Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Woe is me.
Notes: This is one of the "shorts" that I've written in my free time about Severus Snape. This one takes place when he was a student at Hogwarts.
Reflections of a Blackened Heart
Severus Snape.
A name that he most fervently wished evoked fear in those who heard it. Unfortunately, such was not the case.
Instead, those who heard his name mocked him, began to gossip with the other students around, remembering the last time James Potter hunt him upside down to show the world his tattered shorts, the last time he was hexed in public view…
No, Severus Snape was the furthest removed one could be from feared.
He was the laughing stock of the entire castle.
But that, he knew, would change someday.
It wasn't just his frequent visits with the children of those who called themselves "death Eaters", although that certainly made Severus aware that there were people in the world who would appreciate his "abilities".
No, Severus was so certain that things would changed because he was constantly making elaborate plans to ensure it, and if there was one thing Severus knew, it was that he could make anything happen if he planned hard enough, and well enough, and was patient.
Time was all it would take.
And that was why he was unconcerned as he sat in the Library, a heavy potions textbook open before him, and a long roll of parchment beside that.
He was completely oblivious to the snickering students around him as he studied, because he knew that some day, they would all be made responsible for their actions. Someday, he would all pay.
Who said revenge isn't sweet?
Severus was acutely aware of the time, and felt a single small stab of irritation at the knowledge that lunch would be served in the Great Hall in less than one hour. He was hungry, yes, but the thought of jeers, taunts and possible hexes as he entered the room and walked to take a seat, not the mention the probably-frequent assault of magically-flying wads of spit-soaked parchment, all aimed at the back of his head from the conveniently-located Gryffindor table, made him wish that he could dine alone. The food-delicious as it was-nearly failed as sufficient incentive to willingly walk into such prolonged torture and embarrassment.
And what made it worse was the knowledge that at least once he would unconsciously make eye contact with Lily Evans. She'd quickly look away, and a horrible sinking feeling would invade his stomach, erasing any hunger he had at that moment. Then, he would spend the next hour or two thinking about how much he hated James Potter.
Every day seemed to always go the same, and it was almost enough to drive him mad.
But someday things would be different.
Someday.
