Summary:
I would scream if it weren’t for his hand covering my mouth.
I feel the cold evening breeze against my backside. I wasn’t stupid; even then, I had an idea of what was coming. But I had no idea of how much it was going to hurt.
He tore the top of my smart, black corduroys. All the time I hoped against hope that he was just looking for my wallet – he would steal my money then leave me alone.
But good things like that just don’t happen to Severus Snape.
I feel something hot and slimy-
God I hope that noise wasn’t me screaming.
I’m sitting up in bed; the nightmare replays itself for me. Lord knows I wouldn’t have wanted to miss a single detail. My skin is cold, but drenched in sweat nonetheless.
My ears are ringing, I’m pretty sure I did scream before I woke up.
Worse than that are the twin tracks down my cheeks.
I’ve been crying.
My first instinct is to hurt myself, punish myself for being so pathetic.
It was thirty years ago – GET OVER IT!
I hate myself. That is the god honest truth.
I’m just too gutless to gather the courage to end this miserable, pathetic existence.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve held a polished dagger to my wrists, promised myself the suffering would end here and now, then chickened out.
Each of these failed attempts left me more hollow than I was before.
If I’d had friends… it doesn’t serve one to dwell on what might have been, but I can’t help thinking things would have been so different. I could have forgotten by now. Instead of sitting here thinking about being lonely, confused and downright miserable, I could be sitting here thinking about one of the times my friends and I had pulled a prank on the caretaker, or the class swot – considering it wouldn’t have been me in this strange alternate reality. But no. I don’t recall what it was exactly that I did, but on the first day I’d sealed my fate for the rest of my school days. University days. Teaching days.
I’ll mark essays until the sun comes up.
It’s Saturday morning.
From my bedroom window I can see teams practising for this year’s House Quidditch Cup.
I think I’ll head to Hogsmeade, spend the day in the Three Broomsticks, drowning my sorrows. Ha, that’s a joke. It would take half an ocean to submerse my sorrows.
The pain in my head is driving me to the very brink of insanity, I am at the point where nothing less than a knife through my brain could stop me thinking about that incident.
And nothing less than the most potent of poisons could stop the thrashing of my brain against the inside of my skull.
More than anything in the world I want to be dead.
To have the courage to finally do it is more than I should ever hope for.
I’ve never been loved, and I’ve never loved anyone. My existence has been an ugly mockery of a life.
In my mind’s eye I’m lying on my bed, eyes open, wrists slashed. Waiting for that blissful moment when my brain is finally starved of oxygen.
No.
Three hours later I’m sitting in the Three Broomsticks, knocking back shots of an alcoholic concoction known as Hot Blood. And it is hot. It seems like the only pleasure I get these days is that feeling of booze scorching down my throat.
I twist my face into a polite smile as Rosmerta asks if I’m okay.
Smile and nod, smile and nod.
She doesn’t fall for it but she leaves me alone and that’s enough.
I’m not paranoid, but I know when someone is talking about me. Two wizards sitting in a corner wearing purple robes keep looking at me. I’ve heard the words ‘eater’ and ‘death’ although not in that order. No one can do anything about that though.
Why? Why did I join Voldemort? I would have thought that would be obvious.
Revenge has always been my goal. I got revenge, didn’t I? James is dead.
That’s what I wanted.
But still I lie to myself. I didn’t want revenge on James, it wasn’t James’ fault. I doubt he even had the faintest idea of what-
Oh no.
The door is flung open.
It’s Sirius. He looks around for a moment, sees me, glares, then storms over.
“You’ve been giving Harry a hard time and I have had just about enough of your fucking bad attitude!” he says in a voice that doesn’t quite qualify as shouting if only because of the volume, the anger is there.
There’s going to be pain before this is settled.
Sirius was always violent.
I stand and walk towards the door.
“You’re not walking away from this Snape!” he follows.
He grabs me by the shoulder just outside the pub.
“I’ll tell you about attitude.” I say, my voice is calm, as always, I know it annoys him,
“I’ll tell you about you’re precious Godson’s attitude. I caught him smoking gillyweed with the Weasley twins.” I’ve been holding on to this golden piece of knowledge for weeks now, using it to threaten the boys into being good. Potter must have known I’d tell Sirius, or maybe he really was so stupid he thought I’d keep it to myself.
“Harry wouldn’t do that.” Sirius barked, but his eyes weren’t too sure.
I’d succeeded in knocking him a little off kilter.
“Do you really need to resort to a truth potion?” I can feel the muscles in my face spasming, a real smile. Sirius knows I have never lied to him about anything.
“No, I’ve never heard you lie, I don’t see why you’d start now.” He stands there looking stupid. Ah, success. For a brief moment I’m glad I’m not dead.
“When? When did you see this?” he asks, regaining his composure fast, determined to make something my fault.
“About four weeks ago, I was up-“
Sirius’ fist slams into the side of my face with such force that I fall over backwards.
There’s the pain.
“You should have told me sooner.” He says. He’s standing over me, looking down his nose at me the same way he always has done. He kicks me gently in the ribs. “Get up.”
