Five Times Severus Snape Was Misunderstood (PG-13) for wotcher_wombat
Title: Five Times Severus Snape Was Misunderstood
Author: literaryspell (pinch-hitter)
Recipient: wotcher_wombat
Beta: Robin
Word count: ~2700
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Severus Snape reflects on the people in his life who affected him by not knowing who he truly was, including the person who let him down the most. Himself.
Five Times Severus Snape Was Misunderstood
Severus Snape was not a man who was easily understood. His nature was complex, intricate. He did not expect people to want to know him, nor did he expect to want to know others. But after a lifetime of being poorly understood, it was not difficult to see how Snape would come to recognize five people as the catalysts behind his distant and detached manner.
He did not like to blame other people for his misfortunes. Or rather, he did, but he would never admit it. Blaming others did more than take the onus off him; it made it possible to ignore the fact that he drove people away intentionally. No one understood that it was easier to be hated than ignored, that it was easier to be disliked for one’s greasy hair and obnoxious nose than any deficiency in personality.
And it was easier to place blame than accept it. Snape was not in the habit of being self-deluded. But after thirty-eight years on this earth, thirty-eight nasty, brutish and short years, Snape felt he’d earned the right to practise a little denial.
The Entitled, Arrogant, Waste of Space
Sirius Black was the first. Sure, Snape’s parents didn't care to know him and his housemates avoided him, but Black was the first instance of someone deliberately choosing to dislike Snape for no apparent reason. At first.
Over the years, it was true - Snape gave Black and his little gang of furry friends more than enough cause to hate him. He lived to get them in trouble, Black and Potter especially, but the others as well if he found a reason, and he often did.
But Black’s hatred for Snape was visceral, inherent. It was as though the boy had been born with an innate loathing for Snape, which Snape neither could, nor would, attempt to eradicate. In fact, he fed it. He fed that hatred until it gorged itself on the acrimony between them, until it grew so obese that no amount of purging could bring it to a healthy level.
Yes, things between the two were very ugly indeed.
But ugly he could handle. Ugly he expected; ugly he welcomed. After all, it went both ways. But, though Snape admittedly (or not) followed the prat around the school, attempting to catch him in one of his many nefarious plots, he had never, ever tried to kill him.
Not even once. That anyone knew about.
But Black, being the cocky, self-assured, opportunistic arse he was, did try to get Snape killed. Snape believed that was grounds for “misunderstanding.”
And afterwards?
“You know what you did, you prick!” Snape seldom resorted to name-calling, but it was indicative of how very angry he was, not just at Black, but at Black the representation, the quintessence, the epitome of everything wrong in Snape’s life. All that Gryffindor glory, all that King of the School bullshit. Snape didn't want it, but he didn't want Black to have it.
“Yeah, and what are you going to do, Snivellus? Cry? Run home to... oh... no one? No one cares, Snape. No one.”
But Black just didn’t understand. Which led him to the next person.
The Pinched, Prim and Proper Hag
Snape had never liked Minerva McGonagall. During his school days, she repeatedly stood up for and defended her students, who made it a point to humiliate him.
Especially the aforementioned arseholes.
Now, this lack of understanding was different than Black’s. Black’s was a refusal to see anything below the surface, a superficial and unfounded dislike. But McGonagall’s actually offended him because she was a professor. She was supposed to be impartial; she was supposed to be fair. But time and again Potter et al would get off with a warning while he was forced to do slave work or chores in the Forbidden Forest. It was ridiculous, the amount of favouritism she employed on a daily basis.
Snape had always had a problem with taking things personally. That was not something he would deny. Rather than seeing her favouritism as being rooted in the fact that she knew her own students better than she knew him, or that she just preferred Gryffindors because of an ingrained nepotism, he saw it as a personal affront. Not “she likes them more”, but “she hates me. ”
And why did that bother him?
