Guilty
Disclaimer: not mine. The song lyrics mentioned here are from I'm Gonna Be Strong, by Gene Pitney, and belong to him.
A/N: I generally don't include lyrics in a fic, but it's necessary in this fic. It's only a very short snippet, anyway.
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Part of the Lightning-Struck Tower arc, which encompasses various characters' perspectives from the Half Blood Prince chapter of the same name. I've written 4 and currently haven't done more, but if I get inspiration I shall add more.
Finally, I apologise profusely for having not updated for so long. Partly because I've been insanely busy at uni and partly because my computer was generally disinclined to acquaint itself with the concept of connecting to the Internet (apart from when it felt like it, which was irregular and sporadic).
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It is my fault.
The question in your mind, the question your lips prepare to form – what is?
Where would you have me start?
My godson and I are seated in a brightly-lit, garish, Sixties-themed café, a Golden Oldies radio station blaring out from behind the counter. A man (Gene Pitney, according to the DJ) is singing; about love (naturally; most Muggle songs seem to be so). I cannot help but listen to the first lyrics of the song.
"In the eyes of the world, being born was my first big mistake"
I laugh bitterly to myself. This man could have been singing about me. That line could have been written by me.
My father abused my mother. Every day he would find a reason in his Muggle brain to hit her, beat her, torture her, hurt her, break her a little more. I was that reason. If only my mother had been careful. If only she'd taken precautions. If only I hadn't been born. Perhaps then he would not have been so cruel.
I was eleven years old when the kitchen knife spilled my mother's blood, when it severed her precious, vital blood vessels, when it shredded and flooded her lungs, when it forced out her internal organs. Why did my father do it? The reason was never clearly stated, though the incident happened the day I received my Hogwarts letter. My mother informed him of this when he got home from his pitifully-paid Muggle job in the economically depressed, socially deprived mill town in which we lived. It was then that my mother confessed that she was a witch, that a magical world existed. That I was a wizard. My father was beyond furious. He screamed that my mother was a freak. That I was a freak. That it was unnatural, abnormal. It is my fault that my mother died that night.
Neither the Muggle police nor the wizarding authorities (who were involved because my mother was a witch) could prove the identity of the murderer. Only I knew, and I was too terrified of my father to speak out. He threatened me with many horrific punishments, should I open my mouth. So I obeyed him.
It is my fault that he saw me as a replacement for my mother, in all senses of the word. I cooked. I cleaned. I shopped. I knew about budgeting and bill-paying and the other financial aspects of life before I was old enough to attend secondary school. I did everything my mother had done. Had I spoken out and given evidence against him, he would have been convicted of murder. It is my fault that he turned his violent anger to me.
It is my fault that I let him. I was a weak, pathetic coward. Weak and worthless. I did not stand up to him as I should have done. I bore it. I endured it. By keeping my silence, by submitting, I permitted him to grow ever crueller towards me. It is my fault that I did not stop him, yet it was no less than I deserved. It was my punishment for my weakness and cowardice.
It is my fault that, upon starting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I was an easy target for Sirius Black, James Potter and just about every student in the entire school, throughout my seven years there. As at home, I bore it silently. Again my silence was my consent, my admission that I deserved whatever came my way. If I had made an effort with one person – with one single person – on the train on that first journey to the school, maybe I would have had a friend to support me, stand up for me, protect me, help me. But I chose to curl up with a book in the corner of a compartment, ignoring the boy who introduced himself as Remus Lupin, a fellow first-year, and I spoke to nobody. It is my fault that nobody liked me. It was justice done.
I long ago lost count of the number of incidents at school that I brought upon myself, that were my fault. Missing homework – they planted it in my bag, framing me, and said I had stolen it. Poor-quality work – my presence, my existence, was off-putting enough to prevent them from doing their best work. Lost inter-house Quidditch matches – they said I sabotaged them. I was a distraction, an unlucky charm. If anything was less than perfect, it was my fault one way or another.
It was my fault that the Dark Lord murdered people, including James and Lily Potter. Innocent, good people lost their lives because I did not provide enough warning to get them to safety. Had I been speedier, more efficient, many of them would be here today. Every death following my switching of allegiance is a direct result of my failure.
It was my fault that Slytherin did not win the House Cup in Harry Potter's first year at the school, to which I had returned, this time as a teacher. If I had done more, if I had realised sooner that it was Quirrell who was after the Stone, Potter and his friends would not have gone on such heroic adventures that led to the award of just enough housepoints to win the Cup, to steal it from Slytherin. The Slytherins were furious with the Headmaster, though they did not blame me.
It was my fault that Sirius Black escaped from the school two years later. I should have done something sooner, the moment I arrived in the Shrieking Shack under Potter's Invisibility Cloak. It is my fault that he did not get what he deserved. He may not have been a murderer, but he was a cruel, arrogant bully.
It was my fault that the younger Barty Crouch was able to infiltrate Hogwarts and remain undetected for so many months; I knew him. I should have guessed of the use of Polyjuice Potion from the ingredients that regularly disappeared from my private stores. Had he been caught earlier, the terrible events that took place would not have happened.
And I am to blame for Diggory's death. I should have carried out my patrol of the final Task properly, recognised that something was badly wrong.
It is my fault that so many good, innocent people are disappearing, being brutally tortured and ruthlessly murdered by Death Eaters. My information is not enough. With every disappearance or death, I have failed. I deserve whatever punishment is issued to me. The blood of many innocents is on my hands.
It is my fault that those in the Order do not trust me. I have given them no cause to. I do not socialise with them. I will never win their trust, and this is my punishment for becoming a Death Eater.
I did not teach Harry Potter Occlumency properly. I goaded Black when he was under strict orders to remain inside Order headquarters. It is my fault that Potter went to the Department of Mysteries, my fault that the prophecy was destroyed (due to my not teaching Potter properly), my fault that Sirius Black died. My fault that Potter lost his godfather and Remus Lupin lost a close friend.
And then the worst – and most direct – of them all.
It is my fault that Albus Dumbledore is dead.
Not indirectly, not courtesy of someone else. For it was I who made the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy to carry out my godson's task, should he fail. It was I who cast the spell. The Unforgivable Curse that, in six cruel syllables, ended the life of a great and powerful opponent of the Dark Lord. I who uttered those six syllables and aimed the wand. My wand.
It was my fault.
I am a tainted man. I have done many things that I have come to deeply regret. It frequently seems as though all the wizarding world's ills can be traced back to one guilty wizard. Guilty of being born. My first big mistake. My worst mistake.
I, Severus Snape, am a condemned man. Soon I will be discovered; I cannot hide forever. Then I will be put on trial. And found guilty.
It is my fault.
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Ω fin Ω