Disclaimer: I don't own the following charcters; they belong to JK Rowling.
Notes: This fic takes place prior to 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban'.
* * * * *
Is It Wrong?
* * * * *
Is it wrong, I wonder, that I enjoyed hurting him so badly? Is it wrong that I wanted to watch the anger and humiliation flicker across his face? He was just so easy . . . too easy, in fact. Anything I said, any time I even opened my mouth to breathe, he was guarding himself against me. If I walked into the same room as the prat, he would stare at me and wait for me to make my move. What an insecure fool to think that the only thing on my mind was harassing him. Granted, I thought about it more than I should have, but I had a life. I had friends, unlike him.
But really, I was right. He was so pompous sometimes, like we should have all bowed down before him because he was smarter than we were. He was right though, I'll admit it now. The prat was smarter than the Marauders . . . big deal. Lot of good it did him in the end, he didn't even have any bloody friends. Not one, not a single friend in the entire school. I always thought the slimy Slytherins stuck together, but apparently I had been wrong. Not even his own house mates wanted anything to do with him.
He was so . . . bloody hell, I don't even know how to describe him. He was just awful to look at, the hair so greasy and the face so pale and withdrawn. It was no wonder he never had any friends. He was nothing like us, and even if he had looked different, his attitude was horrible. There was nothing in the world more important to him than his precious potions. Didn't he realize that was half the problem? If he hadn't been so wrapped up in his grades and his potions, maybe he would have had the chance to make a few friends rather than scare them off so easily.
He would just . . . sit there, across the hall from the Gryffindor table and he would eat. He was silent throughout the entire meal, staring at his plate, ignoring everything around him. How did he do it? How did he stay so painfully withdrawn from everyone? Didn't it bother him to hear the giggles and know that people were having fun? He was so dark and brooding that people shied away from him and I didn't blame them. He was a creep . . . he was nothing, he wasn't even worth my time.
Then why did I keep him in my sight? Why did I always crave having the last word, the last insult, the last look of pain? I think I might have been sick. I really do. I mean, isn't it wrong that I took so much pleasure in one boy's pain? James seemed to think it was funny and on occasion, he'd even join in the taunting. Remus never said much about it and Peter . . . well, he wouldn't have said anything that I didn't like, so his opinion didn't mean much. But sometimes, I wonder what Remus thought of me.
So, is it wrong, I wonder, that the highlight of my day would be tripping him on the way out of the Great Hall? Is it wrong that I wanted to tear away another strip of his self esteem? I wanted to keep ripping them away until he had nothing left, until he was alone and scared and not sure of who he was. I wanted to make him forget his potions, forget his family, forget everything but what he had become . . . what I had made him become.
I remember the day, the day I was too stupid to listen to Remus, yet again.
He got up from the table and walked away, leaving trails of whispers behind him. He collected his potions textbooks and left the hall and, for some reason, I found myself going after him.
"Leave him alone," Remus murmured, grabbing for my robe. "You've annoyed him every day for seven years, must you keep doing it?"
I ignored him, as always . . . I should have listened to him. He really did know what he was talking about. But rather than listen, I simply left the hall, and followed the trail he had left for me. The giggles, the whispers, the scrunched up faces of people who had been ever-so-unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of his sneer. They were all there and they all knew what I would do once I caught up with him. They had all been victims of my teasing at one point or another and for a moment, I saw a flash of fear in the eyes of one student. She glanced away from me as I walked past, but rather than stopping to indulge her fears, I kept walking. I needed to find him.
He was alone in the library when I found him, his thin hands clasped tightly on the table and his dark eyes scanning a thick book. I wasn't surprised to find him sitting at a table with his work spread out before him. His dark robes were puddled around him in a manner that gave anyone walking by the impression that he wanted to be left alone. He was smart in that way, I suppose. He knew how to keep away unwanted visitors . . . or, at least, most unwanted visitors.
"Hey," I said, walking over to him.
He looked up and saw me, his dark eyes clouding over instantly. "What?" he asked in a voice that could freeze even McGonagall in her tracks.
I held up both my hands defensively and grinned. "Hey now, what's this all about? Come on, we're old friends."
