Gahhh…I can't even wake up anymore without plotbunnies attacking me…they've realized when I'm at my most vulnerable….drat…. Yeah, don't own HP, don't sue me please.
.x. Symphonies .x.
It did not take something so monstrously large as Voldemort to set him off, and, once he had gotten into his stride, even the most miniscule grammatical error in a student's essay could result in a failing grade. Perhaps this was unfair, but he didn't really believe it was his fault—when Dumbledore had offered him protection at Hogwarts, he hadn't mentioned teaching.
Yes, Severus Snape was a man of wrath. Many things set off his anger, but they all had one common factor—they were all reminders of his mediocrity. Things like waking up in the morning without a warm female body beside him. Tasks like grading papers he had never even wanted the chance to assign. Feelings like the consistent dull pain on his forearm, as his Dark Mark got progressively darker.
Severus Snape had never had a crescendo, only a quiet, monotonous beat. As he stormed about in his office that night, however, all he really wanted was one single symphony…