A Bad Man

People call me a sarcastic bastard. A man who prefers to shatter the dreams of young children, rather than encourage them to perform at their best. People call me a monster. A man who lurks in his dungeons, lives only in the night, stealing the souls of those who cross him. People call me a traitor. A man who will betray those around him without a single thought.

These accusations make me smile. Mainly because, in principle...they are right.

I am a sarcastic bastard. I hate children. I certainly am a monster, with a past that could terrify anyone. I do prefer the night, because the darkness hides my faces and allows me to sin without detection.

As for a traitor...I am not loyal.

Once upon a time, maybe, when I was naïve and truly believed that being Lord Voldemort's servant would grant me the power and wealth that I had been imagining since I had been able to string coherent plans together. They say my family was scared of me, even back then. And how they tried to force me onto the straight and narrow, sending me to Hogwarts and hoping that I would, under the tutelage of such great wizards and witches, pursue more wholesome pursuits instead of my beloved Dark Arts.

Oh, how my parents failed me as a child.

Anyway. I am no longer loyal to the Dark Lord, for I now see him for what he truly is—a narcissistic man with ideals that are insane and a strategy that will never succeed. I am the true Slytherin. So I flout his loyalty, and flirt with death as I do so, but stay close to him nevertheless. He is, of course, dark. And I like that darkness.

And then, there is Albus Dumbledore. The great and the good. How I scoff at that. The wise and the powerful. Only a fool would deny that he is powerful—but wise? Why, he does not see me, stood in front of him, accepting his protection and his affection—and when he turns his back, smirking. Does he not see me for who I truly am?

Apparently not. And I do not care for him, or his sweet treats, or his so-called generosity. No. I see him for who he truly is—a man who tries to manipulate me.

I will not be manipulated. I will manipulate him.

So. Here I am. Severus Snape. I have the two most powerful wizards in existence at my beck and call. And when I talk, they listen. And when I shout, they rush to my aid. They believe that I am theirs.

When in fact, I am mine.

I tire, sometimes, of this charade. I see each day as a battle—but it is a battle that will lead to me being the victor. I see both sides of this war—the only one who views both armies—and I will judge who the winner will be. I will choose my side, at the last moment, and I will betray the one who is not strong enough.

And then, I can set about making this world to be my own.

Albus Dumbledore calls me a good man.

Lord Voldemort calls me a good servant.

I am neither of those things. I am a bad man, and those men are my servants.

I am a bastard. I am a monster. And perhaps people would be correct in seeing me as a traitor.

But to be quite frank...I don't care. I do not care what other peoples' opinions of me are.

One day, they shall tremble at the sound of my name, and they shall refuse to speak the four syllables aloud.

One day, they shall fear me.