"We're not friends," he said, his voice short and clipped.
"Sure we are." I settled down in the chair across from him and stared, seeing if I could break him down with just my gaze.
He was getting good at knowing what was to come, because he met my stare with the coldest eyes I had ever seen. His eyes had never seemed so black, so glassy and emotionless. He kept staring at me, his mouth set in a grim line and his hair hanging slightly in his face. He looked determined to win this time, but it was a false hope . . . he could never win against me.
"Whatcha reading?" I asked, turning my gaze from his and toward his books.
His hands instinctively unfolded and covered the books, pulling them away from my prying eyes. I smiled, because this was exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
"What?" I asked. "You can't share with me?"
"No," he answered shortly and closed the book. His hands pulled the book close and he held it tightly for a second, as if he never wanted to let it go. I let my eyes roam over this position and arched an eyebrow at him.
"Is it that special?" I asked.
His lips tightened into an even thinner line and as he frowned, a deep crease appeared between his eyes.
"It's none of your business, Black," he spat viciously.
"Of course it's my business," I replied, standing and going around to his side of the table. "Whatcha reading, Snapey my boy? C'mon, you know you want to tell me."
"Stay out of this," he hissed.
I reached for the book and he pulled it in tighter, his knuckles turning white. For just a second, I caught the title of the book, but it happened at the same instant that the sleeves of his robes slid upward on his arms and I saw the black mark just below his elbow.
"You didn't," I whispered.
Snape stood and pulled down his sleeves defiantly, but it was too late. I had seen the Dark Mark burned into his arm. The sight of it is still etched into my brain, the black serpent twisting through a black skull . . . all this branded onto his pale skin. His eyes were turbulent, a vicious storm of emotions that I couldn't place, and he continued to stare at me.
"What?" he asked, his lip twisting into a sneer. "What's wrong, Black?"
"You've sided with Voldemort," I stated simply.
He shrugged. "I suppose I have."
My eyes hardened and I bit the inside of my lip before turning on my heel and marching toward the library door. I was going straight to Dumbledore, I wasn't about to let him get away with it. There was a Death Eater in Hogwarts and I swore on my life that he would go to Azkaban for it.
A cold hand clamped down on my shoulder and pushed me roughly against the wall. I was so shocked that he had finally stood up to me that I just let him shove me against the cool stone and hold me there. He stared at me for a long time, just stared into my eyes. The hand that wasn't on my shoulder was on his wand and I tried to pretend I hadn't seen it, but he knew I had.
"Scared, Black?" he whispered, his breath hot on my face.
"No," I replied.
He grinned, a hideous twisting of his mouth that I had never seen before. A look I never want to see again.
"Sure you are," he said, tightening his grip on his wand. "You're scared out of your mind."
My eyes narrowed. "I am not."
"You should have listened to Lupin," he growled, the humour suddenly gone from his voice. "You never know when to quit, do you? I should kill you for everything you've put me through, everything you've ever said to me."
"You don't have to nerve," I scoffed, before realizing that the boy holding the wand was no longer a boy. He was a man with more power than I ever had and his wand was pointed at my stomach, quivering in his tight grasp.
"I don't have to nerve?" he asked, testing the words in his mouth. Another sickening grin crossed his face. "If the Dark Lord didn't have a great plan for you, I'd kill you right now."
I frowned and stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"You'll see," he said, backing away and patting my shoulder lightly. "One day, Black, I guarantee you'll understand everything."
"What plan?" I asked, following him as he walked back to the table where he books lay. "What the hell are you talking about, Snape? What plan?"
He ignored me and collected his books, his wand still held tightly in one hand.
"What makes you think I won't go to Dumbledore?" I asked suddenly.
Snape turned to me once more, his eyes flashing with erratic danger. He was truly mad, I stand by my conviction that he had lost his mind, if only temporarily.
"You won't," he hissed, shoving the end of his wand into my stomach again. "If you do, I'll know. The Dark Lord will watch over me and if you breathe a word of this to Dumbledore, I'll kill everyone you love."
I believed him instantly. The insanity and anger, the pain and betrayal in his voice made me believe him. I had tortured him constantly for seven years and all I had to do was say his name to a professor and he would kill everyone that I had ever loved. Lily, James, Remus, my parents . . . everyone would be gone.