It didn’t. He never gave it a moment’s thought once he’d left school. He could honestly say to himself that he spared not a backward glance for the Scottish witch or her cool assessments or her brittle tongue. He moved on to bigger and better things, naturally.
And if he hadn’t returned to Hogwarts to teach, like the masochist he clearly was, Snape never would have allotted an additional consideration to Minerva McGonagall.
Not one.
And how, you ask, was the reunion?
“Minerva.”
“Severus.”
“How are your precious Gryffindors today? Any attempted murders? Any traumatizing bullying? Any foolhardy, simpering, pandering posturing? No? How fortunate - this must be a record year. But alas, it is only the first day.”
“We shall see how long you last before you, too, clearly favour your Slytherins, Severus. Then perhaps we can drop this animosity?”
“If I do favour them, it will be earned.”
“Of course. The best of luck to you with that, Severus. Now, do let’s try to act like adults, shall we?”
Insufferable witch.
She For Whom He Pines Even Still
Now this... this was on an entirely different level. Lily Potter née Evans.
Always.
Lily was beautiful in a way that didn't matter. It was never the first thing you noticed about her. It was a fact, just like the one that she was a witch, or she had red hair, or she married an idiot. Indisputable. But when you looked at Lily, you always saw goodness. It was blinding. It was inescapable.
It was unbearable.
Lily had been his first friend. His only friend, really. The only person who understood him. So why, you may ask, clever reader that you are, is she on this list?
Simple. Because everything about Lily was a lie.
When Lily said she didn’t care about his looks, she lied. When Lily said she’d told Potter and Black to back off, she lied. When Lily said she valued him as a friend, she lied.
When Lily said he was worth it, she lied.
He made a mistake. It was a big mistake. The kind of mistake that you recognize, looking back over your life, as being the pinnacle, the moment, the turning point. A silly word, a stupid word, a word he didn't believe in, a word he gave no power. A hypocritical word, since his blood was muddied, too.
But it wasn’t that he said it... it was that he could say it. It was that he could hurt her; it was that he could fail her. The one person who’d given him something, the woman he’d been made for. The woman he didn't deserve but aspired to earn.
But forgiveness was not for the Snapes. Forgiveness was for the Potters.
Lily Potter.
Lily who was good, Lily who was pure, sweet, innocent, forgiving. How magnanimous to forgive Potter so graciously after everything he’d done to her over the years. Maybe it was schoolyard antics, pulling a girl’s hair because you wanted her attention, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that Snape loved Lily, and Lily loved another.
He could forgive her for that. It must prove how much he truly loved her to want her to be happy with another man. Never mind the agonizing, twisting, burning, eviscerating pain in his gut when he thought of them together. Never mind that.
When he’d needed her, she wasn’t there. She never forgave him.
He’d only said what he’d said to salvage his wounded pride. He’d only said what he’d said so she would leave and not see him like that, weak and pathetic.
But Lily couldn’t understand because everything in her life was pretty, fresh, new, lovely. And he was ugly, tainted, damaged, hideous. And he didn't want her to understand.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not enough.”
That Ridiculous Joke of a Snake-Faced Despot
The ironic thing about the fact that Voldemort never understood him was that they were so alike.
They had a very similar upbringing, with one Muggle parent and one Pureblood. They both spent most of their lives in denial of this fact, hiding it from the public, ashamed or disgusted. Half-bloods in Slytherin. Wonders never cease.
They were both drawn to power. That much was fairly obvious just on a cursory glance. Although Riddle was a merciless tyrant and Snape no more than a puppet to him, their lust and avarice for power were near-tangible. Both did horrible things to get what they wanted. Both made others suffer for their own mistakes.
Both were afraid of love. Both lacked it. Both were destroyed by it.
Voldemort liked to think he knew Snape inside and out. And maybe, at first, he did. Snape was jilted, fancied himself betrayed, so he ran to someone he thought would accept him. He needed agency, power, control; the Death Eaters gave him that. Voldemort gave him that. And Snape ate it up like the silly, stupid, naive boy he was. A child playing grown-up games.
