I don't own Harry Potter. J K Rowling is the genius mind behind it all.
Prologue (short and to the point):
I want to tell you a story, my friend.
Why?
To give an old woman peace of mind, I suppose. Not that it will help any. This is more about someone knowing the truth, though I will admit whole heartedly that there are two people who know. I didn't tell them, necessarily. They were just there, part of it.
Who?
Albus.
The other?
There are some things you must understand first, Severus. Things that brought us here, today.
I cannot tell you who the other is. Not yet. Listen.
Thank you.
I am not unfamiliar with the feeling of shame, considering I feel it most every second of every day and it's not kind to me and never has been. I like to pretend it's not there, festering away at my insides, consuming my subconcsiousness even as I fight the thoughts back with everything that I have and block out every feeling they inspire. Of course, while the agony and rage fall back in momentary retreat every single time I have a moment of mental weakness, the shame always breaks through my defenses as though they are nothing. It is usually then that I realize I am fighting a losing battle and it's only a matter of time before I crack, and in a violent way. I often wonder why it has taken so long, since the world still abhors, unknowingly, of course, what I have done. And I often wonder what will happen, when I finally do break, and if I can even survive the destruction I'm sure I will wrought upon myself that day. I feel it coming, soon, it's lurking deep within my bones and part of me does not want to fight it any longer.
Especially now that he is here, the walking reminder of every single sin I have ever committed.
Looking at him is like looking into the depths of hell itself. Those green eyes fix on me and some part of me wonders if he knows, on some lower level of his adolescent mind, of what I have done. Albus theorizes that they are connected and, when I see him, look at him, meet his gaze; I can sense he is right. Behind that poor, sweet, innocent child lurks a monster.
…
Severus.
…
Say it. I know you're thinking it.
Don't look away, Severus.
Look at me.
Say it.
…
You're right.
…
I was in love with Tom Riddle.
Once upon a time.
…
Or something like that.
The rest of the story won't be like this. It will have dialogue and will not be first person. This is an introductory inner monologue, courtesy of Minerva. So. Please review. Thanks.
