Disclaimer: None of the things you recognize is mine (though i wish some of them were)
Spoiler: All HP books up to OotP
A/N: Thanks for those who reviewed for my other work! You've no idea how much you reviews motivates me.
My confession- Snape
Potter is dead. So is Black...
Two devastating figures in my world are dead. Gone. I should be glad. But a sense of guilt overwhelms me. Though gone, their presence still remains. Their glories and their deaths. The shadow they cast over my soul had never stood taller and darker. I guess it is true, the saying- A dead man is bigger than life.
I am Severus Snape and join me in this world of remorse. A world without glory.
My life is drowned in the house of Slytherin. Not true house of Salazar Slytherin, but Slytherin. A house of deceit and power. A struggling ladder. A place where only the fittest survived.
Therefore, I never liked Potter and Black. They were unworthy of the many things they got. The glory that they had. In fact, I must say, I hated them and they I. The feelings were mutual. Till the very end. Their pitiful excuse for hating me was that I was 'up to my eyes in dark arts'. But it's a part of survival, a survival they took no part in until they graduated. It was a necessity when one can't turn his back to his 'friends'.
When Potter saved me that night in my sixth year, I thought I could not hate him more as Professor Dumbledore made me swore not to tell anyone about that incident. I've had convinced myself that Potter 'chickened out' from the prank. I truly did believe that, but I can never change the fact that he had saved my life. And I am forever in his debt. For the rest of my life.
I was wrong. Wrong about the extent of my hate for Potter and Black. This hate mounted the day I found myself in front of him and him with the position of Head Boy- my goal. It was a position I've wanted. The glory I've yearned since I set feet into Hogwarts. I was livid with hate. He did not deserve it.
Until this day, I still have no clue what had driven the Headmaster to promote such a...an unworthy candidate. He wasn't even a prefect.
Potter worked with Evans that year. Lily Evans, the 'Mudblood'.
The word 'Mudblood' never really bothered me then. My parents were conservative. They, similar to the Malfoys, believed in power through marriage and the purity of bloodlines. 'Mudblood' was a word I was acquainted with since an early age in that cold home.
Thinking back, I must admit that Lily Evans was a remarkable witch. Though Muggle-born, her power rose beyond her peers, pureblood and muggle-born alike. She and her love was a fire, a light. The light that casts Potter and Black's shadows on me. I had never recognized Evans true quality until that night when my conscience came hammering into my life. She was truly a brilliant witch, the epitome of love. Worthy of all titles given to her.
I was in the Dark Lord's service right after I graduated. I had thought that it was the fastest route to power, to success and glory. In Lord Voldemort's service, I've only seen horror. So much terror and pain that were done to others. I've seen the blood on the Dark Lord's hands. I can still see the blood stains on my hand. Though not visible, but always present.
I turned back that night Harry Potter survived through the power of Lily Evans' selfless devotion. Repented my ways. Dumbledore became my mentor and Hogwarts my shelter. I've been here for years. I've anticipated the arrival of the Potter's only child. It was expected. The child of two, I grudgingly admit, capable wizard folk.
When the Potter's child entered the doors of the Great hall, I did not need to be told who the son of Potter was. It was on his face. The same arrogance. The same ignorance. The same want for attention. Dislike mounted in heaps as I remembered the debt that I've yet to repay Potter. Harry Potter was his legacy. It was by Harry, that I can only repay my lifelong debt to Potter.
It was a sense of satisfaction that day when Potter stepped out of my classroom. The look of humiliation on his face was salves to the wounds in my pride. The wounds inflicted by the glory of the deceased James Potter. It was unnecessary; I honestly confess it was wrong of me. But the years of suppressed anger and contempt drove me.
That year, Quierrel was at school. A new follower to the Dark Lord. Pitiful excuse of a man. Just like I was. A sucker to power and success. In the end, he gained neither but his own death. He was what I imagined as my shadow. He was what I might have turned out to be if my conscious did not kick in.
With his attempts to eliminate Potter's only son, my debt was involved. Part of my debt was repaid through my acts. Only part though. Every time I looked at the scars left on my arms that night and the overpowering mark of the Dark Lord, I still felt the sense of owing and guilt in my heart.
The next year, Lockhart came. It was a shame to all teachers. I did not know the reasons behind Dumbledore's decision to hire such an ill qualified man for such an important subject. Through that year, I've seen Lockhart boasted instead of taught. What appalled me more was the reasonless affection many of the females had for him. Miss Granger's obvious devotions surprised me the most. It saddened me to see a witch with such potential to fall under such superficial charm. To ensure Potter's safety in the future, I paired him up with Draco Malfoy in the dueling club.
