Harry Potter Fic: Hate

[fathomlessspite]

Title: Hate
Author: fathomlessspite
Characters: Severus Snape
Warnings: none
Rating: G or PG ish
Summary: Internal monologue/stream of consciousness of Snape’s thoughts after Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince
A/N: This was written as a piece of transitional coursework for my A levels a year or two ago. Personally, it feels a little more ooc to me now than it did then, so let me know what you think!

* * *


I do believe my life as a spy just ended. Not in the way I had hoped of course. I was hoping for a moment of pure satisfaction seeing the look on His face before he killed me for my betrayal, not the look of forgiveness and acceptance on Dumbledore’s as I killed him. That wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

But then again how is something like this supposed to end? It is war after all; it isn’t going to be easy. I know this but I have always hoped for it to end, for me anyway, with redemption. With my freedom.

Instead I will serve until I can no longer, until I make a mistake or until Potter or one of his accomplices catch up with me. I have no right to complain, I pledged my life to this irreverent cause of my own free will. Even though I may have been young and misguided at the time I still did it.

I was young and foolish and consumed with a thirst to prove myself. To whom was I attempting to prove my worth? It could have been my father I suppose, which is rather unfortunate really, as he was the first muggle I was instructed to kill. I was welcomed with open arms after that incident. Perhaps my mother -but no- it was more of an act to protect her from my father’s abusive clutches. To prevent him from laying another of his filthy muggle fingers upon her.

My peers? Lucius certainly left an impression on me whilst we were at school together. I continued on the path along which he directed me even after he left Hogwarts. My current situation is a testament to his ‘pureblood teachings', which he enforced upon my impressionable eleven year old mind soon after we met.

Could it perchance have been my tormentors of seven long years whom I was trying to prove myself to? It is certainly the answer that makes the most sense. An erroneous attempt at vengeance maybe? A chance to one day curse their final breath? I certainly despised them enough to do so, but that by itself could not have been the reason. I wouldn’t have bound myself to the service of another merely for the chance to gain retribution, they were not worth that much effort.

I can only conclude that I was young and foolish, full of anger and made a rash decision. Much as I’ve seen the younger incarnation of Potter do on many an occasion, and now unfortunately, Draco Malfoy as well. How ironic, comparing myself and Draco to Potter of all people. The boy who foolishly brandished his wand at me as I ran from Hogwarts. The boy for whom Dumbledore sacrificed his life. The boy who Dumbledore made me take his life for. The boy who I despise, who I try to convince myself I hate but know I cannot. That hate is reserved for someone else.

Hate. It is easy enough to say in the heat of the moment, people cast the word around like it means nothing. Fools. If only they had felt it, real hate, because that is not as simple. Especially when that hate, that loathing, is directed at yourself.

I’ve done many awful things in my lifetime; teased, taunted, tortured and killed the innocent and I have, at times, harboured a certain disliking for myself. But this is by far my worst act. The fact that I was given permission, ordered to do it, doesn’t seem to matter. The guilt and the deep-seated self-loathing still remain.

As I ran to Draco, to whose mother I had vowed that I would protect, the boy for whom I have now basically given my life, deep regret welled up inside me. Not just for the atrocity I just committed but for letting my anger loose on Potter. It’s not like the insufferable brat couldn’t do with being taken down a peg or two. But screaming at him? Cursing him? That probably isn’t going to help my inevitably bleak future. Because the beautiful irony of it is that I know, I just know, he’s going to be the one who kills me, who puts an end to my wretched excuse for an existance. I saw it in his eyes tonight. The pure hatred in them, something I know he usually reserves for the Dark Lord, unnerved me.

Not that it isn’t a fitting end to my life. I know that I deserve it, it’s just it has to be him. If it hadn’t been for his arrogant, self orientated, egotist father then I probably wouldn’t have turned to the path I did. My fascination with the Dark Arts would have been there obviously; born of my desire to remain at Hogwarts, my home, to teach, but I wouldn’t have become so obsessed with using them to exact my revenge on the world in general.

Still, I realise that I don’t hate them, either of the Potters. What I feel toward them is inconsequential when compared to the disgust that I presently feel toward myself.

And Dumbledore. I hate him almost as much as myself. He had to choose me. I still don’t know how I did it, how I killed the only person who ever believed in me, who gave me a second chance.

It was that near silent plea that did it. Those quietly uttered words. The complete desperation, the pleading and begging tone Dumbledore inserted into my name. Dumbledore doesn’t beg. It seemed so wrong, so alien; so intensely obvious that I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t ignore it.

So I did it. I killed him. I killed the greatest sorcerer of all times.

And I hate myself for it.

***

All and any feedback is appreciated

Comments

[bagatellery.livejournal.com]

This is wonderful. I love how Snape is portrayed as a real person here instead of some ego-inflated narcissist, someone with actual feelings. Plus, you've got his voice down to a T. ;)

[fathomlessspite]

thank you!!! I'm glad you thought so, I wasn't so sure! Thanks!