Via Dolorosa
Chapter 2: Contemplating and Denial
Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter or any of the other characters. That honour solely belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Something is not right with Snape. He's more withdrawn than he usually is and Dumbledore doesn't know what to do about it. Who should he ask for help?
Warning: This will most likely turn out to be SLASH so if that's not your cuppa, then don't read this. There will also be described depression, self- abuse and other such things. You have been warned!
A/N: I would just like to thank all you wonderful people who took the time to review:)
I also think that I should warn you all of the fact that I very often find myself in a heavy depression, and therefore will not be able to update any of my stories all that often. I tend to get a writers-block when I'm depressed. I sincerely apologise for not telling you all sooner, and I hope that you'll bear over with me.
Okay, and now onto the long awaited chapter:
**************************************************************************** ***********
*Severus Snape's POV*
Severus Snape sat in his private chambers and gazed unseeingly into the fire. He could feel and hear the loud protest that his stomach gave for not having had any food for the entire day, but he really couldn't care less.
He sighed heavily and ran a thin hand through his black hair. How had his life come to this? Sometimes he wondered if he had been born a sad and depressed person, 'cause he couldn't for the life of him, remember the last time that he had actually felt good about himself. Well, except for the times that he had gone for two days in a row without eating; he always took a certain pride in knowing that he had enough willpower to stop eating, but he figured that most 'normal' people wouldn't understand what the Hell he was talking about, and take him for nothing more than a simple freak.
But Severus Snape was so much more than simple. Oh yes, he was actually a very complicated man, if you ever bothered to look beneath the surface, and to be honest, not many people did. And he was rather thankful for that.
He still remembered an incident back in his school days, when Lucius Malfoy had found out that he starved himself. Lucius had been his best friend at the time, and, as any good friend would, he started ranting and shouting at Severus. And after that he took it on himself to help his friend. To be precise he had said: "I refuse to let my best friend die over a fucking eating-disorder. Do you understand me, Sev? Come on, let's get something to eat!"
Severus had felt like he had been hit with a hammer when Lucius had said 'eating-disorder'. He didn't have an eating-disorder, dammit!
Or did he?
He shook his head as he denied everything to himself. No, Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry didn't, under any circumstances, have an eating-disorder.
He would admit to, if put under a lot of pressure, that he was what most people referred to as a cutter. Yes, he did indeed enjoy the times when he could be himself and simply let all his sorrows bleed away. He mostly preferred to cut his legs, since nobody ever saw how his legs looked, except for the few lovers he had taken through the years, and they had all been of that type that didn't find it unusual to se self-inflicted scars on people's bodies.
On occasion, he would indulge in the pleasure of being able to cut his arms. But he did that very rarely, mind you, since there was much more of a chance for people finding out. The only things he ever cut into his arms where when he needed to write something; he had words like 'fat' and 'useless' carved across his thin arms, and even an 'Ana' and 'Mia' had snuck in there, but he couldn't remember when.
Although he didn't believe himself to have an actual eating-disorder, both the terms, and thus meaning, of Ana and Mia had been a large part of his life.
He leaned back into his chair and looked up at the ceiling.
Yes, how had his life come to this, that he everyday had to count the calories of how much he ate and how many he lost be exercising?
He had even reached the point, where he didn't feel comfortable unless he made a new cut every night, though most nights he was way too tired to do anything other than fall asleep.
When he tried to remember what he had taught his students the day before, nothing but blurry pictures came to mind. He had to admit, even to himself, that he lived most days in a haze.
The fire was beginning to burn out, and as the last light disappeared from his living room, he began to doubt whether or not he was actually alive.
**************************************************************************** ***********
Well, that was the second chapter. I hope you liked it, and if you feel offended by the contents then don't even bother to flame me, 'cause you've already been warned.
But I would be very happy if some of you would review, 'cause I'm very uncertain whether or not this chapter is any good.
Chapter 2: Contemplating and Denial
Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter or any of the other characters. That honour solely belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Something is not right with Snape. He's more withdrawn than he usually is and Dumbledore doesn't know what to do about it. Who should he ask for help?
Warning: This will most likely turn out to be SLASH so if that's not your cuppa, then don't read this. There will also be described depression, self- abuse and other such things. You have been warned!
A/N: I would just like to thank all you wonderful people who took the time to review:)
I also think that I should warn you all of the fact that I very often find myself in a heavy depression, and therefore will not be able to update any of my stories all that often. I tend to get a writers-block when I'm depressed. I sincerely apologise for not telling you all sooner, and I hope that you'll bear over with me.
Okay, and now onto the long awaited chapter:
**************************************************************************** ***********
*Severus Snape's POV*
Severus Snape sat in his private chambers and gazed unseeingly into the fire. He could feel and hear the loud protest that his stomach gave for not having had any food for the entire day, but he really couldn't care less.
He sighed heavily and ran a thin hand through his black hair. How had his life come to this? Sometimes he wondered if he had been born a sad and depressed person, 'cause he couldn't for the life of him, remember the last time that he had actually felt good about himself. Well, except for the times that he had gone for two days in a row without eating; he always took a certain pride in knowing that he had enough willpower to stop eating, but he figured that most 'normal' people wouldn't understand what the Hell he was talking about, and take him for nothing more than a simple freak.
But Severus Snape was so much more than simple. Oh yes, he was actually a very complicated man, if you ever bothered to look beneath the surface, and to be honest, not many people did. And he was rather thankful for that.
He still remembered an incident back in his school days, when Lucius Malfoy had found out that he starved himself. Lucius had been his best friend at the time, and, as any good friend would, he started ranting and shouting at Severus. And after that he took it on himself to help his friend. To be precise he had said: "I refuse to let my best friend die over a fucking eating-disorder. Do you understand me, Sev? Come on, let's get something to eat!"
Severus had felt like he had been hit with a hammer when Lucius had said 'eating-disorder'. He didn't have an eating-disorder, dammit!
Or did he?
He shook his head as he denied everything to himself. No, Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry didn't, under any circumstances, have an eating-disorder.
He would admit to, if put under a lot of pressure, that he was what most people referred to as a cutter. Yes, he did indeed enjoy the times when he could be himself and simply let all his sorrows bleed away. He mostly preferred to cut his legs, since nobody ever saw how his legs looked, except for the few lovers he had taken through the years, and they had all been of that type that didn't find it unusual to se self-inflicted scars on people's bodies.
On occasion, he would indulge in the pleasure of being able to cut his arms. But he did that very rarely, mind you, since there was much more of a chance for people finding out. The only things he ever cut into his arms where when he needed to write something; he had words like 'fat' and 'useless' carved across his thin arms, and even an 'Ana' and 'Mia' had snuck in there, but he couldn't remember when.
Although he didn't believe himself to have an actual eating-disorder, both the terms, and thus meaning, of Ana and Mia had been a large part of his life.
He leaned back into his chair and looked up at the ceiling.
Yes, how had his life come to this, that he everyday had to count the calories of how much he ate and how many he lost be exercising?
He had even reached the point, where he didn't feel comfortable unless he made a new cut every night, though most nights he was way too tired to do anything other than fall asleep.
When he tried to remember what he had taught his students the day before, nothing but blurry pictures came to mind. He had to admit, even to himself, that he lived most days in a haze.
The fire was beginning to burn out, and as the last light disappeared from his living room, he began to doubt whether or not he was actually alive.
**************************************************************************** ***********
Well, that was the second chapter. I hope you liked it, and if you feel offended by the contents then don't even bother to flame me, 'cause you've already been warned.
But I would be very happy if some of you would review, 'cause I'm very uncertain whether or not this chapter is any good.