At first, Voldemort really had Snape’s number. He used his skills at reading people to manipulate Snape into doing whatever he wanted in exchange for revenge, for recognition, for glory. For the girl. Oh, how he did make promises through those pointed teeth.
But when Snape began to change, Voldemort was left in the dark. Snape suddenly didn't want glory, he didn't want to hurt people or watch them being hurt. It didn't make him feel better to hold freedom over the heads of others, just out of reach. It made him feel worse. Ashamed. Wrong. And he knew, oh, Merlin, how he knew it deep in his bones, in his veins, in his soul, that Lily would be so disappointed in him. It shouldn’t have mattered - she spared him nary a thought - but it did.
And then it was too late.
He made one last attempt, he followed one final set of orders, and she was gone. And maybe he deserved to lose her, but she didn't deserve to die. The wrong person was punished.
So Voldemort lost a key henchman because the bastard couldn’t understand human emotion. Regret. Voldemort tried to control him with Lily’s leash, the one she didn't want, the one she threw at his feet. But the monster did not count on Snape wanting to hold his own leash.
The Dark Lord couldn’t understand someone wanting to pay penance for the devastation they caused, even or especially when that penance hurt him every single day. A pair of bright green eyes that reflected his failure with every glance. Regret buried so deep it turned into resentment.
Voldemort couldn’t understand that Snape knew what he’d done was not the right thing.
“How does it feel, Severus, to know you killed the one you loved?”
“Unsurprising.”
The Greasy Git, the Overgrown Bat, the Potions Master Himself
How annoying.
After all these years of being alive, irritatingly, uselessly alive, Snape still does not understand himself.
He thinks he knows what motivates him. He thinks he knows what pleases him. He thinks he knows what he really wants.
He doesn’t.
We should all feel sorry for people like Snape, not because they are unattractive, or because they are anti-social, or because they are lonely. We should feel sorry for people like him because they walk around, day by day, never knowing themselves.
And how can one achieve enlightenment without knowing oneself? It’s the basic law of philosophy. Know thyself.
For someone who spends so much time in introspection, it should be obvious. And it annoys no one as it does Snape himself.
When it came to Sirius Black, Snape believed he hated him because the boy had everything he didn't. He had popularity, he had friends, he was loved. He’d grown up in a respectable Pureblood house, and he’d given it all up. What Snape wouldn’t have done... who Snape couldn’t have become if only he’d had the very opportunities that Black threw away.
But it was more than that, of course. It always was.
It’s easy to see he was jealous. It’s harder to see that Snape deserved what Black had and more. Black didn't necessarily take things for granted as Snape always accused him of, but his privileges would have been put to better use in Snape’s hands.
The truth about Black was that Snape just wanted to be his friend. At first, and only for a few minutes, maybe. It changed into something malformed and painful, yes. But Snape never understood that the reason he took Black’s torment so personally was because Snape had seen him as a potential friend. And if Black had only gone to Slytherin House as he should have all those years ago, well. Maybe things would have turned out quite differently for both of them.
Now, McGonagall. Snape thought his dislike for her was simple-he didn't like how she played favourites. Oh, but it was more. It always was.
Snape wanted someone to be fair to him. Someone to prove that it didn't matter who you were, what house you were in, what your name was; everyone was equal and should be treated thus. But she let him down. Instead of showing a young, impressionable boy that he was valued the same as any other child, she used her power and influence to make him feel less than worthy.
Truthfully, Snape only wanted someone to be fair, to prove that it was possible.
Lily. Lily, Lily, Lily. About Lily, Snape thinks he comprehends fairly well. He knew he wronged her, twice, and he knew he deserved punishment.
But Snape misunderstands himself gravely when it comes to her. The thing about Lily and Snape was...
