Story Title: Hatred for the Innocent

Author: Hawk Martin

Disclaimer: Samuel is mine; Sirius and everyone else aren't.

Dedication: To myself…I deserve it. And to Animus et Anima Wyrmis, who hates Sirius.

A/N: This is actually probably really bad. I wrote it on a whim, deciding that I wanted to give our golden boy a lot more credit than anyone else would. If I feel up to it, I may just go over and add more, if I have the time though. So read and review, and don't flame me if it's out of character. I tried. Anyway, if you want to know about Sam, go to my story The Fall and he's mentioned in my author notes briefly (1st and 3rd chapter, by the way). He's the father of Liz—if you know who she is; if you don't, go to The Fall—and was best friends with Sirius, Remus, and Severus. Hope you enjoy—read and review, please.

Summary: "You can hate me if you like, Severus. I just can't hate you."

Notes: None really.

Rating: PG.

Warning: Brief hinting of slash, but if you're not careful, you'll miss it.

~"Hatred and vengeance, my eternal portion,
Scarce can endure delay of execution:—
Wait, with impatient readiness, to seize my
Soul in a moment."

--Oxford Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I–II. Frank Kermode and John Hollander, general eds. (1973) Oxford University Press~

You can hate me if you like.

Quite a few have, and do, nowadays, though I'm not surprised. Why should I be? You can't stay Gryffindor's golden boy, no matter how much you want to. No matter how much I wanted to. On the other hand, I suppose it's to be expected. "You can predict the unpredictable, but you can't expect the unexpected," so Sam used to say. I wish I had listened to him. He was right.

Perhaps this is my final word, my last testament for those that decided they wanted to listen. The dog speaks after all, instead of the inane barking that had previously robbed you of proper hearing. I may be a mangy mutt in desperate need of a bath, but at least I don't hiss.

Not yet.

Samuel, God rest his soul, told me before he died that he wanted me to speak the truth. And it took 10 years for me to work up the courage and motor skills to fulfill that promise. So here I sit, in a foreboding cave that's been the truest home I've had these past years, and wait. For what, I'm not sure, but I'm not going to figure it out anymore. Writing is on my mind at the moment, hence I begin.

You know me—Sirius Black. If I made your life Hell, I'm sorry. If I didn't, I don't know why you are reading this. I regret my years at Hogwarts—not for what I learned, not for the friendships I acquired, but for the very sake of my existence then. Who was I? That's a decent question. You know me so well, all of you. I'm the charming lad in the corner, with all those girls fawning over him. I'm the one making fun of Snivellus, the one making another Slytherin's life Hell.

You all know me to the very tip of my mind. Then, if you know me so well…

Could you tell me who I am?

All right, sorry—didn't mean to get deep on you. But, the rats are getting to me and Buckbeak seems agitated with my, "so this guy walked into a bar…" jokes. The bird…horse…animal…thing has no sense of humor. Then again, with a definition like that from its beloved master, I can understand why. Not thoroughly, of course, because I'm not a bird/horse/animal/thing. At least, not today. Check back later; I just may surprise you.

Back to my point, whatever it was. Ah, yes--I had the luxury of knowing four great men, four respected heroes that may never even be known: James Potter, Remus Lupin, Samuel Whitney, and, yes, Severus Snape. Surprised? You shouldn't be. They all expected it to happen sooner or later, so you might as have too.

Now, make no mistake—I thought I hated Severus in the beginning. Even Samuel's constant pleadings could not make me talk to the Slytherin, let alone look at him. That's all he was to me—a Slytherin. I hated them, but not for the people themselves. For what they stood for. My father, my mother, my entire family were Slytherins. And I wasn't. I had seen what that house had done to them, what it hadn't, and I couldn't handle the very prospect of being one of them.

Unlike Sam, I didn't want to end up in a gutter.

It's only now, several years later, that I realize Severus wasn't the object of my true contempt. That was the singular reason I was able to respect and dislike him at the same time. Many people wouldn't know Severus for what he truly is—a hero. To me, at least. Severus is in a word…misunderstood. If you do not look beyond the appearance, you would never find his esteemed love for classical music, his perfected affection for animals; his respect for those he loved and his contempt towards those that deserved it.

He was a good man. He is a good man.

Did I ever tell him that, however? I didn't dare. How do you walk up to your worst enemy, sling your arm about their shoulders, and say quite nonchalantly, "Hello, buddy, did you know that I respect you a lot? Of course I respect you enough to apologize for the underwear bit. Now?! Er…okay, maybe not that much respect…"? See my problem? Perhaps not, but then again, you weren't there for the 'underwear bit'. You wouldn't know what horrors came out of my hormonal mind.

And none of them included naked women, men, or anything remotely explicit. I saved those for when I was an adult.

Consequently, why do I write of Severus now when it is much too late for an explanation? Because I do not intend to leave this in my blackened heart forever. Because I need to honor Samuel's wishes. Because Snape deserves it.

I teased him, though. I made his life a purgatory far surpassing one I have ever experienced. Sev never deserved it, and I should have never even the guts to delve it out. There's no excuse for my behavior, no consolation I can give. I'm sorry, Sev, if you're there. Which, most likely, you're not. Probably sitting in your office—which is nothing like the dungeons, by the way—drinking some tea and going over lesson plans too hard for 1st years. No one appreciates how much you're testing them, how much you're helping them.

And neither did I, up until a little while ago.

I remember how Sam used to beg me to get along with you. He knew exactly what he was asking, and yet set forth the loyalty to request it anyway. Sam was like that—he always knew what was best for others, but never for himself. Why we never listened to him is beyond me…it was one of them several things he happened to always be right about.

That was another thing about Sam—he had the knack for being right about certain things all of the time. It was odd, but I never tired to figure it out. Peter did and nearly went insane. We had quite a bit of laundry to do that week, may I remind you.

Thinking of all my friends, of all the things I've done, I realize that they were right all along. Severus was right when he said I was nothing but a mangy mutt who desperately needed some sort of kennel; Sam was right when he said that I needed to befriend Severus and give myself a chance; Remus was right when he told me never to tease Sev; James was right when he told me that everyone was laughing at me, not with me.

It's a twisted thought, isn't it: my life was told by the friends that were there to live it.

And maybe that's the way I want it to be. Daylight's leaving me and I find myself sighing. Sam's dead, Jamie's dead, Sev is never going to look at me as anything more than a lovesick puppy, and Remus is too burdened for a man that age.

Life's a gamble, Sam once said. I just have to learn how to play.

The cards are dealt, and my life is in the hands of those that were there to see it—to live it.

Their move.