Draco Malfoy...a boy I want to help. He is what I was in my youth. Willing to please and prejudice. A boy from a truly dark family, contrary to their light appearance. The boy was taught about Dark Arts the moment he was able to walk. Potter dueling with him had hopefully learnt something.
In that year, the Basilisk was set free within Hogwarts by the Weasley girl. It was obvious that she did not let the monster out consciously. But through Riddle's diary, she did. The guilt was immense within her. I remembered seeing the bounce in her steps and light within her eyes when she entered the hall. It was gone when she depart that year. She left as a woman in the shell of a young girl. She was brave, a true Gryffindor, surviving the Dark Lord. One of the only true survivors. I admire her like I admire Lily Evans. Sincerely.
In Potter's third year, his father's most annoying traits showed up in him. His adventurous and idealistic nature. Black escaped from Azkaban that year. I didn't know how he managed, but he did. (Lupin came and taught Defense. I will admit that Lupin was thorough and experienced with his subject area unlike the predecessors. But years of animosity from either part made me dislike him.) When I've finally captured my childhood nemesis, it was a sense of satisfaction. I felt brilliant to finally achieve the job of capturing Black. I was finally putting Black in his place. I would've done anything to get my hands on him. I could never forgive Black for trying to kill me and putting me forever in his best friend's debt.
Potter helped him escape.
I knew he did it. I just didn't know how. Professor Dumbledore was with him the whole time. But there was obviously foul play from his part. That was like my mentor. It is aggravating, sometimes.
Two years ago, the Dark Lord returned through Peter Pettigrew. The sidekick of Potter and Black. It was rather ironic. To know that a supposed 'friend' undone Lily Evans' magic in Potter. That day after the tournament, where Diggory came back dead, Dumbledore asked me the question I've dreaded.
"Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready...if you are prepared..."
I knew it would happen sometime, sooner or later. But it didn't stop the horror that question brought to me. I was to return to the service of the Lord Voldemort, working as a spy. The Mark on my arm burnt more painfully than it did in years. The blood stains seemed clearer. Black had appeared from his animagus form.
The sneer was still his face. That glare from his youth was still strong in his worn and sallow face. I thought that years would wash away the immaturity from him. But the fact remained that he was still the headstrong boy he once was when we shook hands under the observation of our mentor.
I did in fact rejoin the ranks of the Death Eater. I once again was away from my sanctuary and was exposed to the horror I tried to escape years ago. The blood. The anguish. And the fear.
The new Order was set in 12 Grimmauld Place. How...ironic. It was the house of the 'Noble and Most Ancient' house of the Blacks. A family whose hate for Muggle-borns that rivaled the Malfoys. The Blacks are all dead. I am partially guilty for killing their last heir.
This year, Ministry's involved themselves in Hogwarts. The Dark Lord became more active than he had been for years. Occlumency was necessary to be taught to Potter. Dumbledore had requested me to teach Harry Potter. He could have taught Potter himself. I believe it was his way trying to clear the abhorrence between us. It never worked. I was half hearted in my teaching, provoking him and possibly slowing his progress. The only thing I was glad was that Potter found out about the truth of his horrendous father. The only satisfaction from those lessons was that Saint Potter learnt that his father was not all wonderful.
That had resulted in another man's blood stain on my hand.
I killed Sirius Black.
Years of animosity remains. But the last of my childhood enemies was dead. I killed him, though not directly. Bellatrix did the job. His own cousin killed him in a duel that would not take place if it weren't for me.
It was guilt that overwhelmed me when I learnt about his death. Not contentment. Not the satisfaction of knowing Black got what was coming to him. I still hate him, but he has my respect now, something I do not want to give.
Black died gloriously. Defending his belief and his god son.
History repeated itself. Once again. Like all those years ago.
Their glory is the same. Their brightest moments. James Potter and Sirius Black. Though sixteen years apart, they are the same. Gryffindors. Fatherly figures of Harry Potter. They killed themselves for the boy. Because they loved the boy. It was their glory- their love. It was a glory I don't think I can achieve.
Now that they are gone, all of my animosity for them is worthless. Only my respect and guilt remain. And the debt I've yet to pay.
A/N: Thanks for reading this I hope you like this! Please review! Also, suggestions are always welcome!! Tell me who you want to read about! I'll really work on it. Honest! Again, please review!
Oh yeah...a lil' advertisement Sequel to 'it wasn't enough to keep you' is posted Please feel free to go and read it! Please, please, please!!