Disclaimer: The Harry Potter-universe belongs to J.K.
Rowling… I'm only playing with it.
Is Snape really the 'hard-shell-soft-core' character
whom we love to describe (me, too!) in our snapefics? Maybe he mislead us… But maybe
we wanted to be mislead…
+++ a little secret +++
It is Friday morning, Snape is sitting at his desk during a Potions lesson, keeping a watchful eye on the students and letting his thoughts wander…
Yes, the people fear me. They fear and loathe me. Even the faces of the children in front of me reflect these emotions – already, although this is only their second Potions lesson. And I'm glad they do. Sometimes even I fear me – hate me, for what I had been, what I am, what I will be. I'm still the same monster I used to be, only nowadays I'm better in controlling myself; most of the times, that is. Nothing will change, not even in future. Or will it?
I'm glad they all try to avoid me, hide in the shadows or turn away as soon as I come somewhere near them. What would I do if any of them ever asked me why I had become a Death Eater? Like the Potter-boy once nearly did? Would I tell the truth?
It's so simple, the answer, so plain but nevertheless shocking – at least for the person asking. For me it's just a part of my nature which I can't deny, from which I can't hide. But then again, I don't think I'd give an honest answer. I've accepted the reason for becoming a Death Eater, enjoyed it till the end and would still do it, if Albus Dumbledore hadn't stopped me. Yes, Albus Dumbledore. Sometimes I hate him for stopping me. Sometimes I could kiss his feet for having been able to stop me – but not today: Today is Friday and the influence of the potion he forces me to drink every Monday morning is getting noticeable weaker.
The students claim that the Friday's Potions lessons are the worst. How right they are, these hours are also for me the most unendurable ones. But they are getting better. At least for me.
But what is it, the truth which I know to hide so well? What's the core of my nature? So simple…: Voldemort. No, I don't love him, rather the opposite, although I don't loathe him the same way I hate Albus Dumbledore. The Dark Lord showed me what had been slumbering deep in my soul and just waited to be awakened. Not a second did he hesitate to free the beast in me – and for that I could kill him; especially at the beginning of the week. But today is Friday.
He had tormented and tortured people – in front of my eyes. And I had savoured it. I had loved it. I still do and will always. Deep within me the passion and the hunger for it still burns.
He had showed me the infinite possibilities to torment a human being, let them suffer until their souls leave their bodies. From him I learned the use of the Unforgivable Ones up to perfection. Cruciatus; from a soft tingling on the skin unto letting each and every blood vessel explode in the body of the victim, one after one.
Never had I thought how much it would stimulate me to see a human being lying on the ground in front of me, writhing in pain and begging for mercy. Voldemort had welcomed it, as well as I, and I had taken what I wanted. Tormented, tortured, abused; raped. The thirst for blood, for the screams of the countless women, the pain in their eyes, the hatred, the fear. This had been my beast which longed for it and purred contently when it had its needs satisfied. It had been and will always be like this…
Or at least it would be, if there hadn't been Albus Dumbledore. He perceived it, grabbed me and forced me to make a promise. An oath, which I now grievously regret. Nowadays more than before. It had been clever of him, incredible smart – hadn't I sworn it, Albus Dumbledore would truly be dead by now. But I still have it, the sense of honour, albeit there's not much left of it anymore. And therefore this man is inviolable to me, as well as all the children around me. I hate him.
The beast within me growls again and rattles at the bars of its cage. Its prison; the potion I drink each week. I look into the eyes of the children and imagine what I could do with them. With my inner ear I hear their screams, my hands twitch at the thought of the agony I could cause them and the pleasure it would bring me.
... Gradually I start to believe as if my body starts to build up a resistance to the potion. A few weeks ago such thoughts would have never been able to reach my consciousness, at least not during the day, but especially not already on Friday: Saturday and Sunday are still to come before I have to take the potion again. I guess I should speak with Albus Dumbledore. He should increase the dosage.
But then again… looking into these innocent children's eyes in front of me… maybe I refrain from mentioning anything to him. Keep it to myself. My little secret.
*** The End ***
English is not my first language… but thank Goddess there are beta-readers; a HUGE THANK YOU to Arwena for editing this story.
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