Hazard
He slowly drew the curtains closed on the large bay window facing the silent, deserted Muggle street. A most distraught man inhabited the small house on Spinner's End. That morning's issue of the Daily Prophet lay strewn across an armchair by the hollow fireplace. The front-page headline spoke of the attack on Hogwarts and the subsequent death of the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. The wizard knew that he was being hunted; he could feel it in his bones. People he had once managed to call acquaintances; companions were now out for his blood. Of course, he knew he'd brought it on himself. He had had no other choice. The boy did not fulfill his duty and by that damned vow, Severus had to do it, the act they all knew was to come. Albus had begged him that night, pleaded with him. Had it been for mercy or a swift dealing of fate? The torn man would never know.
Severus slowly paced along the edge of the table that stood in front of the dark couch. His onyx eyes swept over the piece of furniture and the memory of that fateful night when Narcissa and Bellatrix had paid him a visit flashed before him. He saw himself making that accursed vow. In hindsight, he'd wished he never agreed to make it. It had ended up throwing him into this horrendous predicament. No one trusted him, not even Minerva. That had been the worst part, losing her. Over the years she'd been the one to try and find out who he really was, the man behind the emotionless demeanor. She'd almost succeeded. It was several nights before Albus's death, when the two had shared a late night cocktail in his quarters. He remembered that she'd made him laugh, a repulsive sound to his ears. She'd actually smiled when she saw him enjoying himself. He hated being that see-through and readable. Instinctively he had regained composure and tried to act as if nothing had happened.
Presently, he found himself wandering towards the kitchen. All was silent except for the echo of his footfalls on the floor. He reached his destination and gazed around him. Everything looked as it had the previous day but yet, there was an air of sadness about the room. He willed his body to move forward, reaching his right hand up to the cabinet where he kept the wine and shot glasses. He grabbed a small snifter and spun about expertly on his heel until he was facing the wine rack. He reached in and pulled out a bottle of Merlot. He silently returned to the sitting room where he tossed his tired form onto the couch, proceeding to open the bottle and fill the small glass to the brim. He downed it quickly and refilled. After the fourth glass he heard a noise to his left. He turned his head, having to push his greasy black locks from his eyes to see Wormtail trying to sneak past him towards the front door.
"Where do you think you're going?" Severus slurred, standing and unsteadily pointing his wand at the rat-like man.
"Just uh…stretching my legs," Peter replied, still trying to inch closer to the front door.
"Get back where you belong," Severus spat, downing another shot.
"I'd like to see you make me," Peter hissed with a demented cackle.
"Levicorpus," Severus stuttered, causing the smaller man to turn upside down in the air by his heel.
The inebriated wizard stumbled towards the open bookshelves where he promptly tossed the other man up the stairs before shutting the door and locking it from the outside. With a satisfied hiccup he slumped back into his previous position. Within twenty minutes the bottle was empty and Severus lay back, enjoying the effects of the alcohol. He'd fallen into his alcoholic habits by way of his father. He'd always been a heavy drinker. Severus had figured it was in his blood and might as well give in to it. He decided that one bottle was simply not enough to eradicate the guilt and grief he was feeling so he returned to the kitchen to fetch another bottle.
Several hours past and five empty wine bottles lay strewn about his feet. He instinctively raised his glass, now empty, to his mouth. He frowned as he realized through his thickly fogged mind that it was empty. He attempted to get up but found the room began to swim dangerously around him. He let out a low grunt as he rubbed his eyes. When he reopened them, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He saw standing in front of him, Albus Dumbledore, looking very cross. Of course, the deceased Headmaster was only a figment of the younger wizard's intoxicated state.
"Albus, I sorry," he slurred dramatically.
"You did what you had to do," the apparition said softly.
"But I'm disappointed in you Severus," it continued, pointing a long finger at the bottles surrounding Snape's feet.
"I...I sorry," the middle-aged man cried again, tears beginning to push at the edges of his eyes.
The tall ghostly figure said nothing more but simply turned and walked towards the kitchen. An sheer act of will power, Severus hoisted his tipsy frame from the couch and stumbled after the silvery figment of his imagination. Once in the kitchen he saw the headmaster point to a drawer. As best he could, Severus dragged himself over to it and pulled it open. This particular piece of cabinetry housed cutlery. Confused, he turned around, expecting to the see Albus standing next to him. However he found himself very much alone.
"Albus?" he called out through a choked sob.
"Albus!" he cried again, the tears that had been brimming spilled over down his angular, gaunt cheeks.
In rage and clouded judgment he grabbed the first knife his fingers touched and raced back into the sitting room. He landed hard on his knees in front of the table. He clutched at the edge of the piece of furniture as sobs shook his weakened frame. He didn't know what to think. He was no longer sure that he had actually seen his old mentor. But yet, he'd shown him what he had to do. He wiped at his eyes on the sleeves of his robes. He was not going to do this whilst bawling like some foolish child. No, he was going to do this as an act of repentance. It was the only way he could ever feel right again.
"Alright. I'll do what you've asked Albus…for you," he howled loudly as he felt the cool blade of the knife skate across his skin, leaving dripping marks in its wake.
Two seemed hardly adequate to be freed from what he'd done. The blade made one more pass on each arm. Again, this seemed not enough. He couldn't stop. With just enough consciousness left, he let the knife slide once more over a bare patch of skin. Within moments everything around him went black. Footsteps echoed on the stairs as the only witness tried to escape his prison. With a final heave the door burst open, showing off its gruesome secret. The man stared in awe. He could do nothing. The sight paralyzed him. His last thought was how long could he last lying there, saturated in his own blood. He took a seat on the couch and waited, for what, he did not know.