Bittersweet.


I wrote this listening to these songs by Yiruma on youtube, they're in the order I listened to them, I suggest you have them playing the background because it is some sirius mood music.

River Flows in You, Dreams, A Walk in the Forest, Farewell, Time Forgets,

My Memory, What Beautiful Stars, Beloved, Love Hurts, Kiss the Rain, Moonlight,

Moonrise.


Tears slowly leaked from the midnight eyes. Shining stars of unbidden, untouchable, matter; as wondrous as the skies themselves.

He never cried. He. Never. Cried.

Yet here he was.

They were not angry tears; these morning dewdrops that danced down his face, they were votive offerings to Merlin himself, for the inner peace that spells and potions could not bring.

They were not hopeless tears; for although he was hated he had all the support a two-timing traitor could ever need. They were hopeful tears; that one day he would be free to fly the skies himself without being swain one way or 'tother, one day he would be able to live his life without someone living it, planning it for him.

So he could smile if he wanted to, laugh if something amused him. Cry in public, with a soothing hand on his shoulder, with a soft voice at his ear, someone's soft embrace on his reaching, ever-hopeful heart.

Skies and planets of wonder were reflected in watery black eyes; swirls of purple devotion and blue frosty abandoned lovers mixed with the pinks of untamed longing for the girl, for the woman that would never die in his mind.

As long as he was alive, Lily would never die.

The man was currently slumped against a chair, back to the sofa-seat legs, a tumbled heap of robes and bones on the floor. Racking sobs shook his thin frame, long hair falling about his face; hiding the tears he so desperately shed.

No... Lily would never leave him.

Hands were useless limp, skilled in potions and good for nought else. Spells were adequate; but nothing was good enough as he couldn't bring her back.

No one could ever understand; more lonely sobs encased him, embraced the hermit as he realised the one other soul on the lonely planet Earth who knew his hearts true path had used that knowledge against him, setting him to a path that would ultimately set about to his demise.

Black robes hid a heart in mourning, a heart that would never heal, and a mind that never wanted to. The man was broken; and if this is what it meant to be so; he never wanted to be fixed.

He would never leave Lily.

The tears slowly gave way to dry choking sobs, which in turn left him hiccuping for air with a soft, tear-y throat. Leaning back against the red plush chair behind him, hollow, empty, starless eyes stared at the cold, damp dungeon walls.

This was life, the hermit thought. A dungeon as a home, a reputation even Joseph Stalin couldn't beat, and his true love's savage murder on his hands; it was just another normal evening for Severus Snape.


No offence meant by the Stalin comment- and btw, its meant to mean that Snape knows he's hated; Stalin was #1 on a list of most hated/evil men in history. Please review! Kimmy! :)