Eruption
By: ChoCedric
Severus Snape paced his office, his pupils dilated, his fists clenched, anger pouring out of his system. It had been a long, long time since he had lost control to this extent, since he had let all his barriers down and let the fury and rage boil through him like volcanic acid. He didn't even practice Occlumency at this moment; if anyone had wanted to read his mind, it would have been right there, plain to see. He was shaking all over, and his head was pounding from the fury roiling through him. He always tried to keep his emotions under control, but now, they simmered to the surface and burst out through their pores. He was so furious, so livid. He could hardly breathe, his rage was so enormous.
Harry Potter had really done it now. If Snape hadn't known better, he'd have thought James Potter had come back from the dead and travelled back in time, and changed his eye color just to spite him. The same messy mop of black hair, the same nose, the same strut, the same voice, the same whiny tone as he made excuses ... it made him sick. Harry Potter was an arrogant, ignorant, selfish little twerp who didn't deserve to be on the planet. He had gambled his mother's sacrifice, the sacrifice of the only woman Snape had ever loved, all for a romp in Hogsmeade and a pathetic bag of sweets.
And Lupin, just as Severus knew he would, covered for him! God, he hated the werewolf as well. He knew, from the instant Dumbledore hired him for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, that he would pander to Potter, act as though he had his best friend back. The man was so spineless, so needy. Severus snarled as he thought of the man's calm demeanor as he faced Potter. He hadn't been bothered at all by the boy's blatant act of rule-breaking, by his stupidity. He knew exactly what the boy had done, yet talked to him as though he were a perfectly decent human being.
Feeling out of control, Snape picked up a number of vials from his private stores and threw them onto the floor, hearing them shatter into a million pieces. He had placed a Silencing Charm around the room a minute previously, so no one could hear his breakdown. He could hear his moronic Muggle father telling him it was weak to show emotion, but right now, he didn't care. He picked up vial after vial, screaming and howling like a wild animal. Lily, oh, Lily, if only she could see her son now. The boy was a selfish, spoiled brat, only caring about himself. He didn't give a damn that a mass murderer was on the loose, he didn't give a damn that others were looking out for him, and above all, he didn't give a damn that his mother, whose beautiful red hair used to shine in the sun as she played hide-and-seek with a young Severus, laughing all the way, had given her life for him.
Severus would always, always remember finding her prone, lifeless body in Godric's Hollow, the eyes which used to shine at him now blank and staring wide, wide, wide, a look of pleading on her face. Severus could tell that before her life had been snuffed out, she had been screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming.
And it had all been for nothing, hadn't it? Potter was going to get himself killed. His mother's shrieks and pleads for his life ... his puny, worthless life ... meant nothing. And to top it all off, Snape had found out that Potter heard her scream whenever the dementors came near. How rotten, how pathetic could the boy be, to still go gallivanting about after he heard that, after he heard what she had been through just to keep him alive?
Minutes passed, and still the flood of rage did not ebb. Vial after vial clattered onto the floor, howls of fury and misery emanating from Snape's mouth. "He is nothing, Lily!" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. "Why? Why did you sacrifice yourself for him? He should mean nothing to you! You mean nothing to him, after all!"
He knew he would have to replenish his stores after this outburst, but he didn't care. He knew he would feel small and ashamed, ashamed that he had let his emotions run free, but he didn't care. All he cared about now was that his Lily was gone, and her gormless son didn't give a damn. And Lupin, who had been her best friend ... he let the boy get away with it, as did the sainted Headmaster, who only chuckled and twinkled and would say, "He is just a child, Severus. Only a child. Let him be."
But how could he? How could Severus "let him be"? The boy was going to die. He would lie in a heap on the floor, his emerald eyes just as lifeless as hers had been. The image played over and over again in Snape's mind, and he choked, "I'm sorry, Lily. I'm so, so sorry. That boy ... he was the death of you. I'm so, so sorry."
And he knew, as he let out another long, painful howl, that he'd have to put up with this for another four-and-a-half years. He finally collapsed into his chair, his head down, angry tears finally streaming down his face.
Potter was nothing, while Lily had been everything. And there wasn't a thing he could do to bring her back, to feel her small, delicate arms around him again, to smell the scent of her beautiful red hair, to see her enchanting emerald eyes shining for him and only him.
Because Potter was all that was left of her. And, he reiterated to himself as the tears continued flowing, he was nothing but a selfish, worthless brat who didn't care about her at all.
And that, more than anything, was what hurt the most.