...he didn’t actually want her forgiveness.
Oh, yes. It’s troubling, indeed. Snape was a martyr. And he loved and hated every minute of it. It’s true that he didn't want to have done what he did. He didn't want to kill Lily. Certainly not. He loved her. That much is true.
But after her death, Snape could have forgiven himself. He more than paid the price for his betrayal. He more than adequately suffered for his sins. And Lily would not have wanted Snape to punish himself so. She would have wanted him to move on, find a nice girl, settle down, retire from teaching dunderheads, have a few kids. Live.
Every single thing Snape did after Lily’s death was punishment. He punished himself for failing her and he didn't want to be forgiven. He wanted to pay.
And pay he did. Every single day. Remember those green eyes? They made him pay.
Every student in that school made him pay.
Every mission from Dumbledore made him pay.
Every night alone because he didn't think he deserved love made him pay.
Snape made Snape pay until there was nothing left in the vault.
And that was where Voldemort really cashed in. See, Snape thought (and still thinks) he went to Voldemort so he could belong to something. This just shows how easily Snape misinterprets his own actions. Because it was more than simply that. It always was.
No. Snape went to Voldemort because only the Dark Lord could make Snape suffer. It was the ultimate self-flagellation. Every time Snape killed an innocent Muggle or Muggle-born (and let’s not deceive ourselves, he did kill) he was killing Lily. Again. Until he’d killed her so many times, he’d never be able to pay off the debt.
And that was what he wanted. To hurt. To suffer. To agonize. To despair.
So he did, every painful day for his mercifully short life. Until the bitter end, he paid. With his ignoble death, he paid.
And if we asked him today, he would tell us that he still came up short.
So maybe, after all this... maybe he doesn’t need to be understood. Maybe he doesn’t need to understand.
Maybe all that matters is that he knows.
Maybe now he will be truly known.
Fin.
~
This is the mod account for this community, not the author's account. Please let it be noted that I do not take credit for
this person's work. A big thanks to the person that wrote this fic as they did it in place of an author that dropped out.
Author: literaryspell (pinch-hitter)
Recipient: wotcher_wombat
Beta: Robin
Word count: ~2700
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Severus Snape reflects on the people in his life who affected him by not knowing who he truly was, including the person who let him down the most. Himself.
Five Times Severus Snape Was Misunderstood
Severus Snape was not a man who was easily understood. His nature was complex, intricate. He did not expect people to want to know him, nor did he expect to want to know others. But after a lifetime of being poorly understood, it was not difficult to see how Snape would come to recognize five people as the catalysts behind his distant and detached manner.
He did not like to blame other people for his misfortunes. Or rather, he did, but he would never admit it. Blaming others did more than take the onus off him; it made it possible to ignore the fact that he drove people away intentionally. No one understood that it was easier to be hated than ignored, that it was easier to be disliked for one’s greasy hair and obnoxious nose than any deficiency in personality.
And it was easier to place blame than accept it. Snape was not in the habit of being self-deluded. But after thirty-eight years on this earth, thirty-eight nasty, brutish and short years, Snape felt he’d earned the right to practise a little denial.
The Entitled, Arrogant, Waste of Space
Sirius Black was the first. Sure, Snape’s parents didn't care to know him and his housemates avoided him, but Black was the first instance of someone deliberately choosing to dislike Snape for no apparent reason. At first.
Over the years, it was true - Snape gave Black and his little gang of furry friends more than enough cause to hate him. He lived to get them in trouble, Black and Potter especially, but the others as well if he found a reason, and he often did.
But Black’s hatred for Snape was visceral, inherent. It was as though the boy had been born with an innate loathing for Snape, which Snape neither could, nor would, attempt to eradicate. In fact, he fed it. He fed that hatred until it gorged itself on the acrimony between them, until it grew so obese that no amount of purging could bring it to a healthy level.
Yes, things between the two were very ugly indeed.
