Chapter
1
Memories and Wants
Snape
was having a bad day, a really bad day. He walked over to one of his
armchairs in his house. He sank into it and started reflecting on the
past. It was as though his memories of the past were always fresh. It
was as though it was the first time he ever reflected on this. It was
like his memories were haunting him.
He closed his eyes as he
remembered what happened on the night the Death Eaters arrived at
Hogwarts…
He blasted open the door of the Astronomy Tower, and to his
astonishment, he saw the Death Eaters there. He was only expecting to
see Draco there.
"We've got a problem, Snape," he
remembered Amycus telling him, "the boy doesn't seem able…"
but he heard another voice. The voice was calling his name…
"Severus…" he turned around to see Dumbledore calling his name.
He pushed the Death Eaters and Malfoy aside, and stared into the eyes
of Dumbledore. He secretly told Dumbledore that he didn't want to
do it…that he couldn't do it, with the look in his eyes. But
Dumbledore didn't listen…
"Severus, please…" Snape crumpled his face so that hatred and anger was shown. He slowly raised his wand so that it pointed at Dumbledore. He didn't notice the words slip out of his mouth.
"Avada Kedavra!" He saw the jet of green light hit Dumbledore and stepped back from the body that now flew out of the Astronomy Tower window. Shocked and angry he turned around and grabbed Malfoy so that they could start running.
"Out of here, quickly!" he remembered he ordered.
Snape
let out a scream of frustration, anger and guilt.
"AHHH!"
he yelled as he suddenly got up from his armchair and pushed all the
paper from his table onto the floor. He slowly sank down onto the
floor crying. He supported his head with both hands and started
asking himself.
"Why? Why?" he asked while crying. His cries where of pain, regret, frustration, anger, guilt, and because he was missing someone. He regretted ever becoming a Death Eater. He regretted killing, and most of all, he regretted becoming the person he had become. He was angry though, not only at himself, but at Dumbledore, his parents, and James. "Why did I do this? Why did I become a Death Eater?" he paused, as though he were expecting someone to answer these questions before he moved on. He soon realized that no one could answer him so he continued. "Why is my life like this? Why did Dumbledore want me to kill him? What have I become? Why did I have to live such a horrible past? With my parents always fighting and my…my stupid father always mocking me and hating me. We were never in peace…NEVER!" he yelled. His voice echoed in the room. Anger and hatred was now etched in his face.
He walked over to his small refrigerator, roughly pushing everything out of his way. He opened the small door and grabbed a bottle of fire-whiskey, slamming the door behind him as he walked over to sit on his table. Roughly opening the bottle, he took a huge gulp of the liquid. He felt the liquid burn inside him but he didn't flinch. That burn was not nearly as bad as the burn he now felt in his heart.
He laughed at himself as he remembered how miserable his life was now. He made a living by simply making rare potions and selling them…1 or 2 Galleons a bottle. Or if he was lucky enough, he'll be able to get 4 or 5 Galleons a bottle…but only if he's lucky. And he spend most of his day selling them at the pubs while drinking. There's nothing else left to do. He couldn't possibly show his face in public and risk being scowled at or cursed at…or even spat upon. Sure, his name was cleared…he didn't have to be sentenced to a life-time in staying in Azkaban, but that didn't change the way people thought of him. They hated him…they despised him…there were only a few people out there who really trusted him, but even those people didn't know how much he had to go through…they didn't the know true story of what happened, but of course he couldn't tell them, and he wouldn't tell them. None of them would believe him even if he did. What he wanted more than anything now was someone to understand him. He wanted someone to be there whenever he needed to talk to someone. He wanted someone to rely on. That was the last thought he had on his mind before he drifted to sleep.