Disclaimer: I still don't own it *sigh*
A/N- Why is Snape's house always called Snape Manor? Thanks to everyone who reviewed!
Snape awoke to find himself on the floor. 'I really should sweep more often,' he thought as he stood up and picked pieces of lint off his robes. However, seeing the letter also on the floor, He found his headache quickly progressing to a migraine.
' "You know what that entails." Just when I think things can't get any worse! It's almost Harry's fifteenth birthday. I'll have to...collect him before then, or who knows what the consequences could be.'
Severus sat in is favorite high-backed chair as he massaged his temples before any more memories about the past could surface. 'Why didn't she tell me sooner? She could have found someway to tell me. I knew that with the timing it was always possible, but he never showed any signs of being my son. Damn it! I never wanted children. I wanted the Snape line to end with me. The world doesn't need another Snape!'
Snape made his way through several rooms, finally coming to the room he had been advancing on- the room containing the liquor cabinet. He couldn't face Harry right now, no matter how pressing it was. Tomorrow he would go to the Dursley's and retrieve the boy, because tonight he would probably end up apperating into the middle of 50 of Mrs. Figg's cats.
He opened the cabinet door and removed a small bottle with the label removed and a glass. Snape slowly poured a viscous, black substance into the glass. It smelt like burning hair and day-old fish. With a sweeping arm gesture he threw back the drink and drifted into oblivion.
__________________
The next day flowed into the day after that, eventually spreading themselves into weeks. In the same manner he had for the past few weeks, Severus found himself curl up in a ball in his bed. Quickly he jumped out of bed and retched violently into the nearest water closet.
Wiping his mouth and throwing on a bathrobe, Severus made his way downstairs.
"Would you like some breakfast, sir?"
"Daschle, I would just like some toast, coffee, and the Daily Prophet, if you please."
"Yes, Daschle would be pleased to get these thing for you. Might say that it makes all of us house-elves happy to see you out of bed." Before Snape could reply Daschle disappeared with a small pop.
Snape pulled out a vial from his pocket and downed it. He hadn't eaten in several days, and he looked paler than normal (if that was even possible). His long fingers worked their way along the empty vial. How long had he been like this? His stomach told him more than there should have been.
Not eating regularly and going to death-eater meetings were taking their toll. His nerves were still numb from the night before. Voldemort seemed to have developed a fondness for casting the Crutiatus curse on ALL, whether they followed his orders perfectly or not, of his followers, as well as bringing in the occasional muggle for torture.
Snape wished he could just stop all the death. How many people would have to die in front of his eyes, and sometimes by his own hands, before Dumbledore was satisfied. Sure, the information he provided delayed attacks that would have kill hundreds, but he questioned whether the few hand-picked deaths were worth it.
What did it matter? His soul was already damned. And to think when he had first joined he had enjoyed it. Enjoyed it! He still had to play that part in front of Voldemort, but he also thought that Voldemort suspected something. He kept trying to catch him in a slip up- a missed meeting, being late, not fulfilling his wishes as ordered. There was no mercy or relief from either Voldemort or Dumbledore.
Another small pop woke Snape out of his reverie. Daschle placed the three items on the table, and Severus quickly snatched up the coffee.
It was bitter.
He set it back down to let it cool a bit. He decided to nibble on some toast as he leafed through the Daily Prophet. Honestly! When WERE cauldron bottoms going to be more regulated? Yet another old witch had spilt boiling pumpkin juice (which she thought would be a good place to keep it hot) all over her lap while stirring it, causing 3rd degree burns. She was lucky it wasn't a more dangerous concoction.
With a heavy sigh, he set the paper down. What day was it anyway? Taking a sip of coffee, he looked at the headline. It read-July 31st. 'Why was that important? Trash pick up? No. Chimney Sweep stopping by? No. Wait...oh, no that wasn't today!' Severus started to panic. 'I hope I'm not too late! I couldn't bear it if I let more people die because of my recklessness.
Without changing his clothes, Severus apperated to the Dursley's house. Impatiently he banged at the door.
Inside he heard people rustling about. "Alright, I'm coming!" Which was followed by a portly, bulbous-nosed, short man answering the door.
"What do you want this early in the morning?" the beady-eyed man gruffly spouted.
"I don't have time for pleasantries, just tell me where Potter is. Is he here?"
The look in the man's eyes shifted from mad to furious. "Oh, so you must be one of those freaks. Not only are you abnormal, you're impolite! I ought to..."
Vernon's words were cut off as Snape grabbed him by his neck, lifted him up and pushed against the doorframe.
"I don't have time for this. Now tell me is the boy is here or not?" Snape told him through clinched teeth.
"Up...upstairs."
"Thank you."
Snape rushed through the house. He found the bathroom and some equally portly boy's room before he found Harry.
Finally set stumbled upon a sparsely furnished room. The thing he had been looking for caught his eye immediately.
On the middle of the small bed lie Harry, drenched in sweat, clinching the covers and his teeth. He looked like he was in an extreme amount of pain.
