TITLE: GARDENING
DISCLAIMER: I own neither Voldemort nor Snape. I bet they're glad about that.
SUMMARY: Another take on why Snape left the Death Eaters. He walks in on Voldemort while the Dark Lord is engaged in his favourite hobby. It's not fun. It's not nice. It's a darkfic (or darkpoem?). Don't say you weren't warned. Voldemort POV.
PAIRINGS: None.
RATING: PG-13. But it's dark.
ARCHIVE: No.
NOTES: Extra points if you can guess why Snape is so squicked... I'll give you a clue. Some parts of this are meant to be taken literally. Nazi parallels are probably intentional.
I am a gardener, my dear,
And must work, for spring is here.
I must find the weeds in their solitary beds
And pull off, one by one, their shrieking heads,
All the while patting young seedlings into the earth,
Hoping against hope that they will grow up to be worth
All this bother.
I am a gardener, my dear.
Weeds are merely fodder.
I am a gardener, my dear,
And work to keep my garden clear
Of weeds and influences of which I do not approve.
Won't you help? There are trees to move
And cacti to re-pot; all the strong
To feed. Do you know, they tell me it is wrong
To neglect the meek.
I am a gardener, my dear.
I do not pamper the weak.
I am a gardener, my dear,
And must coax these fretful seedlings here
To take their rightful place below the ground.
They do struggle so, and must be bound
Hand and foot while I plant them in the earth.
Is something wrong? Your face has lost all mirth –
Indeed, I can see fear!
Leave, then. Let me work. Spring is here –
And I am but a gardener, my dear.
fin