Author's Note and Disclaimer: Don't own anyone and don't claim to. J.K
Rowling owns all. This is just a random piece I can up with when the plot
bunnies were running amok.
I hope it isn't too bad but I sort of needed to write this. The title comes from Emily Dickens poem that goes, "hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul." and so forth. I don't know if I quoted that entirely right but, I tried. (By the way, on a side note, I learned that it is possible to sing that poem to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas." Try it, its really interesting.)
That Thing With Feathers
He would die, and to that he was resigned. He knelt in front of the man he sarcastically referred to as, "Master", and awaited his fate.
"I believed one of my flock has strayed too far," the eerie high-pitched voice intoned. This was followed by the affirmative mumbles of the Death Eaters around him.
"Too far to be saved," the Master smiled, red eyes glittering as he attempted to toy with the kneeling man's emotions. "He has strayed too far to ever be redeemed."
That was the most ironic thing the Master could have ever said. To them that wielded evil, he was too steeped in good. To loyal to the Light to ever be of use.
But to them that fought against the Dark, his soul was so shredded that they felt that there was nothing that could move him from his path to hell.
He belonged to that elite group of sinners: the unredeemable.
"What do we do with those that have strayed to far?" The Master inquired, saying such an old and clichéd villain's phrase that it seemed surreal.
There was a very ominous murmur around the length of the circle and the Master smiled his agreement, "we have no use for those who are not loyal to their shepherd."
"We will kill him?" asked Avery with perverted enthusiasm.
"We will kill him," the Master confirmed with pleasure.
And the kneeling one, the one for whom there was no hope, knew what he had to do. He had to pass on the torch of espionage. It was that simple. And until that specified time, he would wait.
The torture was done without much ceremony, but with great vindictiveness on the part of the Master. But still he waited.
As he writhed screaming on the ground in an agony beyond comprehension, a part of him still waited.
And finally, the pain stopped, leaving him in a crumpled heap of blood and robes. And it was finally time.
There was no hope for him, he thought, as the wand was raised point blank with his chest. There didn't need to be.
He had the give the signal to the Light. The one Dumbledore had instructed him, not thinking that he would ever need it. The sole signal that would mark his death and warn the Light.
"Avada-" the Master began.
"Pax," the unredeemable interrupted quietly, pouring ever ounce of magic into this simple command.
"KEDAVARA!" The Master finished, roaring the end of the incantation.
The Master watched in helpless fury as massive flock of silver doves soared overhead and made their way through the night sky to fulfill their creator's final wish.
The meeting of the Dark dispersed as quickly as the doves had, everyone attempting to give their enraged leader a wide berth.
But nobody paid any attention to the dead and unredeemable Severus Snape, who would go to hell knowing that he had given someone hope.
I hope it isn't too bad but I sort of needed to write this. The title comes from Emily Dickens poem that goes, "hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul." and so forth. I don't know if I quoted that entirely right but, I tried. (By the way, on a side note, I learned that it is possible to sing that poem to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas." Try it, its really interesting.)
That Thing With Feathers
He would die, and to that he was resigned. He knelt in front of the man he sarcastically referred to as, "Master", and awaited his fate.
"I believed one of my flock has strayed too far," the eerie high-pitched voice intoned. This was followed by the affirmative mumbles of the Death Eaters around him.
"Too far to be saved," the Master smiled, red eyes glittering as he attempted to toy with the kneeling man's emotions. "He has strayed too far to ever be redeemed."
That was the most ironic thing the Master could have ever said. To them that wielded evil, he was too steeped in good. To loyal to the Light to ever be of use.
But to them that fought against the Dark, his soul was so shredded that they felt that there was nothing that could move him from his path to hell.
He belonged to that elite group of sinners: the unredeemable.
"What do we do with those that have strayed to far?" The Master inquired, saying such an old and clichéd villain's phrase that it seemed surreal.
There was a very ominous murmur around the length of the circle and the Master smiled his agreement, "we have no use for those who are not loyal to their shepherd."
"We will kill him?" asked Avery with perverted enthusiasm.
"We will kill him," the Master confirmed with pleasure.
And the kneeling one, the one for whom there was no hope, knew what he had to do. He had to pass on the torch of espionage. It was that simple. And until that specified time, he would wait.
The torture was done without much ceremony, but with great vindictiveness on the part of the Master. But still he waited.
As he writhed screaming on the ground in an agony beyond comprehension, a part of him still waited.
And finally, the pain stopped, leaving him in a crumpled heap of blood and robes. And it was finally time.
There was no hope for him, he thought, as the wand was raised point blank with his chest. There didn't need to be.
He had the give the signal to the Light. The one Dumbledore had instructed him, not thinking that he would ever need it. The sole signal that would mark his death and warn the Light.
"Avada-" the Master began.
"Pax," the unredeemable interrupted quietly, pouring ever ounce of magic into this simple command.
"KEDAVARA!" The Master finished, roaring the end of the incantation.
The Master watched in helpless fury as massive flock of silver doves soared overhead and made their way through the night sky to fulfill their creator's final wish.
The meeting of the Dark dispersed as quickly as the doves had, everyone attempting to give their enraged leader a wide berth.
But nobody paid any attention to the dead and unredeemable Severus Snape, who would go to hell knowing that he had given someone hope.