Disclaimer: I don't own much more than a pencil, Though i've been known to lie about that given the correct incentive...
Summerized: This is a one shot idea of Snape's initiation based on the song Bully by Three Days Grace. Snape has just finished Sixth year and is still reeling from Black's and the Werewolf's 'prank' where he almost died and his would be killer's got off scott free. The world is unfair for a half-blood slytherin and he's taking control the only way he knows how.
A/N: I love the Dark side and all it's glory but this is Snape's great mistake, so using lyrics i love i'm trying to immortalize the great man that came from the foolish boy based on Canon-ish facts. And yes i used pieces of the song and some of it is out of order. I wanted it to fit and i wanted you to feel my rage and pain on Severus' behalf. Enjoy love-bugs!
Fabricati Deim:
He wakes haunted with voices in his head
Nobody knows but today he won't go unnoticed
He can't forget, Forgive for what they said
He's never been so hurt but today the screaming's over
He was dreaming.
It was real though, this dream. Haunting and reoccurring. So real he could feel the icy sheet of sweat covering his skin, He could hear his breath rattle in his throat. And he was trapped recalling the same horrifying memory over and over again.
The cloying thick smell of rotting flesh, decaying wood and animal fogged his senses. He watched with sick fascination as his own pale hand snatched the twig beneath the flailing tree, saw the wood freeze as if hit with a petrifying charm. It was surreal to see through his own eyes the tunnel passage again, and even though he knew what was coming he couldn't help but feel the anticipation of the night all over again.
This time he would catch them out, discover Lupin's so called illness and the famous muraders, bully's that they were, would be tossed out of Hogwarts for all the laws they'd broken. If not for the lives they'd ruined.
Then he turned the last corner of the grey-dirt tunnel and froze in confusion. Lupin was there - alone - but he was nude. His pale flesh even more emaciated in the moonlit shadows. The hollow where stomach met ribs almost cavernous, his thin limbs contorted painfully as he lay one his back moaning softly. In those last minutes, before it all fell into place, Severus saw the slashed flash and scarred skin. Flashes of rough cacheted scar tissue to rival his own, some lines still pink others the silver that bespoke great age.
He almost felt a kinship with the man.
But then the scene changed. The timeless moment gone and now the horror began donning. The amber eyes opened wide flashing golden, his mouth snapping open. Spittle trailing from the jaws as teeth lengthened. Skin rippled, splitting and dashing blood across the rotted floor and decayed carpet. bones were contorting and Lupin rolled to his side, a scream ripping from his throat and a sharp snap was heard - his spine had snapped from his convulsions.
As fur rippled from the seams in the flesh Severus was frozen in fear. His body had shut down and terror reigned. In that moment nothing but the primal instinct of all humans controlled him. Deep within himself he was screaming, raging and anguishing to move, move, move.
But he didn't.
And like clock work the dream was over. A rough shove from to the left and shouting, as he was crammed back towards the tunnel entrance jolting him awake.
Severus lay quietly panting, his bottomless black eyes wide and unseeing. Terror was not something new to him, nor was it the reason for his rage.
Severus no longer feared Lupin, the beast was weak and snivelling in human form, and was caged in the Shrieking Shack in animal form. Severus did not fear Black, the idiot had gotten lucky in tormenting him for the last time. He did not fear James Potter and the ridiculous life-debt he owed the heroic bastard. Severus did not even fear the Headmaster, son-of-a-bitch that he was, who would pat the Gryffendor pricks on the head and send the to bed with no supper for trying to murder him.
No, Severus hated.
Hatred was a funny thing. For some it was like a forbidden sweet. You indulged infrequently and left well enough alone. Allowing the emotion to control you very rarely. For others it was a lifestyle. Consuming and controlling all thoughts.
For Severus it was power. He channeled all the wrongs done to him into his work. He brewed illegal potions and studied the darkest curses with a passion few could ever match. He walked the knife edge of fanaticism for the radical new idea of a war. He used the hatred that had been given into him.
Thought of his father. His mothers death. Black, Lupin and Potter, the merry band of criminals. Evans, abandoning him for a careless comment. The rest of the worthless Slytherin lot.
And he used his rage to build himself from that life changing terror. Never again would he fall to his knees helpless and hope to be cared for.
And for now he had a goal.
Blame the family, Blame the bully
Blame it all on me, maybe he needed to be wanted
Blame the family, Blame the bully
Maybe he needed to be wanted
"Have you killed for personal gain?" The whiskey deep voice purred.
A vision assailed Severus. A memory of his thin, elegant potion stained hands covered in crimson. The hot liquid pouring down his fathers aged throat, wound gaping wide as he plunged the dagger with the Prince family crest on the hilt into his chest. Over and over. Until the bellows of rage stopped and the body turned cool.
Post humous really had suited the filthy man best.
The boy with onyx eyes shuddered and his head jerked in a nod, lank hair flying about. His Midnight robes were in a disarray, Milk pale hands curled tightly in the sleeves. His whole body sang with tension.
He wanted his wand. To hold onto the tangible means of all his power, a potions prodigy he may be but any wizard worth their blood knew a wand was true power. He longed for the simple comfort of his ebony, unicorn hair, twelve inch protection.
It had been ripped from his hands as he had stepped into the chamber. No one held a wand in their Lords presence. Not that it would matter had he wanted to curse the Dark Lord, his hands shook even now clenched in fists. To be able to stand through his unholy terror was remarkable.
He was committed though. His purpose was pure, his ideals right. Revolutions were bloody and vicious, that was just the way of things. And he would be a revolutionary.
No one would scorn his name; no one would remember his filthy muggle father. They would recall the son of House Prince, Potions master, Spell Crafter, Revolutionary. Death Eater.
He would rise above his Half-Blood status and be on level with the other Slytherins, even Lucius and his father Abraxas said it was so. This would give him what no cunning, or potion skill or Quiditch match won could ever provide.
And the tall pale man called Voldemort was offering him a lifetime of glory. Lucius had been vague in his descriptions of his soon to be lord, only spouting off how charismatic and wondrous the man was. But it was more than that.
His face was the ice-sculpted beauty of a pureblood aristocrat, sharp lines, hard nose, high brows and broad brow. His robes were a deep peridot color, silver threads woven throughout to show off the turns of his lithely pacing body.
Altogether the man made him very self-conscious in his second-hand Hogwarts robes and slithering house patch. Not to mention the unearthly quality that tingled in the air around the man.
"Will you kill again?" The purr was almost inhuman now, deep and animalistic. A vicious joy shone out of unnatural red eyes.
"Is their someone you would wish dead my lord?" The boys voice trembled.
A cold and high laugh fell from the lips of the Dark Lord Voldemort. And with a politely phrased political answer Severus Snape had sold his soul.
No one knows her, but tonight the silence is over
StarGuide2011