But ugly he could handle. Ugly he expected; ugly he welcomed. After all, it went both ways. But, though Snape admittedly (or not) followed the prat around the school, attempting to catch him in one of his many nefarious plots, he had never, ever tried to kill him.
Not even once. That anyone knew about.
But Black, being the cocky, self-assured, opportunistic arse he was, did try to get Snape killed. Snape believed that was grounds for “misunderstanding.”
And afterwards?
“You know what you did, you prick!” Snape seldom resorted to name-calling, but it was indicative of how very angry he was, not just at Black, but at Black the representation, the quintessence, the epitome of everything wrong in Snape’s life. All that Gryffindor glory, all that King of the School bullshit. Snape didn't want it, but he didn't want Black to have it.
“Yeah, and what are you going to do, Snivellus? Cry? Run home to... oh... no one? No one cares, Snape. No one.”
But Black just didn’t understand. Which led him to the next person.
The Pinched, Prim and Proper Hag
Snape had never liked Minerva McGonagall. During his school days, she repeatedly stood up for and defended her students, who made it a point to humiliate him.
Especially the aforementioned arseholes.
Now, this lack of understanding was different than Black’s. Black’s was a refusal to see anything below the surface, a superficial and unfounded dislike. But McGonagall’s actually offended him because she was a professor. She was supposed to be impartial; she was supposed to be fair. But time and again Potter et al would get off with a warning while he was forced to do slave work or chores in the Forbidden Forest. It was ridiculous, the amount of favouritism she employed on a daily basis.
Snape had always had a problem with taking things personally. That was not something he would deny. Rather than seeing her favouritism as being rooted in the fact that she knew her own students better than she knew him, or that she just preferred Gryffindors because of an ingrained nepotism, he saw it as a personal affront. Not “she likes them more”, but “she hates me. ”
And why did that bother him?
It didn’t. He never gave it a moment’s thought once he’d left school. He could honestly say to himself that he spared not a backward glance for the Scottish witch or her cool assessments or her brittle tongue. He moved on to bigger and better things, naturally.
And if he hadn’t returned to Hogwarts to teach, like the masochist he clearly was, Snape never would have allotted an additional consideration to Minerva McGonagall.
Not one.
And how, you ask, was the reunion?
“Minerva.”
“Severus.”
“How are your precious Gryffindors today? Any attempted murders? Any traumatizing bullying? Any foolhardy, simpering, pandering posturing? No? How fortunate - this must be a record year. But alas, it is only the first day.”
“We shall see how long you last before you, too, clearly favour your Slytherins, Severus. Then perhaps we can drop this animosity?”
“If I do favour them, it will be earned.”
“Of course. The best of luck to you with that, Severus. Now, do let’s try to act like adults, shall we?”
Insufferable witch.
She For Whom He Pines Even Still
Now this... this was on an entirely different level. Lily Potter née Evans.
Always.
Lily was beautiful in a way that didn't matter. It was never the first thing you noticed about her. It was a fact, just like the one that she was a witch, or she had red hair, or she married an idiot. Indisputable. But when you looked at Lily, you always saw goodness. It was blinding. It was inescapable.
It was unbearable.
Lily had been his first friend. His only friend, really. The only person who understood him. So why, you may ask, clever reader that you are, is she on this list?
Simple. Because everything about Lily was a lie.
When Lily said she didn’t care about his looks, she lied. When Lily said she’d told Potter and Black to back off, she lied. When Lily said she valued him as a friend, she lied.
When Lily said he was worth it, she lied.
He made a mistake. It was a big mistake. The kind of mistake that you recognize, looking back over your life, as being the pinnacle, the moment, the turning point. A silly word, a stupid word, a word he didn't believe in, a word he gave no power. A hypocritical word, since his blood was muddied, too.
But it wasn’t that he said it... it was that he could say it. It was that he could hurt her; it was that he could fail her. The one person who’d given him something, the woman he’d been made for. The woman he didn't deserve but aspired to earn.
