AN: Just a little scenario that popped into my head. I hope you all enjoy! R&R is appreciated!
A strange, shallow bowl with odd markings around the edge rested on a desk. And out of the silvery, swirling depths that were the contents of the basin emerged the face of a man. Now while the face of the before mentioned man was not in the least bit handsome, it wasn't without character or interest.
Pale, sallow skin stretched taut against high cheekbones. A large, prominent, hooked nose dominated the center of the face. Thin lips made especially for smirking, and on most occasions, when they parted, for delivering a scathing remark that could crumble anybody's self-esteem, no matter how confident or self-assured they may be.
But what truly made this face unique, was the eyes. Eyes that were usually undecipherable and unreadable, taking everything in but giving nothing away. Eyes that were currently filled with a myriad of emotions.
Pain.
Anger.
Grief.
Jealousy.
Regret.
Eyes that were presently twin black tunnels echoing with the memories of the past. Memories of a girl with emerald eyes and titian hair, of a man with hazel eyes and ebony hair, of a lord with eyes the color of the fires of hell, and another lord with eyes the color of a frozen lake.
Love and hate.
Fire and ice.
And so, so much pain.
The man collapsed into the chair behind the desk and cradled his face in his long-fingered hands, inhaling a ragged breath as he did so.
He did not deserve to live while others more worthy had to die. He did not deserve to, and yet he did. Because he had to.
He had to, for her.
To protect what she loved most. To protect what she sacrificed herself for.
The joy of her life and the bane of his existence.
Her son.
Oh how he disliked the boy. The boy born from the woman he loved and the man he hated. He loathed the boy's hair, exactly like his worthless father's. He abhorred the boy's talent for quidditch, so akin to his father's. But the thing he despised most about the boy, were the eyes.
Green eyes.
Her eyes.
Lily's eyes.
The man reflexively clutched his greasy hair at the mere thought of her. He did not deserve to even think her name. To soil the purity of it with his dirtiness.
He loved her and he betrayed her. He was the reason she lay cold in the earth. Probably nothing more than bones and memories.
He shuddered at the thought.
The man smoothed his hands down the back of his head and linked them together behind his neck, and then he stared aimlessly at the hard dungeon wall. One of four that enclosed him in, alone, with only silence as his companion.
Tears were visible on his thin face, coming down from the liquid ink of his eyes. Slowly migrating down his cheek, to his chin, and slowly plopping onto his midnight black robes.
If only he had a chance to-
A sudden knock at the door disrupted the man mid-thought. He quickly stood up, vanished all traces of tears and red eyes with his wand, and locked up his emotions,
He then strode to the door of his classroom and slowly swung open the door. As he did so, a small frightened first year that had come to serve out their detention was revealed. He let a small smirk curl the edges of his elegant lips as he glared at the terrified student from between curtains of shoulder-length black hair.
Severus Snape's brief expedition into his past was over. Now it was time for him to embark on his present endeavor- scaring the bejeezus out his students.
The greasy bat of the dungeons was indeed back.