Why
Summery – After the events of fifth year and the Penseive, Harry asks Professor Snape a one word question, one that leaves Snape with more answers than he's prepared to deal with.
AN – Another of my little stand-alone Snape-analysis fics. My take on the man behind the mask. Again.
AN2 – If you like this one, check out 'The Game', my other stand alone Snape fic, which I must admit to being very proud of!
AN3 – PLEASE REVIEW! My HP stories are in serious danger of being abandoned in favour of my Riddick ones if I think no-ones' reading these!
Disclaimer – I don't make a penny…in fact, I have to pay to keep my computer going, so I'm losing money here.
…
Why?
One simple word, but so many meanings. He could have spoken a thousands hours of questions and accusations and lies and truthes, but he still would not have said more than that one simple word.
Why what?
Why did I become I death-eater?
That would be the most obvious one, yet I cannot see Potter wanting to know the answer.
I became a death-eater for power. You take power from a person, they will try to regain it through force. It's why the Dark Lord became what he is, or at least partly so. It's why so many abused children become abusive parents.
I wanted the power over my oppressors the way they once had it over me. I wanted power over him. Sometimes, in moments of blind rage, I even wanted to force power over her.
It was never truly what I wanted, but still.
I never truly wanted to die, but there are still moments when that option does not seem so terrible after all.
That's why.
But that wasn't what you wanted to know, was it, Potter?
No.
Not all of it.
Why did I turn back?
That one's simple.
I turned back because I'm not as evil as you seem to think I am.
You kick a dog, and it'll bite you. Does this make the beast a blood-thirsty threat to humanity?
Of course not.
I was biting in my own way. But I am not as blood thirsty as you seem to think.
But I don't think that was what you asked either, was it?
Why did your father and I hate each other?
He was arrogant.
He was cocky.
He was perfect and popular and he shone like gold. Everyone loved him.
He was everything I wanted to be.
And he made it look so simple.
I've worked my entire life to be good at what I do. I have strived and tried and gone to extremes you cannot fathom for the knowledge I have now, and it has gotten me no where but on the receiving end of your fathers wand.
Everything I tried to be amounted to nothing. I was just a weed struggling to grow in life's garden while James Potter, Wonder-boy, soaked up all the sun.
But that wasn't what you wanted to know either, was it?
You want to know, why do I hate you?
Maybe you think you already know that answer.
Maybe you think I hate you for the same reason I hated your father.
Maybe you even think I cannot tell the difference between you and him.
But no. I am not the Mutt. I can see you for who you are. I know you are your fathers son, not your father himself. I know you are not him.
But it doesn't matter.
You look so much like your father, Harry.
Except your eyes.
You have your mothers eyes.
You have probably heard this before, but your mother was not only very intelligent, and very gifted, but she was also incredibly kind.
She had a habit of taking in the waifs and strays, much the same way as Albus did.
I was one of them.
For three years, I was one of her friends.
She was like the sun that shone on the garden purely for the weeds like I. She was what kept me going, she was what made me thrive. She seemed to know without me ever telling her what my father was like, She seemed to know, even that you, just why I tried so hard to reach perfection.
She knew then, the way Albus does now, that I had no sunlight in my life before Hogwarts.
How can I describe what it feels like to grow up in the dark, in the cold, alone, and then to be brought out, and to bask in the sun for the first time in your life?
May as well try to describe colour to a blind man.
You will never understand how much it hurt to loose that sun again.
And to none other than the Golden Boy himself.
You may have thought before now, Harry, that you knew why I hated you so. You may have thought that I hated you because your dad was just another of my tormentors.
You were wrong.
I hate you because I know what it feels like for your heart to break. I have seen the deepest forms of cruelty capable of mankind, and then some things I'm sure are capable only of one man. I have been victim to most of these cruelties, yet I have survived them all. I have felt the pull of suicide, I have felt the need to rip the very flesh from my bones to relieve myself of his mark. But I have felt something far worse.
I have felt my heart break.
And every time I see you, every time I see your eyes…her eyes…it breaks anew.
It hurts too much not to hate you.
So maybe now, you're wondering why.
Why, if it hurts so much for me to see you alive now, do I not simple stop saving your life.
She died.
I was a spy for Dumbledore when Voldemort first heard that damnable prophecy. I should have known, I should have told someone.
I should have saved her life.
But I didn't.
I couldn't.
It was simpler to turn a blind eye, a deaf ear.
It was simpler to let her die.
And there is not a day that goes by that I don't regret it.
God have mercy on my soul. I would do anything in my power to make amends.
So why do I not do it now?
Turn a blind eye, a deaf ear?
Because you, Harry, are my redemption.
If I keep those eyes open, keep that spark behind it alive, than I can save her.
You look so like your father
You are so like your mother.
And I am going to save her.
So now, maybe, you can understand.