Disclaimer: I own nothing except half of my CD collection and my Discman (which is currently being run on borrowed batteries), and my collection of multi-coloured stripy socks. Though I wish I owned Snape. Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, and the song Berry belongs to Dir en Grey. Carry on.
A/N: Snape angst, Implied rape, attempted suicide, sorta death-fic. One shot. Songfic.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it! I'll be good! I'm gonna' kill you, I'm gonna blow your head off like raspberry jam!"
He was in a dark hallway. It was so familiar to him. Stretching out before him. One the walls flanking either side of the hall were deformed candles, melted into shapes assuming the forms of humans writhing in pain, sitting in silver brackets on the walls flickering against the cold, haunting breeze that swept through the old mansion as the wind outside howled. The rain pounded the large windows, rattling them like a pile of one thousand human bones. It was all too familiar to him. But how, why, had he returned here; to this place he no longer considered a home? Not since he was six.Daddy mommy sad my favourite ice cream is strawberry
Daddy mommy mad my beloved kitten's name is strawberry
A door at the end of the hall creaked open, an eerie light around the edges drawing him forward. Curiosity nagging at his insides as well as fear. Walking down the long hallway, he cringed mentally as his footsteps echoed spookily through the house, creaking the floor beneath his feet. Finally, as if an eternity had passed, he extended his arm out to push the door aside. A horrifying picture met his dark eyes. Lying helpless inside the bedroom the colour of dried blood was----Daddy mommy sad strawberry pouring out of me
Daddy mommy mad strawberry poured out of dad
Daddy mommy bad strawberry poured out of mommy
Daddy mommy abuse bruise on my body, the wounds increase,
…Himself. Only he was a boy no older than nine. His shoulder length obsidian hair was strewn out under him, sticking to his pale features with sweat and tears. He was in his bedroom, watching a memory; and not a very pleasant one. From the corner of the young boy's mouth spit and blood had gathered, flowing down his chin, dripping onto the dirty grey bed sheets. Atop him sat a man who possessed the same dark eyes and long nose as he, stratling him, swearing at him, pinning his arms to the bed. To the Potions master it was like watching a movie, only he was in it—affixed in the doorway looking on in horror.Nine years since my conception, I sleep with the cat in my bed every night
Nothing changes I always put lots of jam on my favourite morning bread.
In the corner sat a sobbing woman, curled into a protective ball, blood seeping from a deep gash on her tear-streaked cheek. Across her arms and hysterical features were spread a series of bruises as she watched her only son being robbed of his innocence.
Closing his eyes tight, Severus backed out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him. Across the hall another door was ajar, emitting the same shallow glow as the one before it. He opened it, and stepped inside.
pouring out all the dark red ice cream.
A greasy-haired teenager sat upon a bed in the dead of night, curled into a ball, staring blankly over his knees at a stone wall. Around him in their own beds, lay a dozen other Slytherin boys, fast asleep. A silent tear crept down the boy's pallid features. Another bad memory—or was this a good one?
Standing, the adolescent padded across the room to a desk in the corner and pulled a piece of parchment from the drawer, along with a quill and a bottle of ink as black as his eyes. Using his wand (Lumos) he scribbled a note onto the parchment and dropped the quill onto the oaken desk. Opening another drawer, he produced a small bottle, stuffed it into his robes pocket, and stole out of the room.
Once again the man backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He stepped up to the next, wondering to himself what secrets of his past may lie behind the large slab of wood. He opened the door, letting a wry grin grace his features. Inside was the same adolescent he'd seen in the previous room, only here he was laying unconscious in the Hospital Wing. Madame Durnce bent over him, white with worry as she checked his pulse for the 12th time since the boy had arrived. Professor Dumbledore stood on the other side of the bed, hands clasped anxiously in front of him, a worried from upon his face. "Well?" He asked quietly.
The nurse shook her head. "I still don't know if he'll be able to pull through this time. The pills he consumed had quite an effect on his body."
