A/N: Written for the Sounds Writing Competition on the Harry Potter (WB) Boards.
Prompt: Obviously this whole thing is placed around sounds or else that wouldn't be the title. Your first sound is, Battle Scene. Your setting, 7th book, the Final Battle. So what does this all mean? It means I want each of you to write about what a certain character was thinking during this battle. If you stray away from the book entirely you shall face my wrath. There will be no ships for this one unless you wish to include it in there. None of you will be using Harry as your character. Your genre? Doesn't matter to me this time around. I am assigning your character at the moment. I was incredibly nice, and tried to give each one of you your favorite character.
Delu: Severus Snape, Again, this should be interesting. Hope the originality plans out all right.
Word Count: 1,301
Once Marked - Twice Smote
I could feel it coming, rising from the ashes. It's a Phoenix type feeling, searing away at me and recreating my flesh with pained hisses. Huh, how ironic. A world wrought with hate and violence was once the only one I knew - but then, He was destroyed and She was destroyed. And peace reigned - for most.
But for me, I was all that was left. Myself and my memories to plight me with their taunting.
That world is coming back now, though - He is back now after all, wreaking havoc and destruction against this peaceful world. She, however, is forever gone and buried. Placed behind walls of cemented memories and barriers, behind thoughts so dense I can hardly see through them and when I do it hurts to get there. To see her radiance and fire. To see the few years between home and being Marked. To see some sort of faux innocence in myself that I know I shall never see again.
After all, with the lives I've taken and mutilated and tortured - how could this being ever be seen as innocent again? I miss the old man who gave me some... sparsity of thought to this. And I miss the times I remember with him. The times of quiet, peaceful chess games and singing, luxurious fire-birds, of rambunctious students and cups of black tea.
I feel sentimental. And nauseous.
Sighing heavily (a thick, molted sound, even to my sharply trained ears), I closed off the book I was quasi studying, my mind too heavy to recognize the deep thud of it. Lately, everything was too heavy. My shoulders, with the grief and hate-filled looks of the students to my person. My mind with thoughts of Lily and Voldemort. My hands, with the blood that stained them from nightmares and past occurrences. My ears, with the ringing, painful hatred of screams and pleas and bargains...
I really need to get out of these self-pitying thoughts. I remind myself far too much of Black. Oh, well; that's one way to cheer up a dour Death Eater of a Headmaster.
A harsh rampaging sound filled my ears before the thick banging of flesh-upon-wood-upon-magic reached me. Lazily, I looked up and saw through the door that it was one of the Carrow siblings at the entrance way to my office. Sighing harshly, I belted an, "Enter!" in my deep, silky voice - rich and gritty with lack of use in the last few hours.
A vision in black robes (complete with skull mask in hand) greeted me, before the wheezing voice of the Brother Carrow - Amycus.
"Yes, Amycus?" I snipped fiercely, playing my role of Ne'er-Do-Well Headmaster that Voldemort so wanted me to be.
"Our Lord requested to speak with you, Severus," the lumpy form before me stated in denunciative speech, stressing that: one, this was no request and two, that he hated my guts. The man had been after my ever-so lovely spot in the Circle for years. It was with no little amount of joy that I "excused" him. All spite faded from me as I thought on the upcoming deliverance I knew I would be getting from "My Lord."
It could be one of few things that he was calling me - and none of them ended with a happy Severus Snape. Or a live one, for that matter. But I knew what I was about to do was for the best - because, even in the slightest chance he doesn't kill me, I may be able to pursued him away from Draco.
Ah, yes, my dearest Godson. The true holder of the Elder Wand. For, one of the few variations in the meeting would be how Voldemort looked upon me:
He would think I held the Elder Wand, no doubt, having killed Albus myself, which should have transferred it to my person (for all the Dark Lord knows, in any matter). Or, he could see my deception and call me on my true loyalties to the Light Side - having given up all hope to my transition back to Dark. Finally, he could have found of my latest transgressions and kill me for my traitorous ways.
After all, no Death Eater of his would live after helping the Great Harry Potter. Sniveling brat.
Hastily, I made my way to the Shrieking Shack, going through a passage from my office to one of the other floors near the Entrance Hall - I ignored the incessant sound of grating brick-upon-brick. Unfortunately, what I found did not please me - nor did the burning in my arm signifying that someone had caught Potter. That boy really ought to have stayed away for once!
A brief scuffle with McGongall had me jumping out a window before I knew it and I hastily used a levitation charm upon myself to go the distance to the Shack. I could hear her defiant shouts of coward at me even from this distance, even with the air gushing into my ears and about my bat-like form. Yes, Minerva, coward that I am I shall flee from you to an even greater threat. Coward, coward!
I landed a mere distance away from the Shack by then, in time only to collide with a platinum head of hair belonging to only one man: Lucius Malfoy.
"Severus!" He gasped out, and I was bemused to hear his usually so holier-than-thou voice drip with desperation. I did know why, though - his son, Draco. Only for him and his wife would Lucius drop that mask and I knew then which thought that Voldemort had taken upon for myself: of myself and that blasted Elder Wand. I merely nodded my greasy head at my old friend and pointed toward the castle.
"Quickly, Lucius. The Carrows are on a rampage - as is the rest of the school," I hissed out, sibilant. He turned quickly and rushed to the castle, wand at the ready, mask on the ground. I entered the boarded hut and rose the dust about my feet with a shuffle of my cloak.
"Prepare to meet your maker, Severus," I gilded myself. "For he is a harsh and unyielding fellow."
I breathed in deeply, the sound coming in a shuddering gasp to my sharp ears. I allowed myself a mere moment of pleasure at the sonorous room, completing it to my memory for ever how short it would be there. Another influx of air to my lungs and it was all that I knew. A final and I was set.
I walked up the squeaking stairs, unhindered except by the sound grating my ears. I easily swung open the door and knelt into a hasty bow.
"Ah, Severus. I've been waiting for you," Voldemort hissed in his snake-like manner, still facing toward a window. Still facing toward a scene of Battle. Still facing towards death. How funny it is that he fears it, yet loves it more than anything.
"I'm sorry, My Lord."
Oh, yes. I am sorry. I am sorry that I will always be perceived as an uncaring, greasy snake. I am sorry that I could not differentiate between reality and the lies you wove to me as I was Marked. I am sorry that I ever heard that blasted prophecy - I am sorry I ever called Lily that despicable name - I am sorry - I am sorry - I am sorry!
But I am mostly sorry because I will never hear her melodic, soothing tones; her humming energy in a single syllable of her dulcet voice; her delicate laughter; her intellect through words; her love; her life; her essence.
Yes, yes. I am sorry.