"Oh no. I'm too late."
A/N- Why is Snape's house always called Snape Manor? Thanks to everyone who reviewed!
Snape awoke to find himself on the floor. 'I really should sweep more often,' he thought as he stood up and picked pieces of lint off his robes. However, seeing the letter also on the floor, He found his headache quickly progressing to a migraine.
' "You know what that entails." Just when I think things can't get any worse! It's almost Harry's fifteenth birthday. I'll have to...collect him before then, or who knows what the consequences could be.'
Severus sat in is favorite high-backed chair as he massaged his temples before any more memories about the past could surface. 'Why didn't she tell me sooner? She could have found someway to tell me. I knew that with the timing it was always possible, but he never showed any signs of being my son. Damn it! I never wanted children. I wanted the Snape line to end with me. The world doesn't need another Snape!'
Snape made his way through several rooms, finally coming to the room he had been advancing on- the room containing the liquor cabinet. He couldn't face Harry right now, no matter how pressing it was. Tomorrow he would go to the Dursley's and retrieve the boy, because tonight he would probably end up apperating into the middle of 50 of Mrs. Figg's cats.
He opened the cabinet door and removed a small bottle with the label removed and a glass. Snape slowly poured a viscous, black substance into the glass. It smelt like burning hair and day-old fish. With a sweeping arm gesture he threw back the drink and drifted into oblivion.
__________________
The next day flowed into the day after that, eventually spreading themselves into weeks. In the same manner he had for the past few weeks, Severus found himself curl up in a ball in his bed. Quickly he jumped out of bed and retched violently into the nearest water closet.
Wiping his mouth and throwing on a bathrobe, Severus made his way downstairs.
"Would you like some breakfast, sir?"
"Daschle, I would just like some toast, coffee, and the Daily Prophet, if you please."
"Yes, Daschle would be pleased to get these thing for you. Might say that it makes all of us house-elves happy to see you out of bed." Before Snape could reply Daschle disappeared with a small pop.
Snape pulled out a vial from his pocket and downed it. He hadn't eaten in several days, and he looked paler than normal (if that was even possible). His long fingers worked their way along the empty vial. How long had he been like this? His stomach told him more than there should have been.
Not eating regularly and going to death-eater meetings were taking their toll. His nerves were still numb from the night before. Voldemort seemed to have developed a fondness for casting the Crutiatus curse on ALL, whether they followed his orders perfectly or not, of his followers, as well as bringing in the occasional muggle for torture.
Snape wished he could just stop all the death. How many people would have to die in front of his eyes, and sometimes by his own hands, before Dumbledore was satisfied. Sure, the information he provided delayed attacks that would have kill hundreds, but he questioned whether the few hand-picked deaths were worth it.
What did it matter? His soul was already damned. And to think when he had first joined he had enjoyed it. Enjoyed it! He still had to play that part in front of Voldemort, but he also thought that Voldemort suspected something. He kept trying to catch him in a slip up- a missed meeting, being late, not fulfilling his wishes as ordered. There was no mercy or relief from either Voldemort or Dumbledore.
Another small pop woke Snape out of his reverie. Daschle placed the three items on the table, and Severus quickly snatched up the coffee.
It was bitter.
He set it back down to let it cool a bit. He decided to nibble on some toast as he leafed through the Daily Prophet. Honestly! When WERE cauldron bottoms going to be more regulated? Yet another old witch had spilt boiling pumpkin juice (which she thought would be a good place to keep it hot) all over her lap while stirring it, causing 3rd degree burns. She was lucky it wasn't a more dangerous concoction.
With a heavy sigh, he set the paper down. What day was it anyway? Taking a sip of coffee, he looked at the headline. It read-July 31st. 'Why was that important? Trash pick up? No. Chimney Sweep stopping by? No. Wait...oh, no that wasn't today!' Severus started to panic. 'I hope I'm not too late! I couldn't bear it if I let more people die because of my recklessness.
Without changing his clothes, Severus apperated to the Dursley's house. Impatiently he banged at the door.
Inside he heard people rustling about. "Alright, I'm coming!" Which was followed by a portly, bulbous-nosed, short man answering the door.
"What do you want this early in the morning?" the beady-eyed man gruffly spouted.
"I don't have time for pleasantries, just tell me where Potter is. Is he here?"
The look in the man's eyes shifted from mad to furious. "Oh, so you must be one of those freaks. Not only are you abnormal, you're impolite! I ought to..."
Vernon's words were cut off as Snape grabbed him by his neck, lifted him up and pushed against the doorframe.
"I don't have time for this. Now tell me is the boy is here or not?" Snape told him through clinched teeth.
"Up...upstairs."
"Thank you."
Snape rushed through the house. He found the bathroom and some equally portly boy's room before he found Harry.
Finally set stumbled upon a sparsely furnished room. The thing he had been looking for caught his eye immediately.
On the middle of the small bed lie Harry, drenched in sweat, clinching the covers and his teeth. He looked like he was in an extreme amount of pain.
"Oh no. I'm too late."
