Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Have Mercy

By: ChoCedric

Severus Snape was in an exceedingly bad mood. The reason for this was a sloppy, arrogant boy by the name of Harry Potter, who was just like his fool of a father. Unfortunately, Severus had been asked to teach the brat Occlumency because the doting, manipulative Headmaster couldn't be bothered to do it. Why must Dumbledore torture him like this? he thought bitterly. If he treasures the whelp so much, why can't he do it himself?

Knock, knock.

"Come in," Severus drawled, and the boy, with his messy mop of black hair, stalked into the room.

"You're late, Potter," Snape snarled. This boy was really a spoiled brat.

"Sorry, sir," Potter muttered, not sounding the least bit apologetic at all.

"Stay standing and face me," Snape snapped. "Prepare yourself. Do not use your wand to defend yourself."

"Yes, sir," said Potter, getting in position.

"Ready?" inquired Snape. Without giving Potter a chance to answer, he said, ""one ... two ... three ... LEGILLIMENS!"

Cedric Diggory was lying on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring, staring, staring up at the night sky ... the Dark Lord was slithering out of a bubbling cauldron ... Potter was screaming as he was held under the Cruciatus Curse ...

Snape severed the connection, scowling fiercely. "That was pathetic, Potter," he drawled. "You're not even trying."

"I am too trying!" Potter answered furiously. He was on his hands and knees, sweating and panting.

Snape glared at him. "Stand up, Potter," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Let's try again."

Once Potter was standing, he recast the spell. ...

... Potter was casting his Patronus against a hundred Dementors, and the stag was charging at them. ... Potter was being chased by his fat cousin and his gang, a look of abject fear on his young face. ...

... A man was shouting. "Lily, take Harry and go! Run! It's him! I'll hold him off ..."

A woman was screaming, "Have mercy! Please, have mercy! Not Harry! Not Harry! Please, not Harry! I'll do anything ... take me ... kill me instead ..."

Abruptly, Snape let the connection go, a nauseous, sick feeling sweeping over him. Trying to keep his features schooled into a fierce snarl, he looked at the boy who had the green eyes of the woman who had just been screaming in the memory he'd seen. "There is no point in teaching you, Potter," he said angrily. "You are a spoiled little fool who doesn't practice, who doesn't even try to defend yourself from those pathetic memories. The Dark Lord will be finished with you before he's even started! Go, get out of my sight, NOW!"

With a terrified yet defiant look on his face, Potter clambered to his feet and left the office as fast as his trembling legs would carry him, leaving Snape alone.

The man collapsed into his chair, and then he did something which no one would ever catch him doing: he placed his head in his hands, thoughts of Lily racing through his mind. His Lily, his only friend, the only woman he'd ever loved ... the sounds of her screaming for mercy rang in his ears, making his head hurt and his blood run cold. How could his life get any worse than this? How could things get any worse than him having to hear her dying moments through the fool boy's memories? It was hard enough having to look into her green eyes every single day while looking into the face of the man who'd made his life a living hell at Hogwarts, along with his cronies.

But along with all the anger he felt at Potter, the hatred for himself was deep and palpable. It had been he, Severus Snape, he who had made her scream for mercy like that. The beautiful woman who had flowing hair and mesmerizing emerald eyes, who never begged for anything, who knew how to stand up for herself and the people she loved ... that was what she had been reduced to, all because of his awful choice to relay the damned prophecy to the Dark Lord. He never thought he'd hear her sound so frantic, so completely broken.

He remembered arriving at Godric's Hollow after hearing of Lily's death. He remembered seeing her sprawled out by Harry's crib, her red hair like an angelic halo, her emerald eyes wrenched wide open, pleading, pleading, pleading ... His tears had flowed fast and furiously that night, and it was one of the only times he'd let himself cry. He never thought he'd see her eyes so lifeless, and it was all his fault. All. His. Fault.

Pulling himself back to the present, it was then that he noticed that tears were flowing down his face for the first time since that terrible night. He tried to roughly wipe them away, but they kept flowing. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid, so foolish. How could he have thought the Dark Lord would grant him power, when he'd taken his only love away from him? And why was he now stuck doing the most horrific job of all, teaching the boy who was a constant reminder of his pain, of the mistakes he'd made? Dumbledore must be the Devil incarnate, making him do this, he thought, and he almost choked on the bitterness that was consuming him.

He hardly slept that night. If only the brat knew, he thought. If only he knew what I was doing, giving up, sacrificing all for his benefit. He tossed and turned, thoughts of Lily still invading his mind, and her screams played over and over in his ears. For the rest of his miserable life, he would always hear her begging the Dark Lord ... the Dark Lord, of all people ... for mercy.

And Snape needed the same thing. Merlin, have mercy on my soul, he begged silently as sleep finally claimed him. Have mercy on my broken, damaged soul.