"I still do not see why such a clever young boy like himself would wish to cut his life so short. He has such a promising future ahead of him. He could be anything."
"We may never know…."
He shut this door as well.
I snuck a peek at what my daddy kept in his drawer and pulled the thing far in the back out to play with.
Stepping up to the final door, he braced himself, and pushed it open. Here was a scene he had never before witnessed. Around him was a vast field of green grass and flowers. There was nothing as far as the eye could see, not even the door he had come through. Before him was an ominous looking old tree. A slight breeze rippled the grass, fluttering flower petals and leaves, bringing with it the sweet scent of Spring. He took a tentive step towards the tree, and noticed beneath it a large carved stone protruding from the earth at the trunk. It was surrounded by a ring of perfect black and red roses.
He stepped forward to read the words inscribed upon the polished black stone and was shocked to see a Date-of-Birth, Date-of-Death. Below was scribed, "Here lies our beloved friend and ally, who fought so hard against the forces of black and white, and brought us to victory."
Above it all in spiky letters was his own name.
Tears stung the Potion master's eyes and he felt as though he was going to be ill. Like he was falling through an endless void.
Like he was falling….I sneak up on my mommy and daddy
When they fall asleep, shall I shoot through
He woke with a start, sitting bolt upright, and glanced around, only to realize he was now on the floor next to his bed. He was back in his room in the dungeons under Hogwarts, school for witchcraft and wizardry. His obsidian hair hung limply in his eyes, dripping with a cold clammy sweat. Wiping spit from his mouth with one hand, he rubbed sleep from his eyes with the other and felt a liquid dripping from his eyes. Tears?
Banging brought him sharply back to reality. Someone was at his door. Who would come to his chambers at this time of night? Glancing at the small rectangular window high on the wall in the far corner of his room, he frowned. It was light outside, but overcast… and snowing. Severus hated the snow. Standing shakily to his feet, he made his way to the door, grabbing his wand off the bedside table as he went. Unlocking the heavy door, he swung it open to reveal Minerva McGonagoll, looking rather concerned about something. She stared at him for a moment before saying, "It's already well past noon, where have you been? We had to convince Professor Grubblypalnk to cover for your classes on her day off!" She stopped, suddenly looking extremely worried, and he realized what a sight he must have been. His hair was damp with sweat and sticking out in odd places, he was pale, sweating and looking like he hadn't slept in days. He still wore his robes from the day before, not bothering to change before climbing onto bed, and they were heavily wrinkled. Not to mention he reeked heavily of BO and urine.
"Did you just wake up? You look terrible! Are you feeling all right? You aren't running a fever, are you Severus? Oh, tell me you're not ill!" She rushed forward to place a cool hand on his forehead and she almost immediately snatched it away, her frown deepening. "Oh, dear, you do. Perhaps you should see Poppy. Severus? What's that?" Her gaze fell to his left hand, which was hanging limply at his side. He lifted it to his face to witness a red sticky substance gliding down his fingers from his knuckles. She gasped. "You're bleeding!"
Staring blankly at his hand, he replied in a dead tone, void of all emotion and strength, "It would appear so." He must have smacked it on something as he thrashed about in his sleep.
Still staring at his hand, his knees buckled out from under him, his eyes sliding closed as he collapsed. Was it exhaustion, fever? Or more? Maybe he was dying?
He didn't care as long as he felt this good the whole time.I'm hungry, I'll eat my
Favourite bread with jam, put the
Pistol to their temples.
The last thing he heard before a wave of blackness washed over him was the piercing cry of McGonagoll screaming his name in terror. Or was that his mother, crying out from the dark corner of his bedroom as she cast an Unforgivable curse upon he husband, to save herself... or her son? Maybe it was the sound of a fourth year who'd found a dying Slytherin sixth year crumpled in a cold heap upon a bathroom floor at nine o'clock in the morning. Whatever it was, it was just a memory to him now. A memory from a past he no longer cared for. Perhaps maybe one day he would, but not now.
he could no longer go back
Artist: Dir en Grey