Commentfest Fill: "All I Deserve"
For valkyrie_kat.
Prompt: Thistles in the soul
Rating: R
Content: Abuse, grief, death
Summary: Each memory is like a thistle lodged in his soul.
Severus is six years old, scrunched up in a corner watching his parents fight. His mother, not exactly a small woman, is cowering as his father screams at her, and both ignore the small, dirty-haired, sobbing boy. Tobias picks up a glass and throws it at the wall over his son. The glass shards raining down on Severus’s head hurt less than the words that follow: “You idiot! You worthless little fuck-up.” He can’t wait to be bigger, to fight back, to show everyone.
Severus is sixteen years old, mortified as he hears himself yell, "I don't need help from a filthy little mudblood like her!" He sees the emotions cross Lily's face, hurt-anger-disgust, and knows, even before the words are done settling in, that this is the end. He has chosen his path, and Lily won't walk it with him. He can't blame her. He is, just like his father has always told him, an idiot, a worthless little fuck-up, and here's the proof.
Severus is nineteen years old, crouching outside a room at the Hog’s Head. This has to be the filthiest place he’s ever willingly gone into, he thinks, before hearing a harsh voice through the door: “either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies--” At that moment, the landlord of the Hog’s Head roughly grabs the back of his robes, and in the ensuing kerfuffle the door is knocked open, exposing him to Albus Dumbledore, who looks shocked and angry. Severus only sort of cares; this is an important piece of information, and he can’t wait to give it to the Dark Lord.
Severus is twenty-one years old, on bended knee in front of the Dark Lord. He tries to keep the emotion out of his voice as he pleads for him to spare Lily Potter, tries to keep the tears from falling. He cannot show any more weakness than he already has. He hears the snickering of the other Death Eaters behind him --“pleading for a mudblood, pathetic”-- and shuts them out. He is desperate, he would throw himself in front of Lily and take the curse for her without hesitation, but he can’t let her die, he can’t--
Severus is twenty-one years old, collapsed in a chair in Dumbledore’s office, making a noise he didn’t know was possible for a human to make. Lily is dead. Dumbledore didn’t protect her. Lily is dead, but Dumbledore is telling him now that her son --that stupid little fucking brat who put her in harm’s way in the first place-- lives. “He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. I am sure you remember the exact shape and color of Lily’s eyes…”
Severus is thirty-one years old, and he’s just laid eyes on Harry Potter for the first time. He is the spitting image of his father, and Severus cannot control the rush of instant, blazing hatred that rises in him, nearly choking him. The boy comes closer to the high table, and Severus sees that he does, indeed, have Lily’s eyes; almond-shaped and piercingly green. This information only serves to solidify his hatred. How dare he have Lily’s eyes when he’s the reason she died in the first place? Oh, he’ll do his duty by the boy --he doesn’t have a choice, now, does he?-- but the old coot had better not ask him to be happy or nice about it.
Severus is thirty-six years old, and Narcissa Malfoy is pleading with him to protect Draco. She is on bended knee in front of him, tears streaming down her face. “My only son… My only son…” He looks away because he does not see Narcissa; he sees himself, fifteen years ago, pleading for a life he cannot save. He agrees to make an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco. In his mind’s eye, he sees a figure in a ragged black cloak, its skeletal hand turning over a small hourglass.
Severus is thirty-seven years old, approaching Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower. The pounding of his heart drowns out every other noise. Hatred, anger, sadness, and disgust are pumping through his body, but he refuses to tremble. He will not show weakness before another master. “Severus… Severus, please…” He raises his wand, almost seeing his own end looming ever closer as he says the fatal words, "Avada Kedavra!"
Severus is thirty-eight years old, choking on his blood as it pours out of the wound on his neck. He has given his memories to Potter, but he can do no more. He has failed. He has failed Lily. He has failed Dumbledore. He has failed Draco. He sees a large, empty room, pure white and beautiful, and he knows this is where he must spend eternity. Alone. After his wasted excuse of a life, it is all he deserves.