He stared at me, waiting for me to make my decision.
Finally, I stepped back. "Fine, have it your way."
He brightened instantly and went back to his books. As I walked out of the library, he called, "Remember, Black. One word and they're all dead."
I should have asked him more . . . I should have forced him to tell me what this master plan was. Instead, I left and now I sit here in my empty cell, trying desperately to hold onto the last shreds of sanity that are still mine. Azkaban had taken it's toll on me and I fear that I won't last much longer. Animagus or not, my mind isn't what it once was and I am being leeched of my energy and my will to live. I am being punished for a crime that I didn't commit and on the outside, he is teaching my godson potions. He is leading a normal life, though I hope it is ridden with guilt and nightmares. While I am sitting on this cold floor, trying to hold onto a memory that is twenty years past, he is sitting with Dumbledore during dinner, eating a real meal and feeling warm and safe. I am dying, while he gets to live.
'One word and they're all dead.'
I believed with all my heart that he was telling me the truth. He was a dangerous boy, an even more dangerous man and he still is. It isn't fair that he's free, that he is able to see my godson every single day, a treasure I am sure he takes for granted. I am alone in this wretched place with no one to believe me, no one to trust my story. I will die in here, alone, unless I find someway to escape.
Is it wrong that I am innocent, yet imprisoned, while the Death Eater roams free? I tend to think it is, but perhaps this is my punishment for torturing him so many years ago. Perhaps this is the world's way of evening the score. It is wrong that I am here? Maybe, but on the other hand, maybe I deserve this. I can only last so long and my day draws nearer . . . the day when I will either escape, or die.
And believe me, if I escape Severus Snape will have some questions to answer.
For instance, is it wrong to hurt another human? I'd like to ask him, but I think he and I both know the answer to that.
End
Notes: This was a definite experiment in writing and I'm not sure I like the end result. Pleas review and let me know what you think; what could be adjusted to make this story better. Thanks. Oh, I also know this portrays both Sirius and Snape in a bad light, but that was kind of the point. :)
Notes: This fic takes place prior to 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban'.
* * * * *
Is It Wrong?
* * * * *
Is it wrong, I wonder, that I enjoyed hurting him so badly? Is it wrong that I wanted to watch the anger and humiliation flicker across his face? He was just so easy . . . too easy, in fact. Anything I said, any time I even opened my mouth to breathe, he was guarding himself against me. If I walked into the same room as the prat, he would stare at me and wait for me to make my move. What an insecure fool to think that the only thing on my mind was harassing him. Granted, I thought about it more than I should have, but I had a life. I had friends, unlike him.
But really, I was right. He was so pompous sometimes, like we should have all bowed down before him because he was smarter than we were. He was right though, I'll admit it now. The prat was smarter than the Marauders . . . big deal. Lot of good it did him in the end, he didn't even have any bloody friends. Not one, not a single friend in the entire school. I always thought the slimy Slytherins stuck together, but apparently I had been wrong. Not even his own house mates wanted anything to do with him.
He was so . . . bloody hell, I don't even know how to describe him. He was just awful to look at, the hair so greasy and the face so pale and withdrawn. It was no wonder he never had any friends. He was nothing like us, and even if he had looked different, his attitude was horrible. There was nothing in the world more important to him than his precious potions. Didn't he realize that was half the problem? If he hadn't been so wrapped up in his grades and his potions, maybe he would have had the chance to make a few friends rather than scare them off so easily.
He would just . . . sit there, across the hall from the Gryffindor table and he would eat. He was silent throughout the entire meal, staring at his plate, ignoring everything around him. How did he do it? How did he stay so painfully withdrawn from everyone? Didn't it bother him to hear the giggles and know that people were having fun? He was so dark and brooding that people shied away from him and I didn't blame them. He was a creep . . . he was nothing, he wasn't even worth my time.
Then why did I keep him in my sight? Why did I always crave having the last word, the last insult, the last look of pain? I think I might have been sick. I really do. I mean, isn't it wrong that I took so much pleasure in one boy's pain? James seemed to think it was funny and on occasion, he'd even join in the taunting. Remus never said much about it and Peter . . . well, he wouldn't have said anything that I didn't like, so his opinion didn't mean much. But sometimes, I wonder what Remus thought of me.
