Severus Snape glared at the throng of students passing by. Thankfully, they were all
preparing to leave. The teary-eyed goodbyes and tight embraces between said throng did
nothing for his mood. He was displeased, but then, what was new?
As the last of the students had dwindled their way out the doors, Snape set off for the cold
and informal comfort of his dungeons. Walking briskly past the classroom that would be void
of irritants for two blessed months, he turned and pointed his wand at an obscure painting
and muttered a password. He stalked into the mainroom and collapsed resignedly onto a large
armchair. Looking at his surroundings, his glare softened a bit.
Sparsely furnished, his rooms couldn't exactly be called "relaxing" and any interior
decorater might suffer heart failure if they were introduced to them. The walls were blank,
aside from the ceiling-high bookcases that housed large jars of formaldehyde containing all
sorts of creatures and appendages, Erlenmeyer flasks with various colored liquids, random
strange brass and glass objects for a number of purposes, and of course, lines of books. A
large fireplace took up the majority of one wall, but was empty and looked as though it
might not have been used for a while. Snape didn't see any need to warm the outside when
the inside couldn't be warmed as well. Two large armchairs, black leather, were set on the
edges of a sprawling Oriental rug in black and silver with slight hints of green. Between
the chairs was a couch of the same leather and against the wall opposite the fireplace was
a large desk and a chair in matching dark wood. A door to the right led to his office, and
a door to the right led to his bedroom and bathroom. Not cozy by any means, but to Snape
it was home.
The only other object in the room was a low table set near the door to his bedroom. On this
table was a basin filled with silver-looking liquid. A pensieve. Snape had no need to look
back into what has occured in his past; the memories haunted him often enough. This was
mostly for Dumbledore's benefit as he could look into it and see what Snape had discovered
about the Dark Lord recently. Snape found this a more pleasant and less harrowing way of
relaying the information than telling Dumbledore directly. Not that he would get...
emotional.
No, emotions were not something that bothered him often. By all accounts, he was as cold and
emotionless as one could get, except perhaps in the case of anger. He had experienced his
share of joy, pain, loss, awe, and - yes, it's true - even love. However, he had long since
learned to control these and any emotions with the accuracy of a lion tamer with a whip.
Emotions were simply not something that he dealt with.
That is, until there was nothing else to deal with.
Following this vein of thought, Snape rose from his chair and moved to the desk. It was
unusually clear. No papers left to grade, no lessons to plan, no potions to be made. He
grunted a grunt of clear dissatisfaction. Nothing to take his mind off of...well, his mind.
He opened one of many drawers and sifted around in it. A thicker, glossy peice of paper slipped
across his fingertips. He withdrew it curiously and immediately regretted it.
Smiling up from the picture was a younger version of himself and a slim woman who appeared
to be about twenty years old, with a messy mane of dark brown hair and a wide grin. He glared
as he watched the pair in the photo wave at him then turn to share a kiss. Tossing the picture
back into the drawer and slamming it shut he returned to the armchair and glared at the empty
fireplace.
Despite his best attempts, memories flooded into his head. Lyeta, or Lye as she had preferred to
be called was his first - no, he reminded himself - his only girlfriend. He had met her fresh out
of Hogwarts when he had been recruited by the death eaters. She didn't work for the ministry,
though. She was a bartender that he met when he began frequenting bars, which, he remembered,
didn't take long. At first being a DeathEater had been, almost fun, but it had quickly taken it's
toll. His relationship with Lye seemed impossible - her spunky nature had attracted his younger
self, though now he was sure it would make him ill. For some reason when he related to her
that he was a DeathEater she hadn't minded all that much. It didn't make much sense until he
found out her little secret. He shuddered and tried to shut his mind off to no avail. Lye was
a vampire, not usually the sort of creature that is troubled by wizard's business. He had pushed
her away after this discovery, even when she had not pushed him away
for what he had chosen to be. He deserted her for what she was born into. Stupid arrogance.
The girl had never done anything to hurt him, never even suggested that she wanted to...*eat*
him. But what was done was done, and there was no way of going back.
His mind filtered through what had happened shortly after. He had become a slightly less cynical
version of himself as he was now, and developed his trademark sneer as he became more involved
in his actions as a DeathEater and an alcoholic. The nightmares that would haunt him were
subdued by the liquor, and the liquor spawned more nightmares as he did things he never would have
done sober while intoxicated.
Then came the horrible night that haunted him even now. He had been summoned, as per usual, and
shown up (amazingly) sober. The sight that greeted him he didn't even need to put in the pensieve
as it was burned so deep into his memory that he doubted if it would ever fade. Lye, the very girl
he had loved and shunned, was held by magic in the middle of a circle of his hooded cohorts in evil. She was
naked, obviously in great pain, and Lucius Malfoy was atop her. Snape shuddered involuntarily as
the scene came back to him, but convinced himself it was from the outer cold and not the inner.
They had killed her, of course, and he had managed to keep a stony visage through the whole ordeal.
It was his fault, he didn't deny that, as it was one of Voldemort's "tests of loyalty" which he so
often liked to conduct. The formula was simple, take a loved one and torture them until the follower in question
attempted to save them, or kill them. Snape did neither. He simply had watched and the girl had
eventually been a victim of the Avada Kedarva curse. He had apparently passed the "test" but since
then he had not allowed anyone to get too close - all future tests of loyalty were burdens to himself
and himself alone.
Snape didn't think of it as chivalry, he thought of it as the only the way. It was obviously futile
to care about anyone when they'd eventually be taken away from him. Still, he felt a slight pressure
on his stomach. Bothersome in it's insistance. Was he feeling guilty? Nothing of the sort. Emotions,
he restated to himself, were not something he needed. That was not the problem at all.
