The True Cruelty
This can't be real, he thought – a little stunned, a little desperate. The world can't be this cruel.
In his hand lay a well-handled photo of a tiny redhead and her best friend as they laughed beside each other on a park bench. The memories were all he had left of her now and the thought hurt, not the sharp pain of his heart stopping as when he was first informed of her death, but the slow, steady ache of his heartbeat slowing – from grief or lack of will, he couldn't say – and of tears held just at bay. The ache, rather than fading, had only deepened as the hours passed and his bottle of scotch became lighter and lighter. Maybe he could drink himself to death, he considered, as the nearly empty bottle stole his attention from the photo.
If I'm dead, maybe I can see her again.
He shook his head loosely, drunkenly, at the thought. He wouldn't know what to say to her and besides, this night was a victory. That was the true cruelty, in fact. The Dark Lord was finally dead – but so was Lily.
He focused again on the photo and sat staring at it as if, if he just wanted it enough, he could pull her right out of the photo or fall back in time and they could be together again, laughing in the park at some ridiculous joke. Blindly, he reached with his free hand for the bottle and sloppily emptied the last of the scotch into his glass.
Setting down the photo carefully, he downed the shot in one long, hopeless pull. Severus Snape closed his eyes.
To victory.
.:.:.:.:.
A/N: Quickpost. Written because life is a little bleak right now - and misery loves company.