The Point of No Return
Disclaimer: Still don't own Snape. Still wish I did.
Author's Note: A dark little Snape vignette that I wrote up in about eight minutes. Severus realizes that he will never be able to forget the night he went too far.
* * *
Severus Snape woke in a cold sweat, his long hair damp and his throat sore from strangled screams. Another dream. His long fingers worked their way into the bedding, gripping it tightly as he struggled to return to reality. Only another dream.
But Merlin, they were so real.
They were as real as the Dark Mark burned for all eternity into his forearm, which was probably why his dreams- nightmares, really- revolved around that monstrosity.
He could feel it burning as he slept, the constant dull pain blanketing him, suffocating him at times. It never went away. To him, he could never seem to hide it, no matter how tightly he buttoned his shirt sleeve or how firmly he pulled the sleeve of his robe over the offending area.
He could still see it whenever he looked at his arm. It was there, lurking beneath the layers of clothing, mocking him, taunting him... reminding him.
As if he needed a reminder. As if his dreams weren't enough.
He slept as little as possible, relying heavily on his own Pepper-up potions to get him through the long nights when he was too afraid let sleep wash over his thin form, when he was too weak to face the nightmares.
Voldemort haunted his dreams, but the Dark Lord was not what Severus was afraid of. No, he feared the ghosts from his past, feared the once-uttered screams that came roaring through his eardrums, feared the faces of the children... Christ, the children...
His dream-Voldemort showed him these things, made him relive his past horrors.
Sometimes he dreamed that his hands were covered in the blood of yet another innocent, and he would wake up gasping for breath, wiping his hands furiously on the silken bedsheets, trying to remove the stains that weren't there. In his dreams, they were there.
But mostly, he dreamed of a young boy named Severus, friendless yet self-confident, weak yet power-hungry. The boy with the greasy hair and diploma from Hogwarts with honors in Potions. The boy whose head was filled with lies- lies about the great Voldemort.
He dreamed of the night the Dark Mark had been forever seared into his skin. Sometimes he could smell the flesh sizzle, see the smoke rise in wispy gasps from his arm. The pride surged once again in his heart, the power danced before his eyes.
But he could not savor the feeling for long, because the dream soon changed. Now the boy was standing in front of a former classmate who had become an Auror. His wand was held steadily, his pale lips eagerly formed the words, "Avada Kedarva."
Forever would he dream of the leaping green energy that enveloped the girl. Forever would her screams echo in his head. He would always remember her face, her eyes, her voice, her name, the feel of her cold skin once dead.
He could not forget. Subconsciously, he would not let himself forget until he had somehow redeemed himself from all his sins. And that was a thing that would never happen.
For he could not redeem himself. The night he had taken a life as a Death Eater, he had gone too far.
Saints and angels could be redeemed, perhaps. But Severus Snape? He thought not. He could not return from his self-condemned damnation.
He had gone to the point of no return that night, and past it. And there was no way back.
Not for him.
End.
Disclaimer: Still don't own Snape. Still wish I did.
Author's Note: A dark little Snape vignette that I wrote up in about eight minutes. Severus realizes that he will never be able to forget the night he went too far.
* * *
Severus Snape woke in a cold sweat, his long hair damp and his throat sore from strangled screams. Another dream. His long fingers worked their way into the bedding, gripping it tightly as he struggled to return to reality. Only another dream.
But Merlin, they were so real.
They were as real as the Dark Mark burned for all eternity into his forearm, which was probably why his dreams- nightmares, really- revolved around that monstrosity.
He could feel it burning as he slept, the constant dull pain blanketing him, suffocating him at times. It never went away. To him, he could never seem to hide it, no matter how tightly he buttoned his shirt sleeve or how firmly he pulled the sleeve of his robe over the offending area.
He could still see it whenever he looked at his arm. It was there, lurking beneath the layers of clothing, mocking him, taunting him... reminding him.
As if he needed a reminder. As if his dreams weren't enough.
He slept as little as possible, relying heavily on his own Pepper-up potions to get him through the long nights when he was too afraid let sleep wash over his thin form, when he was too weak to face the nightmares.
Voldemort haunted his dreams, but the Dark Lord was not what Severus was afraid of. No, he feared the ghosts from his past, feared the once-uttered screams that came roaring through his eardrums, feared the faces of the children... Christ, the children...
His dream-Voldemort showed him these things, made him relive his past horrors.
Sometimes he dreamed that his hands were covered in the blood of yet another innocent, and he would wake up gasping for breath, wiping his hands furiously on the silken bedsheets, trying to remove the stains that weren't there. In his dreams, they were there.
But mostly, he dreamed of a young boy named Severus, friendless yet self-confident, weak yet power-hungry. The boy with the greasy hair and diploma from Hogwarts with honors in Potions. The boy whose head was filled with lies- lies about the great Voldemort.
He dreamed of the night the Dark Mark had been forever seared into his skin. Sometimes he could smell the flesh sizzle, see the smoke rise in wispy gasps from his arm. The pride surged once again in his heart, the power danced before his eyes.
But he could not savor the feeling for long, because the dream soon changed. Now the boy was standing in front of a former classmate who had become an Auror. His wand was held steadily, his pale lips eagerly formed the words, "Avada Kedarva."
Forever would he dream of the leaping green energy that enveloped the girl. Forever would her screams echo in his head. He would always remember her face, her eyes, her voice, her name, the feel of her cold skin once dead.
He could not forget. Subconsciously, he would not let himself forget until he had somehow redeemed himself from all his sins. And that was a thing that would never happen.
For he could not redeem himself. The night he had taken a life as a Death Eater, he had gone too far.
Saints and angels could be redeemed, perhaps. But Severus Snape? He thought not. He could not return from his self-condemned damnation.
He had gone to the point of no return that night, and past it. And there was no way back.
Not for him.
End.