A court is in session, a verdict is in No appeal on the docket today Just my own sin The walls are cold and pale The cage made of steel Screams fill the room Alone I drop and kneel
* * * *
Severus Snape let out a sigh, a dismal sound of weary resignation. It was not in his nature to fight the inevitable, and he was not like those poor souls who stood at the bars and screamed curses at the guards who stood there. Sometimes he wished he was; it would have made the waiting that much more bearable.
There was no escape, he knew that. Knew it with a certainty that compelled him to silence, leaving the memories to wash over him with a clarity that both amazed and horrified him. He had once been one of the those laughing men who stood on the other side of the steel bars, no use denying that, not now.
The familiarity of the scene amused him in a bitter sort of way; idly he wondered if his former friends would hesitate to consign him to Voldemort's fury. He doubted it - God only knew he would have done it without a second thought, once upon a time. He still might, if it really came to that; he was relieved that Voldemort had not given him the choice to return to life as a Death Eater. Because, God help him, he wasn't certain he could say no.
The sins of the past had finally caught up with him. He'd known they would; he could not escape forever. He had forced all thought of his old crimes to the back of his mind, and there they had remained for almost sixteen years. But now, with retribution so shockingly close at hand, he suddenly felt that he was in real danger of hell.
And it terrified him. He deserved it, he supposed, but for some reason that didn't do much toward easing his troubled thoughts. Not that he'd earned that courtesy either, but as the Death Eaters gathered closer to the cage, in expectation of Voldemort's arrival, he felt all too close to the edge of panic.
* * * *
Demons cluttering around My face showing no emotion Shackled by my sentence Expecting no return Here there is no penance My skin begins to burn
* * * *
But no. He refused to show fear, not to these demons. After all he'd been through, he could at least go out with a brave face.
He let his face slide back into that familiar expression of total unconcern that had served him so well these long years. His face revealed nothing of his thoughts; he could watch the most unspeakable crimes without ever showing a hint of emotion.
Which, he knew, was the only reason he had lived this long. He could lie to Voldemort without ever changing expression or showing fear, and he smiled ruefully at the thought that he had once taken pride in that. But that same skill had driven him past the boundaries of rationality and into the realms of insanity, forced him to spend so many long years in Voldemort's inhuman presence.
Because he had been the only one who had both the courage and the motivation to risk Voldemort's fury for the Light Side, and he had known it. He had known that if he didn't do this, didn't take this chance, no one else ever would. Indeed, if he had waited long enough, let himself really think about what he was being asked to do, he wasn't sure he would have done it either.
But he had. That was all that mattered. Voldemort cared nothing for excuses, though the thought of begging for mercy had never really entered his mind. And that was the risk he had taken for so long, knowing all the while that it could come to this. But he had done it anyway, and taken pride in what he'd done.
But it all seemed so inconsequential now, as did so many things he had once held dear. At times like these, nothing he'd ever done really seemed important, and that what really shocked him. It shouldn't have mattered, not now, but it did. It did.
* * * *
So I held my head up high Hiding hate that burns inside Which only fuels their selfish pride We're all held captive out from the sun A sun that shines on only some We the meek are all in one
* * * *
He hated them. He hated them for changing his life this way, hated them for making him betray all he'd ever cared about.
But they were used to hatred; he always had been. Hating them did no good, he understood that. Yet it was so unbearably hard to just stand there and look them in the eyes and not hate them what for they'd already done, what they would do in the future if they got the chance.
They were all out for themselves, and anyone who got in the way would simply become another casualty of prideful ambition. He'd lost more than his life to these monsters; he could not forgive them, not for what they themselves had done, but because of what their encouragment had led him to.
It was his fault - they hadn't forced him to it. But he could not resist the urge to blame them for his own shortcomings, for offering him the power he'd always wanted, for putting it within his reach.
He blamed them because he hadn't had the strength to tell them no.
* * * *
A lion roars in the darkness Only he holds the key A light to free me from my burden And grant me life eternally
* * * *
It was too late for him - sometimes it felt like it had always been too late, that this was simply in his nature. But it was not too late for others; not too late to stop someone else from making the same mistakes he had.
The lion of Gryffindor. Yes. Harry Potter, the only person to survive the Avada Kedavra Curse, held the key to stopping all this.
Potter could win, he could finish Voldemort once and for all. Harry had already learned heartbreak for the family he had never known, already knew the now-familiar hatred for the Dark Lord that had finally driven Snape to Light Side. But it did not overpower him, had not yet inscribed itself into his soul so deeply that time could never erase it.
Severus wondered how differently things could have been if the Potters had survived Voldemort's attack, and as always the thought brought nothing but bitter hatred for Voldemort and his minions. Maybe it always would.
And as Voldemort raised his wand, Snape said a silent prayer for the future and for all those who would have to face it. Because he wasn't going to be there to see it . . .
* * * *
I cry out to God Seeking only his decision Gabriel stands and confirms
I've created my own prison