So, is it wrong, I wonder, that the highlight of my day would be tripping him on the way out of the Great Hall? Is it wrong that I wanted to tear away another strip of his self esteem? I wanted to keep ripping them away until he had nothing left, until he was alone and scared and not sure of who he was. I wanted to make him forget his potions, forget his family, forget everything but what he had become . . . what I had made him become.
I remember the day, the day I was too stupid to listen to Remus, yet again.
He got up from the table and walked away, leaving trails of whispers behind him. He collected his potions textbooks and left the hall and, for some reason, I found myself going after him.
"Leave him alone," Remus murmured, grabbing for my robe. "You've annoyed him every day for seven years, must you keep doing it?"
I ignored him, as always . . . I should have listened to him. He really did know what he was talking about. But rather than listen, I simply left the hall, and followed the trail he had left for me. The giggles, the whispers, the scrunched up faces of people who had been ever-so-unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of his sneer. They were all there and they all knew what I would do once I caught up with him. They had all been victims of my teasing at one point or another and for a moment, I saw a flash of fear in the eyes of one student. She glanced away from me as I walked past, but rather than stopping to indulge her fears, I kept walking. I needed to find him.
He was alone in the library when I found him, his thin hands clasped tightly on the table and his dark eyes scanning a thick book. I wasn't surprised to find him sitting at a table with his work spread out before him. His dark robes were puddled around him in a manner that gave anyone walking by the impression that he wanted to be left alone. He was smart in that way, I suppose. He knew how to keep away unwanted visitors . . . or, at least, most unwanted visitors.
"Hey," I said, walking over to him.
He looked up and saw me, his dark eyes clouding over instantly. "What?" he asked in a voice that could freeze even McGonagall in her tracks.
I held up both my hands defensively and grinned. "Hey now, what's this all about? Come on, we're old friends."
"We're not friends," he said, his voice short and clipped.
"Sure we are." I settled down in the chair across from him and stared, seeing if I could break him down with just my gaze.
He was getting good at knowing what was to come, because he met my stare with the coldest eyes I had ever seen. His eyes had never seemed so black, so glassy and emotionless. He kept staring at me, his mouth set in a grim line and his hair hanging slightly in his face. He looked determined to win this time, but it was a false hope . . . he could never win against me.
"Whatcha reading?" I asked, turning my gaze from his and toward his books.
His hands instinctively unfolded and covered the books, pulling them away from my prying eyes. I smiled, because this was exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
"What?" I asked. "You can't share with me?"
"No," he answered shortly and closed the book. His hands pulled the book close and he held it tightly for a second, as if he never wanted to let it go. I let my eyes roam over this position and arched an eyebrow at him.
"Is it that special?" I asked.
His lips tightened into an even thinner line and as he frowned, a deep crease appeared between his eyes.
"It's none of your business, Black," he spat viciously.
"Of course it's my business," I replied, standing and going around to his side of the table. "Whatcha reading, Snapey my boy? C'mon, you know you want to tell me."
"Stay out of this," he hissed.
I reached for the book and he pulled it in tighter, his knuckles turning white. For just a second, I caught the title of the book, but it happened at the same instant that the sleeves of his robes slid upward on his arms and I saw the black mark just below his elbow.
"You didn't," I whispered.
Snape stood and pulled down his sleeves defiantly, but it was too late. I had seen the Dark Mark burned into his arm. The sight of it is still etched into my brain, the black serpent twisting through a black skull . . . all this branded onto his pale skin. His eyes were turbulent, a vicious storm of emotions that I couldn't place, and he continued to stare at me.
"What?" he asked, his lip twisting into a sneer. "What's wrong, Black?"
"You've sided with Voldemort," I stated simply.
He shrugged. "I suppose I have."
My eyes hardened and I bit the inside of my lip before turning on my heel and marching toward the library door. I was going straight to Dumbledore, I wasn't about to let him get away with it. There was a Death Eater in Hogwarts and I swore on my life that he would go to Azkaban for it.
