Chapter 2
Severus Snape
A dark man was sitting in a worn brown leather chair that was facing a fire place. Inside of the fire place, a warm fire was crackling away, the only sign of anything unusual about it was the fact that the flames were a bright blue rather than their normal orange, red, yellow and white colors.
The man himself had a rather sad look on his face, his eyes glazed over as he thought about the past. How he had been used over and over and over again. He had finally been used once too many times, and now, now he was ready to stop it. He finally had the strength of will to stop it. For a moment, a slight smile flittered across his lips, but if anyone had been there to witness it, they would have written it off as a passing fancy of their own rather than the fact that the man had almost smiled.
Rain.
He was like the rain. It was used by everyone and everything. The earth used it, the plants used it, animals used it, people used it, and even lakes, rivers, seas and oceans used the rain! Rain was always used and never thought of. No one ever thought to thank or even consider the rain. All they ever did was expect it and wait to use it for their own gain and purposes.
Dong.
The clock in the corner began to chime and the dour man peered over at it, considering. Even though he could see what time it was, the man silently counted the chims.
Dong.
He was tired of being used.
Dong.
He had been used by his father.
Dong.
He had been used by his mother.
Dong.
He had been used by his only friend, Regulus Black.
Dong.
He had been used by his potions professor, Slughorn.
Dong.
He had been used by the woman he had loved, Lily Potter.
Dong.
He had been used by the headmaster.
Dong.
He had been used by Sirius Black.
Dong.
He had been used by Voldemort.
Dong.
He had been used by the wizarding world.
Dong.
Finally, he just close his eyes when the chiming ceased. He reached up to his breast pocket with his right hand and extracted a small vial that was filled with a transparent yellow liquid. He slowly removed the stopper with his left hand and then inhaled the fumes that was released from the unstoppered vial.
Rain.
He loved the smell of rain. A smile made it's way across his thin lips and then drank the yellow liquid slowly, letting it cover his tongue, trickle down his throat and into his stomach. He then dropped the vial, relaxing against his chair,his eyes closing. After five minutes passed, the man had failed to move, completely relaxed, appearing to be asleep in his chair. The only problem was the fact that his chest failed to move to prove any sign of breath.
In the silent room, the fire crackled away while outside, it rained.
Rain.
An elderly man made his way down to the dungeons of his school, his cheerful expression that was usually on his face was absent. In it's place was a sad and worried look. In his hand he held a note from a young man whom he had cared for, for many years and had passed away earlier that morn.
The elderly man's purpose in those dungeons was to check up upon his potions professor whom had earlier failed to show up at the young man's belated surprise birthday party. Even though the elderly man was aware that his potions professor hated attending social functions and the young man himself, he would have still shown up just to toss around a few insults towards the young man's godfather for they were the worst of enemies, or so they claimed.
The elderly man, by the name of Albus Dumbledore, came to a hault in front of a statue of Grindewald, the dark wizard whom Albus Dumbledore himself had defeated. Smiling slightly at his potion professor's humor in trying to keep him away, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, lifted up his hand and whispered 'McGonnagal', the password that would allow him to enter the guarded room.
The statue moved aside and Albus swept in. He looked about the room, shaking his head at the dark state of the room. Why the potions master insisted on keeping rooms so dark was a mystery to him. Who couldn't love the vibrancy of colors that represented life in general?
He then walked around the chair that was sitting in front of the fireplace, facing away from the door. He found his potions master fast asleep, a small smile on his lips. Albus smiled slightly, his blue eyes twinkling slightly. So this was why he had failed to arrive earlier. He had been so tired that he had fallen asleep in his armchair and had slept through the mornings events.
Albus took a step towards the man, to wake him up and felt something underneath of his foot.
Crunch.
Albus took a step back and peered down in the dim lighting. It looked like he had stepped on a vial. Frowning, Albus turned back towards his potions professor. Reaching over, Albus shook his shoulder. The look of concern instantly turned to one of fear. The potions master was as stiff as a board.
Albus touched the man's cheek and found it ice cold. Suddenly, realization washed over the headmaster, who fell to his knees, tears filling his eyes.
The dead man before him was the man whom he had considered a son. He had loved him dearly, only ever wanting the best for him. It had broken his heart every time he had gone back to Voldemort to gain more information for their side, making his heart freeze in fear that he might not return. He had begged him numerous times to quit spying, but he had always refused.
And now, now that Voldemort was finally dead, and the man had a chance to live in freedom, he was dead. Dead by his own hand.
With tears spilling down his cheeks, Albus Dumbledore managed to choak out a heart wrenching question.
"Why Severus? Why did you kill yourself?"
Severus Snape was dead, and so thus, could not answer.