But forgiveness was not for the Snapes. Forgiveness was for the Potters.
Lily Potter.
Lily who was good, Lily who was pure, sweet, innocent, forgiving. How magnanimous to forgive Potter so graciously after everything he’d done to her over the years. Maybe it was schoolyard antics, pulling a girl’s hair because you wanted her attention, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that Snape loved Lily, and Lily loved another.
He could forgive her for that. It must prove how much he truly loved her to want her to be happy with another man. Never mind the agonizing, twisting, burning, eviscerating pain in his gut when he thought of them together. Never mind that.
When he’d needed her, she wasn’t there. She never forgave him.
He’d only said what he’d said to salvage his wounded pride. He’d only said what he’d said so she would leave and not see him like that, weak and pathetic.
But Lily couldn’t understand because everything in her life was pretty, fresh, new, lovely. And he was ugly, tainted, damaged, hideous. And he didn't want her to understand.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not enough.”
That Ridiculous Joke of a Snake-Faced Despot
The ironic thing about the fact that Voldemort never understood him was that they were so alike.
They had a very similar upbringing, with one Muggle parent and one Pureblood. They both spent most of their lives in denial of this fact, hiding it from the public, ashamed or disgusted. Half-bloods in Slytherin. Wonders never cease.
They were both drawn to power. That much was fairly obvious just on a cursory glance. Although Riddle was a merciless tyrant and Snape no more than a puppet to him, their lust and avarice for power were near-tangible. Both did horrible things to get what they wanted. Both made others suffer for their own mistakes.
Both were afraid of love. Both lacked it. Both were destroyed by it.
Voldemort liked to think he knew Snape inside and out. And maybe, at first, he did. Snape was jilted, fancied himself betrayed, so he ran to someone he thought would accept him. He needed agency, power, control; the Death Eaters gave him that. Voldemort gave him that. And Snape ate it up like the silly, stupid, naive boy he was. A child playing grown-up games.
At first, Voldemort really had Snape’s number. He used his skills at reading people to manipulate Snape into doing whatever he wanted in exchange for revenge, for recognition, for glory. For the girl. Oh, how he did make promises through those pointed teeth.
But when Snape began to change, Voldemort was left in the dark. Snape suddenly didn't want glory, he didn't want to hurt people or watch them being hurt. It didn't make him feel better to hold freedom over the heads of others, just out of reach. It made him feel worse. Ashamed. Wrong. And he knew, oh, Merlin, how he knew it deep in his bones, in his veins, in his soul, that Lily would be so disappointed in him. It shouldn’t have mattered - she spared him nary a thought - but it did.
And then it was too late.
He made one last attempt, he followed one final set of orders, and she was gone. And maybe he deserved to lose her, but she didn't deserve to die. The wrong person was punished.
So Voldemort lost a key henchman because the bastard couldn’t understand human emotion. Regret. Voldemort tried to control him with Lily’s leash, the one she didn't want, the one she threw at his feet. But the monster did not count on Snape wanting to hold his own leash.
The Dark Lord couldn’t understand someone wanting to pay penance for the devastation they caused, even or especially when that penance hurt him every single day. A pair of bright green eyes that reflected his failure with every glance. Regret buried so deep it turned into resentment.
Voldemort couldn’t understand that Snape knew what he’d done was not the right thing.
“How does it feel, Severus, to know you killed the one you loved?”
“Unsurprising.”
The Greasy Git, the Overgrown Bat, the Potions Master Himself
How annoying.
After all these years of being alive, irritatingly, uselessly alive, Snape still does not understand himself.
He thinks he knows what motivates him. He thinks he knows what pleases him. He thinks he knows what he really wants.
He doesn’t.
We should all feel sorry for people like Snape, not because they are unattractive, or because they are anti-social, or because they are lonely. We should feel sorry for people like him because they walk around, day by day, never knowing themselves.