Prompt: Thistles in the soul
Rating: R
Content: Abuse, grief, death
Summary: Each memory is like a thistle lodged in his soul.
Severus is six years old, scrunched up in a corner watching his parents fight. His mother, not exactly a small woman, is cowering as his father screams at her, and both ignore the small, dirty-haired, sobbing boy. Tobias picks up a glass and throws it at the wall over his son. The glass shards raining down on Severus’s head hurt less than the words that follow: “You idiot! You worthless little fuck-up.” He can’t wait to be bigger, to fight back, to show everyone.
Severus is sixteen years old, mortified as he hears himself yell, "I don't need help from a filthy little mudblood like her!" He sees the emotions cross Lily's face, hurt-anger-disgust, and knows, even before the words are done settling in, that this is the end. He has chosen his path, and Lily won't walk it with him. He can't blame her. He is, just like his father has always told him, an idiot, a worthless little fuck-up, and here's the proof.
Severus is nineteen years old, crouching outside a room at the Hog’s Head. This has to be the filthiest place he’s ever willingly gone into, he thinks, before hearing a harsh voice through the door: “either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies--” At that moment, the landlord of the Hog’s Head roughly grabs the back of his robes, and in the ensuing kerfuffle the door is knocked open, exposing him to Albus Dumbledore, who looks shocked and angry. Severus only sort of cares; this is an important piece of information, and he can’t wait to give it to the Dark Lord.
Severus is twenty-one years old, on bended knee in front of the Dark Lord. He tries to keep the emotion out of his voice as he pleads for him to spare Lily Potter, tries to keep the tears from falling. He cannot show any more weakness than he already has. He hears the snickering of the other Death Eaters behind him --“pleading for a mudblood, pathetic”-- and shuts them out. He is desperate, he would throw himself in front of Lily and take the curse for her without hesitation, but he can’t let her die, he can’t--
Severus is twenty-one years old, collapsed in a chair in Dumbledore’s office, making a noise he didn’t know was possible for a human to make. Lily is dead. Dumbledore didn’t protect her. Lily is dead, but Dumbledore is telling him now that her son --that stupid little fucking brat who put her in harm’s way in the first place-- lives. “He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. I am sure you remember the exact shape and color of Lily’s eyes…”
Severus is thirty-one years old, and he’s just laid eyes on Harry Potter for the first time. He is the spitting image of his father, and Severus cannot control the rush of instant, blazing hatred that rises in him, nearly choking him. The boy comes closer to the high table, and Severus sees that he does, indeed, have Lily’s eyes; almond-shaped and piercingly green. This information only serves to solidify his hatred. How dare he have Lily’s eyes when he’s the reason she died in the first place? Oh, he’ll do his duty by the boy --he doesn’t have a choice, now, does he?-- but the old coot had better not ask him to be happy or nice about it.
Severus is thirty-six years old, and Narcissa Malfoy is pleading with him to protect Draco. She is on bended knee in front of him, tears streaming down her face. “My only son… My only son…” He looks away because he does not see Narcissa; he sees himself, fifteen years ago, pleading for a life he cannot save. He agrees to make an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco. In his mind’s eye, he sees a figure in a ragged black cloak, its skeletal hand turning over a small hourglass.
Severus is thirty-seven years old, approaching Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower. The pounding of his heart drowns out every other noise. Hatred, anger, sadness, and disgust are pumping through his body, but he refuses to tremble. He will not show weakness before another master. “Severus… Severus, please…” He raises his wand, almost seeing his own end looming ever closer as he says the fatal words, "Avada Kedavra!"
Severus is thirty-eight years old, choking on his blood as it pours out of the wound on his neck. He has given his memories to Potter, but he can do no more. He has failed. He has failed Lily. He has failed Dumbledore. He has failed Draco. He sees a large, empty room, pure white and beautiful, and he knows this is where he must spend eternity. Alone. After his wasted excuse of a life, it is all he deserves.