(Author's Note. This story is my way of letting go of some personal demons. Though not particularly good or deep, it was perhaps necessary in it's on right because it was the story I needed to write, when I needed to write it. I own nothing, nor do I claim to. Read and review guys and gals)
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was as silent as the grave. Nothing stirred this late at night, no one walked the halls, or studied by moonlight. Even most of the ghosts that normally floated along at all hours had long since retired. The black of night snuffed out all signs of life in the old castle, save for one.
Deep within the castle's stone walls, the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts lay awake, tossing and turning in his bed. Severus Snape finally settled onto his back, and his dark eyes stared at the black ceiling. He sighed heavily, and ran a single hand through his greasy black hair.
Time and time again this repeated, night after night. There was a Muggle saying that sleep came easy to the guiltless. Snape could say with certainty this was true, sleep never came to him, and he was forever tainted by the guilt of a life he was ashamed to have lived.
"Mudblood!" his own voice echoed in his head. He could still hear it as though it was yesterday, and like being shot backwards in time, he could see Lily. Beautiful, sweet Lily, with her liquid green eyes, that looked at him with such pain in that moment he could never forget it. Would never forget it. He dare not.
As they always did, his thoughts drifted to one person; Harry Potter. His fists clenched. Anger struck him every time he looked at the boy, such rage that he could barely contain it. Every time he saw him one name filled his head.
James. His tormentor. The cruelest of his childhood bullies. The ways that boy reminded him of James could not be counted they were so numerous. He was the spitting image of him. They could almost be twins he looked so much like his father once did, when he was that age. He inherited all of his unlikable traits as well; his arrogance, his self righteous indignation, his over inflated self importance, and his complete disregard for the rules.
Yet mixed with his hate was love, because the eyes that looked at him from James' face belonged to Lily. Those almond shaped, green orbs were almost painful to look at. He could see the woman he held so dear to his heart in that boy, her kindness, her fairness, her ability to surround oneself with the biggest rag tag group of misfits one would ever find.
Potter's group was full of every annoying red head in the school, like his life was a blur of Weasleys. Then there was Granger, the consummate book worm, with bothersome studiousness seconded only by her know-it-all attitude that was infuriating on a good day. Others rounded out his associates; the perpetually in-another-world Lovegood, loud morons like Finnigan and Jordan, and the idiotic Longbottem.
Anger flooded him again as he thought about that dunce, Neville Longbottem. What a complete waste of space that boy was. The "other one". The other child the prophecy could have spoken about besides Potter. Had Voldemort chosen him, Lily would be alive this day. He wished he had chosen Longbottem.
Now, cold guilt spread through him. Here he was, wishing the terrible curse of orphanhood upon a young man who's only sin was that he was born the same time as Harry Potter. Had Longbottem not suffered enough? His parents were permanently insane because of Voldemort. Was that not enough? Still, he could not help his bitterness. He wished it had been Alice and Frank Longbottem instead of Lily.
His mind drifted back to Potter again, and conflict began again in that constant swirl. He hated Potter. Hated him because he was so like James. He hated him because he was James' son. James' son with Lily, and not his. Yet he loved him because he was Lily's. Beautiful, sweet, Lily Even's baby boy, that she loved so much, she would die to protect.
Part of him thought he should treat Potter like the son he never had, like a surrogate father to the son born to the only woman he ever loved. His other half wanted to show him the disdain he so deserved as Potter's boy. He took a terrible joy out of making the life of the son of his most hated bully as hellish as humanly possible. Yet the agony of knowing he was causing Lily's child pain was too much to bare.
His hate for Potter protected him. No one would suspect the student, to whom he made it most clear exactly how much contempt he had for him, was the one he wished to protect the most. Every unfair detention simultaneously punished James' son and allowed him to keep safe Lily's. No harm would come to the boy if he was present in the room with him. Every poor grade and harsh word widened the gap between the two, to the point that no one would know he would die to protect Harry Potter at the moment's notice. He owed that to Lily. Her death, the death of his beloved, was on him. It was his fault. And he would be damned if anyone would hurt her son.
In a few days time, he would betray Harry Potter in the worst way possible, by murdering his only mentor, the only person he looked to for wise advice, Albus Dumbledore. He expected Lily's son would hate him more than he hated anyone in his life. Still it had to be done. He had agreed upon it with the dieing old wizard himself, partially to spare Draco Malfoy's soul the stain murder would incure, but also to cement to the Dark Lord his false loyalty. Still he could not help but wonder how Harry would look at him, with Lily's eyes. Would they have that same look they did when he called her a Mudblood? Undoubtedly, and he shuddered at the thought.
Every day, Severus Snape lived in his role, one that was all at once his true self and a carefully constructed lie he could convince others of. In the day he was all the things he should be; angry, passive aggressive, snide, sarcastic, hateful and arrogant.
At night, anguish was his only friend. This was not the life he wanted, not the one he would have chosen for himself. It was the one he deserved, for the choices he had made.
He sat up slowly, and reached for his wand, as he so often did this time at night. He thought of Lily, and how much he cared for her, even after so long.
"Expecto Patronum," he whispered with the wave of his wand.
In a burst of blinding light, the white doe appeared, made from tendrils for light as it always was. He just wanted to see Lily, just one more time. The doe pranced around the air for a bit, before disappearing from whence it came, leaving him alone in the darkness, where he felt he always was.
Maybe now he could sleep. He doubted it, but he would try.