Author's Note and Disclaimer: I don't own Snape though I wish I did and I
could keep him in my closet, my parents wouldn't mind, honest! This is just
a little something I was inspired with. It is a stand-alone fic. It's
actually sort of weird.
1 The Stains That Never Come Out
By Gila Draper
Chapter 1: Stained Souls
Damn it. Damn it to hell.
Severus Snape scrubbed fiercely at his left forearm with the wet, Slytherin green washrag. It wouldn't go away, not that he expected it to.
He raised the cloth away from his arm but the snake and scull were still emblazoned across his pale skin, black as night since the Dark Lord was calling him. Black as his heart as some of his students might say.
Yes his heart was black, he thought bitterly as he resumed his frenzied scrubbing. Without love, self-respect, or any of that other ridiculous crap his heart had been caked with hate a long time ago.
At least the hate kept every one away, so that they couldn't hurt him. That was his only condolence to the loneliness.
"Friendship is overrated rubbish anyhow," he growled aloud to no one at all. Maybe if he said it loudly enough he could convince himself.
A fresh wave of pain swept through him and he gasped raggedly, the Dark Mark pulsing like an angry welt. Yet another reason why he shouldn't have friends, who would want to be friends with an ex-Death Eater?
The summon subsided to a throbbing and constant reminder of his sins as he leaned against the white marble of his bathroom wall and slid to the floor.
With a low moan he bowed his head and began a very colorful mantra of curses. Suddenly a swish of robes caught his attention and he paused mid swear word.
"Headmaster?"
The blue eyes caught his dark ones and held them, "what are you doing Severus?"
Snape's eyes strayed to the washcloth. which lay in a pathetic heap on the ground and felt slightly embarrassed.
He clutched his arm tighter to his body and replied coolly, "nothing Headmaster."
His aloof manner however was ruined when he gave a sudden yelp of pain as he was summoned yet again.
The older wizard knelt next to him, "that seems like an awfully excruciating 'nothing', Severus."
Snape simply shrugged thin shoulders and on impulse, grabbed the washcloth the instant he felt the pain ebb away.
Dumbledore looked momentarily confused by this strange course of action then it clicked as he watched the Potion's Master rub at his left forearm with a ferocious intensity.
"Are you trying to wash it off?" Dumbledore asked quietly, while he knew exactly what the younger man was doing he wanted Snape to come out of his shell.
"It's not like it's going to come off," Snape muttered darkly but kept up his insistent washing of that arm.
"It's ruined for good, like my bloody soul," Snape gave a chilling laugh that was so broken it cut Dumbledore to the core of his being.
"Your soul isn't ruined Severus," the old wizard informed him gently.
Snape started in surprise as though not aware that he'd been speaking aloud and then muttered, "whatever."
The patch of skin he was so diligently cleaning was starting to turn a light pink so the Headmaster gave the slim arm a slight jostling to stop the washrag's progress. He had to do it as gently as possible of course, Snape was a feral as a wild animal whenever he got a summons.
The proof was in his horrible disposition when he had taken up, "rosebush duty" at the Yule Ball the previous year when he had been called by You- Know-Who.
Snape snarled, eyes flashing and hissed, "I'm trying to get it out." His eyes had a frantic gleam to them of an animal ready to bolt.
Dumbledore rose sadly, it was going to be one of those nights.
Those nights when he kept up a silent vigil outside the dungeons and listened to Snape yell and sob and growl.
Those nights when he would hear the crashes of things being thrown across the room during of the man's fits of rage against Voldemort, himself, and the rest of humanity.
Those nights when he heard the younger man go to sleep muttering about those stains that never came out.
1 The Stains That Never Come Out
By Gila Draper
Chapter 1: Stained Souls
Damn it. Damn it to hell.
Severus Snape scrubbed fiercely at his left forearm with the wet, Slytherin green washrag. It wouldn't go away, not that he expected it to.
He raised the cloth away from his arm but the snake and scull were still emblazoned across his pale skin, black as night since the Dark Lord was calling him. Black as his heart as some of his students might say.
Yes his heart was black, he thought bitterly as he resumed his frenzied scrubbing. Without love, self-respect, or any of that other ridiculous crap his heart had been caked with hate a long time ago.
At least the hate kept every one away, so that they couldn't hurt him. That was his only condolence to the loneliness.
"Friendship is overrated rubbish anyhow," he growled aloud to no one at all. Maybe if he said it loudly enough he could convince himself.
A fresh wave of pain swept through him and he gasped raggedly, the Dark Mark pulsing like an angry welt. Yet another reason why he shouldn't have friends, who would want to be friends with an ex-Death Eater?
The summon subsided to a throbbing and constant reminder of his sins as he leaned against the white marble of his bathroom wall and slid to the floor.
With a low moan he bowed his head and began a very colorful mantra of curses. Suddenly a swish of robes caught his attention and he paused mid swear word.
"Headmaster?"
The blue eyes caught his dark ones and held them, "what are you doing Severus?"
Snape's eyes strayed to the washcloth. which lay in a pathetic heap on the ground and felt slightly embarrassed.
He clutched his arm tighter to his body and replied coolly, "nothing Headmaster."
His aloof manner however was ruined when he gave a sudden yelp of pain as he was summoned yet again.
The older wizard knelt next to him, "that seems like an awfully excruciating 'nothing', Severus."
Snape simply shrugged thin shoulders and on impulse, grabbed the washcloth the instant he felt the pain ebb away.
Dumbledore looked momentarily confused by this strange course of action then it clicked as he watched the Potion's Master rub at his left forearm with a ferocious intensity.
"Are you trying to wash it off?" Dumbledore asked quietly, while he knew exactly what the younger man was doing he wanted Snape to come out of his shell.
"It's not like it's going to come off," Snape muttered darkly but kept up his insistent washing of that arm.
"It's ruined for good, like my bloody soul," Snape gave a chilling laugh that was so broken it cut Dumbledore to the core of his being.
"Your soul isn't ruined Severus," the old wizard informed him gently.
Snape started in surprise as though not aware that he'd been speaking aloud and then muttered, "whatever."
The patch of skin he was so diligently cleaning was starting to turn a light pink so the Headmaster gave the slim arm a slight jostling to stop the washrag's progress. He had to do it as gently as possible of course, Snape was a feral as a wild animal whenever he got a summons.
The proof was in his horrible disposition when he had taken up, "rosebush duty" at the Yule Ball the previous year when he had been called by You- Know-Who.
Snape snarled, eyes flashing and hissed, "I'm trying to get it out." His eyes had a frantic gleam to them of an animal ready to bolt.
Dumbledore rose sadly, it was going to be one of those nights.
Those nights when he kept up a silent vigil outside the dungeons and listened to Snape yell and sob and growl.
Those nights when he would hear the crashes of things being thrown across the room during of the man's fits of rage against Voldemort, himself, and the rest of humanity.
Those nights when he heard the younger man go to sleep muttering about those stains that never came out.