Title: Choices
Word Count: 100x5
Characters: Severus Snape, Harry Potter
Rating(s): PG
Challenge: snarry100 Challenge 282: Choices
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Warning(s): none
Beta: Sighing Selkie
Crossroads
The sound is innocuous, like a twig snapping underfoot in the early autumn, when the ground is still dry and the leaves rustle underfoot. This scene is not as quiet. His mother falls to the floor, unconscious. This time he chooses to fight. This time, the snapping noise echoes through his skull, and not through the dilapidated kitchen. When he wakes, he can see his mother holding her arm, he can hear her yelling at him about respect, he can feel the warm tickle of blood running over his lips. When he wakes, he is sent away, into the world.
He is not attractive, and he knows it acutely. He also knows that there is more to this proposition than friendship. He has never had friends and is curious. His thirst for knowledge has always been his ally. This promises more. He follows him.
The allure of power is great, the resources abundant. He looks around at the gathered students. Students who once mocked him, isolated him, are now asking him to join them. He can taste the offered challenge, he concedes to their vision, he yearns for their camaraderie. He has a choice to make.
He hesitates.
He chooses.
He stands behind his mask, watching, listening. His stomach coils in revolt. He understands now that the price of friendship is high. He wonders if it is too high. He listens to his Lord outline the plan for the Potters. He has never liked James, rather, he hates him. But Lily? A baby?
He has researched and created and brewed. He has listened to the others recount their experiences but he has not understood until now. Now that he does, he understands that his choices have led him here. He understands that he is at a crossroad so he chooses.
He is a reclusive man. He embraces solitude. He does not believe in happiness. His experiences and observations have confirmed this time and again. And standing here, in front of this broken, green-eyed boy, he realizes that he empathises with him. He can choose to walk away and let him suffocate under the illusory care of the Gryffindor assemblage, or he can reach out as he did once before when he was first discarded. He looks into the pleading blue eyes of the one person who could quite possibly be a friend. He nods his acquiescence and turns to leave.
He is too old, he is too ugly. He is bewildered. How did he arrive here? At this time? In this place? He feels as lost as he did in that kitchen. His choices have led him, one after the next, pulling him deeper into his desolation. Each one weaving the fabric of his being.
He stares out over the star lit quidditch pitch. He looks up at the moonless sky as he has done on many nights like this. He is dazed.
Amazed.
He turns and smiles into the green eyes, holding the covers, waiting, inviting him back in.
Thanks for reading :) Concrit always appreciated!