And how can one achieve enlightenment without knowing oneself? It’s the basic law of philosophy. Know thyself.
For someone who spends so much time in introspection, it should be obvious. And it annoys no one as it does Snape himself.
When it came to Sirius Black, Snape believed he hated him because the boy had everything he didn't. He had popularity, he had friends, he was loved. He’d grown up in a respectable Pureblood house, and he’d given it all up. What Snape wouldn’t have done... who Snape couldn’t have become if only he’d had the very opportunities that Black threw away.
But it was more than that, of course. It always was.
It’s easy to see he was jealous. It’s harder to see that Snape deserved what Black had and more. Black didn't necessarily take things for granted as Snape always accused him of, but his privileges would have been put to better use in Snape’s hands.
The truth about Black was that Snape just wanted to be his friend. At first, and only for a few minutes, maybe. It changed into something malformed and painful, yes. But Snape never understood that the reason he took Black’s torment so personally was because Snape had seen him as a potential friend. And if Black had only gone to Slytherin House as he should have all those years ago, well. Maybe things would have turned out quite differently for both of them.
Now, McGonagall. Snape thought his dislike for her was simple-he didn't like how she played favourites. Oh, but it was more. It always was.
Snape wanted someone to be fair to him. Someone to prove that it didn't matter who you were, what house you were in, what your name was; everyone was equal and should be treated thus. But she let him down. Instead of showing a young, impressionable boy that he was valued the same as any other child, she used her power and influence to make him feel less than worthy.
Truthfully, Snape only wanted someone to be fair, to prove that it was possible.
Lily. Lily, Lily, Lily. About Lily, Snape thinks he comprehends fairly well. He knew he wronged her, twice, and he knew he deserved punishment.
But Snape misunderstands himself gravely when it comes to her. The thing about Lily and Snape was...
...he didn’t actually want her forgiveness.
Oh, yes. It’s troubling, indeed. Snape was a martyr. And he loved and hated every minute of it. It’s true that he didn't want to have done what he did. He didn't want to kill Lily. Certainly not. He loved her. That much is true.
But after her death, Snape could have forgiven himself. He more than paid the price for his betrayal. He more than adequately suffered for his sins. And Lily would not have wanted Snape to punish himself so. She would have wanted him to move on, find a nice girl, settle down, retire from teaching dunderheads, have a few kids. Live.
Every single thing Snape did after Lily’s death was punishment. He punished himself for failing her and he didn't want to be forgiven. He wanted to pay.
And pay he did. Every single day. Remember those green eyes? They made him pay.
Every student in that school made him pay.
Every mission from Dumbledore made him pay.
Every night alone because he didn't think he deserved love made him pay.
Snape made Snape pay until there was nothing left in the vault.
And that was where Voldemort really cashed in. See, Snape thought (and still thinks) he went to Voldemort so he could belong to something. This just shows how easily Snape misinterprets his own actions. Because it was more than simply that. It always was.
No. Snape went to Voldemort because only the Dark Lord could make Snape suffer. It was the ultimate self-flagellation. Every time Snape killed an innocent Muggle or Muggle-born (and let’s not deceive ourselves, he did kill) he was killing Lily. Again. Until he’d killed her so many times, he’d never be able to pay off the debt.
And that was what he wanted. To hurt. To suffer. To agonize. To despair.
So he did, every painful day for his mercifully short life. Until the bitter end, he paid. With his ignoble death, he paid.
And if we asked him today, he would tell us that he still came up short.
So maybe, after all this... maybe he doesn’t need to be understood. Maybe he doesn’t need to understand.
Maybe all that matters is that he knows.
Maybe now he will be truly known.
Fin.
~
This is the mod account for this community, not the author's account. Please let it be noted that I do not take credit for
this person's work. A big thanks to the person that wrote this fic as they did it in place of an author that dropped out.