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Betrayals by duj [Reviews - 3]

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The warnings are just to be safe. There's nothing stronger than some punches and an arm rubbed till it bleeds.




Severus crouched, half-sitting, rubbing his bare inner left forearm against the only rough spot on the wall of his cell. The room was dark. His thoughts were darker.

Rub, rub, rub. He had scratched off the top layer of skin in a misshapen elongated diamond stretching from the base of his thumb to just above the funny bone. With each pass of his arm it throbbed more, but it was still nowhere near the remembered burning when the brand had been imprinted or when it had called him to a meeting. His wrist was starting to bleed. He rubbed harder.

Too late now. He couldn’t take it back, not any of it. Couldn’t undo the Dark Mark, couldn’t unsay his confession, couldn’t unlive his life. All too late.

Was it only two days ago that he’d wept in the headmaster’s arms?

It felt like a dream. It must have been a dream. Dumbledore didn’t even like him much. He’d had that confirmed ten months ago after Black and Potter had tried to kill him by werewolf and got off without even a suspension. Yes the man’s eyes twinkled blue as a summer sky, untroubled and expansive, but only Gryffindors could bask in that sun.

Severus closed his eyes. If it was a dream, then why could he still feel those strong arms around him, still hear the rhythm of that heart under his wet cheek, still remember the warmth of that old body against his? For one brief interlude he’d believed the man would make everything right, would save him from the consequences of his sins just as he’d saved those two gits. For one moment.

One moment that taught him that all his animosity, all his scorn of the silver-haired old man, had been pretense. He didn’t despise him, he didn’t hate him; he longed for him, desperately wanted the grandfatherly care the man lavished on his tormentors.

What a fool he was! And now his friends were going to pay for it. The only people who’d ever accepted his company except as a target.

Rub, rub, rub. His arm was red and raw now, with long bleeding scratches and scraped-off skin. It blotted out the ache of bruises and sprains, the hot fizz of a split lip and black eye.

The Aurors had interrogated him with and without Veritaserum and raked through his mind with Legilimens. Then they’d used their new knowledge to try to goad him into babbling fury. Words had been interspersed with blows – but what were blows to him? Only the comforting familiarity of rough angry hands on bare skin. It was words that hurt, words and the humiliation of having every private wish picked over and mocked.

He had no friends now. He’d betrayed them. Spilled out their secrets and broadcast their confidences to a roomful of enemies. He’d blabbed how Rab had decided to one-up Dolph by joining while still in school and had persuaded all his friends to follow: Wilkesie and Evan and Severus himself. Sev and Ev they’d been once, back in first year till they outgrew nicknames and each other and went their separate ways. So it was Ev he’d approached for guidance last December when he’d decided to take the plunge.

They’d all been approaching seventh year then. Of course, they’d been planning for their futures in an outside world that seemed likely to be as biased against Slytherins as Hogwarts was. He’d thought he was making a rational decision to align himself with those who offered revenge on his enemies and advancement for himself.

He knew better now. It had just been wounded pride and anger and spiteful need to hurt the silver-haired headmaster in any way he could. And it had hurt the man. He should be glad at least there was one thing he hadn’t failed at.

Not like Death Eating.

Logically, if the others helped you with your revenge it followed that you’d have to help with theirs. That made sense; how else could it be? But Severus had discovered with painful surprise that he couldn’t. Couldn’t torture no-names who’d never done anything to him, couldn’t punish Muggles whose only fault was their existence. He could feign it right enough but it sickened him. Yes, he could joy in battle, hex and counter-hex a standing opponent or an enemy of his own, but he hated to harm wandless strangers.

He’d argued with himself. Told himself he was a weakling, a softy, a sissy, reminded himself that they were all his enemies, for Merlin’s sake! If he switched places with them they wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him good and proper! And then he’d thought about doing this for the rest of his life and he knew: he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.

Rub, rub, rub. It was still there. It would always be there.

If only he hadn’t given in to that wild idea that Dumbledore might help him! When you come to the end of the road, stop. And when you can’t live with yourself, don’t. There were half-a dozen painless poisons he could have brewed using only the ingredients in his school Potions kit; half a hundred if he pinched from his teacher’s office. He should have drunk one rather than rat on his friends.

If he’d known Dumbledore would trap him into this he’d have died first. Wouldn’t he? Or was he just too craven, a weak-kneed lily-livered sniveling wimp? After all, he hadn’t been able to Avada himself when the time came.

No, that was different. He’d have needed to want to die to make that work. He’d been willing to die to save his friends, but he hadn’t wanted it. Even now he didn’t really want it, not if there was any choice. Not if there was anywhere else to go.

It was too late for his death to save them and to die now when the damage was done? There didn’t seem much point. It was as useless as trying to scrub the Dark Mark off his arm. He slumped against the wall and let the tears of blood drip slowly to the floor.




Originally, I had placed Rodolphus Lestrange and Bellatrix and Narcissa (as the younger) Black at Hogwarts together with Snape, because in GoF, ch 27, "Padfoot returns", Sirius names "the Lestranges - they're a married couple" as part of the "gang of Slytherins" Snape belonged to at school. I'd assumed the anomaly of Tonk's age - her mum is the middle sister - was just a mistake in JK's calculations.

However, JK's "Black Family Tree" (donated to Book Aid International in Jan 2006) makes Bellatrix 8 or 9 years older than Snape, in which case she would have left Hogwarts before he even began. Even if the truth is somewhere in between, she wouldn't still be at Hogwarts in Snape's seventh year, when this story is set. I've decided to assume that Rabastan is the younger brother and approximately Snape's age, as there is no evidence to the contrary.



Betrayals by duj [Reviews - 3]

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