion and laid back down.
Close his eyes and fell asleep.
He would do it.
But not here, not now.
He had to figure out who died.
He needed to say goodbye to those he considered his friends.
Two simple things and then he would disappear.
He fell asleep promising to kill himself.