I stand and brush the dust off my robes. With a minute movement of his head Sirius indicates that I should follow him.
I concentrate my attention on the pain brewing in the side of my face, lusting at that feeling as nerves excitedly pass on the message. It’s my turn to follow him.
It’s funny how Slytherin were always portrayed as the bad guys, when it was Sirius Black, a golden Gryffindor who was always beating me up for the sheer fun of it. Oh I don’t blame him for being protective over James, I doubt it was easy for him to make friends, him being such a bastard and everything.
As usual I’m being stupidly naïve. Following him because he’s told me to, I realise now where he’s taking me – around the back of the Shrieking Shack.
Maybe he’s going to kill me; end everyone’s misery.
Whatever is happening I imagine there will be a confrontation of sorts.
“What is your problem, Snape?”
“The Potter family. Past and present.”
“You only knew James, and you were prejudiced against Harry before you even met him-“
“Frederick.”
“You knew James’ father? How?” He’s questioning me. Oh the hilarity. If you only knew the sins of Frederick Potter. “Let me guess,” Black continues, “Your dad and James’ dad didn’t get on, their parents didn’t get on etc, tell me this isn’t some sort of family feud passed down through the generations!” He’s laughing at me. I can’t even shake my head.
A combination of alcohol and anger make me feel sick.
Sirius is laughing at the fact that I hate the family of the man who raped me.
“Frederick Potter is the only one I have the right to hate.” I’m muttering, it is not my intention that Black should hear; I’m simply reminding myself because I think I might be going insane.
“Frederick died when James was fifteen. What’s your problem with a dead man you probably never even met?” Sirius looks angry now. How dare I speak ill of his dead friend’s dead father?
Images are swimming in front of my eyes. I can feel several shot-loads of Hot Blood creeping back up. Suddenly I’m top-heavy; I topple forwards landing on my knees at Sirius’ feet. It takes a last second change of heart to make me turn and not vomit over his shiny shoes.
“Severus,” Sirius commands as I repeatedly retch, bringing up bile and stomach lining, “What’s wrong with you?”
I am never going to live this down; Sirius kneels down next to me, pretends to care. He doesn’t understand, I just want to be on my own.
I push him away.
Standing up is hard, dizziness almost knocks me straight back down, but I make it to the fence, using it’s rotten posts to support me while I struggle back to full consciousness.
Black is behind me, I can feel his hand on my shoulder; I shrug it off.
“That’s it. There’s something wrong with you, I’m going to get Dumbledore.”
I know he won’t, but it works anyway.
I turn and grab his arm; my grip is strong even though the rest of me feels weak as a kitten.
“Then tell me what’s wrong with you. It’s something to do with Frederick Potter, isn’t it?” He’s not slow, that Sirius Black.
A year ago I would have told him not to be so stupid, then I would have turned round and left. But the nightmares swimming around my head won’t let me leave the issue. And some part of me wants Sirius to know, to understand how the Potters really were.
“He r-“ But this is new. I can’t say the word out loud. My brain must have foreseen this scenario and prepared a contingency plan; mute me.
Sirius is looking at me with an expression that I want to register as compassion, but I mustn’t. No one feels compassion towards Severus Snape.
He is curious.
If only there was some other way I could convey the information to him, I certainly can’t say it, it’s as if the words can’t be formed by my voice. But I can say something.
I can leave Sirius to work out what really happened for himself.
“I met him before I met James. A few weeks before the start of term – the very first term – I was shopping in Diagon Alley, getting my quills et cetera.” I still have the quill I bought that day; it’s in my room now. “It was late and I was on my own. I’d got a wand and was chasing a cat down a dark alleyway, I had a spell to turn it green or something, anyway, the cat got away and when I turned around there was a man standing there. I don’t have to tell you what he looked like – you already know.”
Messy dark hair, round glasses, green eyes, lean frame…
Sirius nods.
“Would you believe me if I told you he was pissed beyond reason?”
Now it’s silent. Sirius neither nods nor shakes his head. He is staring into my eyes, he knows that I speak only the truth; if I say Potter was drunk – then he was drunk.
“I’m still trying to imagine you chasing that cat.” He says, of course Sirius Black didn’t know me back when I was carefree. And innocent.
A muscle twitches by the corner of his mouth; I think he’s trying not to smile.
“I didn’t even think to be worried at first. He was a grown-up, he was probably just going to ask me what I was doing out so late.” Either denial or naivety.
I look up and Sirius is frowning – he’s starting to get the picture.
“But he didn’t ask, he didn’t say a thing. He grabbed me by the throat and pushed me face-first into the wall.” I pause again; sneak a look at Sirius’ eyes. He believes me. He understands where this is heading.
Suddenly I’m vomiting again.
Dark is creeping in from the corners of my eyes, as much as I desperately don’t want to pass out, it is starting to become inevitable. I am able to turn away from the bloody puddle of vomit just before the ground rushes up towards me.
It’s so warm. Cosy warm though, not too hot. I can feel woollen blankets.