He just needed to take a piss.
preparing to leave. The teary-eyed goodbyes and tight embraces between said throng did
nothing for his mood. He was displeased, but then, what was new?
As the last of the students had dwindled their way out the doors, Snape set off for the cold
and informal comfort of his dungeons. Walking briskly past the classroom that would be void
of irritants for two blessed months, he turned and pointed his wand at an obscure painting
and muttered a password. He stalked into the mainroom and collapsed resignedly onto a large
armchair. Looking at his surroundings, his glare softened a bit.
Sparsely furnished, his rooms couldn't exactly be called "relaxing" and any interior
decorater might suffer heart failure if they were introduced to them. The walls were blank,
aside from the ceiling-high bookcases that housed large jars of formaldehyde containing all
sorts of creatures and appendages, Erlenmeyer flasks with various colored liquids, random
strange brass and glass objects for a number of purposes, and of course, lines of books. A
large fireplace took up the majority of one wall, but was empty and looked as though it
might not have been used for a while. Snape didn't see any need to warm the outside when
the inside couldn't be warmed as well. Two large armchairs, black leather, were set on the
edges of a sprawling Oriental rug in black and silver with slight hints of green. Between
the chairs was a couch of the same leather and against the wall opposite the fireplace was
a large desk and a chair in matching dark wood. A door to the right led to his office, and
a door to the right led to his bedroom and bathroom. Not cozy by any means, but to Snape
it was home.
The only other object in the room was a low table set near the door to his bedroom. On this
table was a basin filled with silver-looking liquid. A pensieve. Snape had no need to look
back into what has occured in his past; the memories haunted him often enough. This was
mostly for Dumbledore's benefit as he could look into it and see what Snape had discovered
about the Dark Lord recently. Snape found this a more pleasant and less harrowing way of
relaying the information than telling Dumbledore directly. Not that he would get...
emotional.
No, emotions were not something that bothered him often. By all accounts, he was as cold and
emotionless as one could get, except perhaps in the case of anger. He had experienced his
share of joy, pain, loss, awe, and - yes, it's true - even love. However, he had long since
learned to control these and any emotions with the accuracy of a lion tamer with a whip.
Emotions were simply not something that he dealt with.
That is, until there was nothing else to deal with.
Following this vein of thought, Snape rose from his chair and moved to the desk. It was
unusually clear. No papers left to grade, no lessons to plan, no potions to be made. He
grunted a grunt of clear dissatisfaction. Nothing to take his mind off of...well, his mind.
He opened one of many drawers and sifted around in it. A thicker, glossy peice of paper slipped
across his fingertips. He withdrew it curiously and immediately regretted it.
Smiling up from the picture was a younger version of himself and a slim woman who appeared
to be about twenty years old, with a messy mane of dark brown hair and a wide grin. He glared
as he watched the pair in the photo wave at him then turn to share a kiss. Tossing the picture
back into the drawer and slamming it shut he returned to the armchair and glared at the empty
fireplace.
Despite his best attempts, memories flooded into his head. Lyeta, or Lye as she had preferred to
be called was his first - no, he reminded himself - his only girlfriend. He had met her fresh out
of Hogwarts when he had been recruited by the death eaters. She didn't work for the ministry,
though. She was a bartender that he met when he began frequenting bars, which, he remembered,
didn't take long. At first being a DeathEater had been, almost fun, but it had quickly taken it's
toll. His relationship with Lye seemed impossible - her spunky nature had attracted his younger
self, though now he was sure it would make him ill. For some reason when he related to her
that he was a DeathEater she hadn't minded all that much. It didn't make much sense until he
found out her little secret. He shuddered and tried to shut his mind off to no avail. Lye was
a vampire, not usually the sort of creature that is troubled by wizard's business. He had pushed
her away after this discovery, even when she had not pushed him away
for what he had chosen to be. He deserted her for what she was born into. Stupid arrogance.
The girl had never done anything to hurt him, never even suggested that she wanted to...*eat*
him. But what was done was done, and there was no way of going back.
His mind filtered through what had happened shortly after. He had become a slightly less cynical
version of himself as he was now, and developed his trademark sneer as he became more involved
in his actions as a DeathEater and an alcoholic. The nightmares that would haunt him were
subdued by the liquor, and the liquor spawned more nightmares as he did things he never would have
done sober while intoxicated.
Then came the horrible night that haunted him even now. He had been summoned, as per usual, and
shown up (amazingly) sober. The sight that greeted him he didn't even need to put in the pensieve
as it was burned so deep into his memory that he doubted if it would ever fade. Lye, the very girl
he had loved and shunned, was held by magic in the middle of a circle of his hooded cohorts in evil. She was
naked, obviously in great pain, and Lucius Malfoy was atop her. Snape shuddered involuntarily as
the scene came back to him, but convinced himself it was from the outer cold and not the inner.
They had killed her, of course, and he had managed to keep a stony visage through the whole ordeal.
It was his fault, he didn't deny that, as it was one of Voldemort's "tests of loyalty" which he so
often liked to conduct. The formula was simple, take a loved one and torture them until the follower in question
attempted to save them, or kill them. Snape did neither. He simply had watched and the girl had
eventually been a victim of the Avada Kedarva curse. He had apparently passed the "test" but since
then he had not allowed anyone to get too close - all future tests of loyalty were burdens to himself
and himself alone.
Snape didn't think of it as chivalry, he thought of it as the only the way. It was obviously futile
to care about anyone when they'd eventually be taken away from him. Still, he felt a slight pressure
on his stomach. Bothersome in it's insistance. Was he feeling guilty? Nothing of the sort. Emotions,
he restated to himself, were not something he needed. That was not the problem at all.
He just needed to take a piss.