A cold hand clamped down on my shoulder and pushed me roughly against the wall. I was so shocked that he had finally stood up to me that I just let him shove me against the cool stone and hold me there. He stared at me for a long time, just stared into my eyes. The hand that wasn't on my shoulder was on his wand and I tried to pretend I hadn't seen it, but he knew I had.
"Scared, Black?" he whispered, his breath hot on my face.
"No," I replied.
He grinned, a hideous twisting of his mouth that I had never seen before. A look I never want to see again.
"Sure you are," he said, tightening his grip on his wand. "You're scared out of your mind."
My eyes narrowed. "I am not."
"You should have listened to Lupin," he growled, the humour suddenly gone from his voice. "You never know when to quit, do you? I should kill you for everything you've put me through, everything you've ever said to me."
"You don't have to nerve," I scoffed, before realizing that the boy holding the wand was no longer a boy. He was a man with more power than I ever had and his wand was pointed at my stomach, quivering in his tight grasp.
"I don't have to nerve?" he asked, testing the words in his mouth. Another sickening grin crossed his face. "If the Dark Lord didn't have a great plan for you, I'd kill you right now."
I frowned and stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"You'll see," he said, backing away and patting my shoulder lightly. "One day, Black, I guarantee you'll understand everything."
"What plan?" I asked, following him as he walked back to the table where he books lay. "What the hell are you talking about, Snape? What plan?"
He ignored me and collected his books, his wand still held tightly in one hand.
"What makes you think I won't go to Dumbledore?" I asked suddenly.
Snape turned to me once more, his eyes flashing with erratic danger. He was truly mad, I stand by my conviction that he had lost his mind, if only temporarily.
"You won't," he hissed, shoving the end of his wand into my stomach again. "If you do, I'll know. The Dark Lord will watch over me and if you breathe a word of this to Dumbledore, I'll kill everyone you love."
I believed him instantly. The insanity and anger, the pain and betrayal in his voice made me believe him. I had tortured him constantly for seven years and all I had to do was say his name to a professor and he would kill everyone that I had ever loved. Lily, James, Remus, my parents . . . everyone would be gone.
He stared at me, waiting for me to make my decision.
Finally, I stepped back. "Fine, have it your way."
He brightened instantly and went back to his books. As I walked out of the library, he called, "Remember, Black. One word and they're all dead."
I should have asked him more . . . I should have forced him to tell me what this master plan was. Instead, I left and now I sit here in my empty cell, trying desperately to hold onto the last shreds of sanity that are still mine. Azkaban had taken it's toll on me and I fear that I won't last much longer. Animagus or not, my mind isn't what it once was and I am being leeched of my energy and my will to live. I am being punished for a crime that I didn't commit and on the outside, he is teaching my godson potions. He is leading a normal life, though I hope it is ridden with guilt and nightmares. While I am sitting on this cold floor, trying to hold onto a memory that is twenty years past, he is sitting with Dumbledore during dinner, eating a real meal and feeling warm and safe. I am dying, while he gets to live.
'One word and they're all dead.'
I believed with all my heart that he was telling me the truth. He was a dangerous boy, an even more dangerous man and he still is. It isn't fair that he's free, that he is able to see my godson every single day, a treasure I am sure he takes for granted. I am alone in this wretched place with no one to believe me, no one to trust my story. I will die in here, alone, unless I find someway to escape.
Is it wrong that I am innocent, yet imprisoned, while the Death Eater roams free? I tend to think it is, but perhaps this is my punishment for torturing him so many years ago. Perhaps this is the world's way of evening the score. It is wrong that I am here? Maybe, but on the other hand, maybe I deserve this. I can only last so long and my day draws nearer . . . the day when I will either escape, or die.
And believe me, if I escape Severus Snape will have some questions to answer.
For instance, is it wrong to hurt another human? I'd like to ask him, but I think he and I both know the answer to that.
End
Notes: This was a definite experiment in writing and I'm not sure I like the end result. Pleas review and let me know what you think; what could be adjusted to make this story better. Thanks. Oh, I also know this portrays both Sirius and Snape in a bad light, but that was kind of the point. :)