I’m trying to coordinate thoughts in my brain, but I’m still drunk. Did I pass out outside the Three Broomsticks? No, something happened in-between leaving the pub and passing out…
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly before opening my eyes.
Oh no.
That horrible sinking feeling drops into my stomach.
Sirius stands a few feet away.
“I had to apparate us here, you’re ill.” He says, he doesn’t look at me, just stands there staring out of the window. “You know, I met James’ father once. He was a strange guy, but the family had money, I don’t see why he would have mugged a little boy…”
Idiot.
I sat bolt upright, blinded by red and black flashes, anger tearing through my nerves. Even in the most irate of moods I can normally hold my calm, it’s possibly my only positive personality trait, but now I was beyond irate.
“He didn’t mug me!” I cry out, disheartened by the pathetic highness of my voice, “He raped me! He smashed my face into the side of a building, tore my trousers off and raped me!” I intend to say more, I want Sirius to know how I bled, how I lay crying in that alleyway for hours until I got the courage to move, but my voice broke off, my diaphragm hitched and I was sobbing. I’m crying in front of my worst enemy, it doesn’t get much more degrading than this. I can’t even look at him. There is no question as to whether or not I am lying. In my minds eye he is looking at me disgusted, stepping backwards towards the door.
It doesn’t help that I have no idea where I am; I need to get out of here.
I can see a chimney place straight ahead, I only hope there’s floo powder in my pocket. That would be the easy bit, however, I don’t think my legs will hold me if I try to get up.
I can’t help it; my eyes wander over to where Sirius is now sitting on a wicker chair.
He looks up and his eyes grab a hold of mine.
“And that’s why you hated James. They looked so alike, you must have been terrified.” He looks away, peeling bits of wood from the chair, “If we’d known…” Then his eyes are back on mine, “I know I means almost nothing now, but I’m sorry for the way we treated you. If only I’d known…”
“Where are we?” I ask, wiping away tears, I shake my head to try and clear it. All I want now is to be in my room, alone.
Sirius looks up,
“Oh, this is Remus’ place, I’m staying here while I sort out some sort of permanent accommodation.”
Lupin’s? Oh fantastic, he and Black can have a good laugh at me.
Carefully – holding my head – I climb out of the bed.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” Black asks, “You can’t get up, you’re not well.”
“I’ve been drinking, Sirius, it’s to be expected.”
As I walk past him, he grabs my arm.
“Severus,” He says, “you’ve never told anyone else, have you?”
I intend for this particular relationship to get back to normal as soon as possible, I don’t have to be nice to him just because he pretended to care.
“Well I didn’t write an article about it for Wizard’s Weekly.” I start to turn back to the fireplace but something stops me, “Dumbledore knows. I don’t remember how, but he knows.” I’m just standing here, waiting for Sirius to say something.
“If that hadn’t happened, do you think you would still be so bitter and cynical?”
I toss my head back and laugh my infamous, humourless, joyless laugh.
“I did use to have soul, if that’s what you’re asking.” Then I look at him, features that I’d learnt to relate to pain and anger, “But I would always have been Slytherin, don’t kid yourself that we might have been friends.”
“Yeah, but we might not have hated each other quite so much.” He looks like he wants to hug me or something.
“Not going to kill each other are you? I just cleaned the carpet.” Lupin stands in the front doorway holding a shopping bag, a worried expression on his boyish face.
Sirius shakes his head.
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Well it was lovely to see you Black, I must pop around again some time.”
I smile patronisingly, then push past Lupin and out of the front door.
Five minutes later I’m in my room.
What do I do now? I would have thought that would be obvious.
The scalpel I use to dice roots is lying on my desk.
Cold, unglamorous metal, a fitting weapon.
I pick it up, I’m thinking about testing it on the back of my forearm; go for it.
My heart does a double beat as the sharp stinging peels my skin apart. A few seconds later the wound fills with blood.
I close my eyes and feel myself bleed.
It’s such a beautiful feeling.
Now, to slice an artery, there will be so much more blood, I can feel it pumping as I hold my arm.
I take the scalpel to my bed.
Press the blade into my skin; my shaking hand won’t drag it though.
After a few shuddering breaths I get a hold of myself.
End it, Severus.
I jerkily rip the blade through my skin.
And scream.
There shouldn’t be this much pain; what’s going on; something’s wrong; why aren’t I bleeding?
Then the wound reddens, blood finally makes its appearance.
And Black makes his.
“Snape! You idiot!” he cries.
I laugh.
Finally that quiet peace comes over me; and I’m dead.
Of course I see now that in life I was foolish; foolish to think that my suffering could be ended by something as simple as death. There are supposedly charms over Hogwarts to prevent successful suicides, and although this would explain why my previous attempts ended in failure, it couldn’t have been a very good charm.
In case you were wondering; I am dead.
But I still walk the grounds; or skulk.
The whispers hurt more now.
‘I saw the ghost of that old professor last night!’ ‘The really scary one who killed himself because he couldn’t handle his students?’ ‘Yeah, and it’s true, he is really ugly…’
Potter has long since moved on; I believe he has a family now. As far as I know Black never told the boy about why I did it, and for that I am grateful.