"On Pain" by S. Snape

On Pain: A Recruit's Guide

S. Snape

In this publication, I shall endeavour to address the topic of pain, as it relates to the human condition. I consider myself uniquely qualified to write on this subject. To those who would challenge me on this point, I will direct you to my credentials, located primarily in the Ministry dossier with my name on the cover.

As you read this, remember that pain is one of your tools as a Death Eater. Acquaint yourself with it. Intimately.

I shall illustrate three kinds of pain using examples from my overlong tenure as a Potions instructor.

1.) Physical Pain. This is seen when an inept first year is scalded by a paltry attempt at a simple potion, due to a cauldron explosion.

2.) Emotional Pain. This occurs when the first year realizes his best friend has been burnt in the accident, and is suffering worse than he is.

3.) Rational Pain. This is the agonizing experience of listening to the first year babble inane excuses in an attempt to save his hide.

Note the differences; anyone with intellect should begin to see that form used on a victim should be based on the goal and on the specific character of said victim.

Disagreement exists over which of these forms is the most painful overall. While, to some extent, it is comparing Hippogriffs to Hinkypunks, I will list arguments in favour of each.

Physical pain arises from the body trying to stop a stimulus from harming it. When one burns his hand on a flame, the body instructs the hand to move. The particular beauty of this sort of pain is that when it is used as a torture mechanism, the body is by definition unable to stop the harm. As such, the pain is caused by the body's own defence mechanisms. It is a delightful paradox.

Emotional pain is a subtler method, softer than casting a Cruciatus. There are few spells that will cause raw, lasting emotional pain. Stronger by far is the death or torture of a loved one in front of the victim, or the use of the Imperius to facilitate emotionally damaging acts. This form is particularly brutal when used against Gryffindors.

Perhaps the greatest pain of all lies in the Emotional realm: the betrayal of the self. The worst pain, surely, is seen in a person forced to knowingly slaughter his sole mentor in a misguided attempt to save the world and a child's soul all at once. The worst pain lies in speaking those words atop a tower at Hogwarts, and watching the body fall in a

***

Severus cursed silently and set down his quill with shaking hands. It was too soon, too raw. He hadn't meant to write that. Wordlessly, he lit the last half of the parchment with his wand, and watched the damning words disappear into a wisp of smoke. Severus closed his mind, strengthened the walls, and gazed resolutely at the charred edge of his parchment. He could not afford to slip up now. He'd lost far too much, given far too much to fail now.

It was another curious thing about pain. The thought that everything he'd been through might be worth something, was enough that he would gladly continue his walk into hell.

Having increased his authority within the inner circle, Severus was forced to keep his façade in top condition. He no longer had any privacy, no moments to let his walls drop, and precious little time to remember that he wasn't precisely who he was pretending to be. Most importantly, he had no time to mourn.

Even now, Draco Malfoy was asleep on Severus' sofa. For all that Draco stole Severus' much cherished solitude, he didn't dare tell the boy to leave. The last year had taken its toll on Severus' favourite student: Sectumsempra had torn his flesh to shreds, and he was constantly afraid of failure--and of becoming a murderer. Then there was the discovery that his view of being one of the Dark Lord's servants was so terribly mistaken. Yes, Draco had experienced pain, of all types.

Severus saw himself in Draco. So damaged, so young. They hid themselves behind practiced mental shields and presented a face--or two--to the world. But unlike Severus, Draco could be saved. If only he could manage it. If he could convince the boy. If it didn't compromise the position Severus had gained by the headmaster's sacrifice.

Turning Draco from his father's path would have been difficult enough even if Severus could confide his true loyalties. To have to do so while appearing the perfect servant was an unthinkably difficult task.

Severus smirked. When had he ever chosen simple tasks?

He'd tried in vain to save the youngest Black for months before he joined. Within a few weeks, Regulus had changed his mind and wanted out. Severus shook his head. The idiot had run from the Dark Lord, as if that could save him. If Severus hadn't been the one assigned to eliminate him, Black would have been dead within the day. The boy had never been that intelligent, though. Severus had nearly choked on his drink when he saw the Quibbler article about 'Stubby Boardman.' The fool. What sort of idiot pretends to be dead by becoming a nationally known rock star?

At present, his task was no less difficult and infinitely more complex. Firstly, he was charged with maintaining his façade--which was a nearly impossible task in itself. He'd seen enough people fail at it over the years. And when people failed, it was not a pretty sight. While doing that, he had to save Draco. While doing that he had to find ways to help the Chosen One--he sneered--despite the fact that Potter would try to kill him on sight. Then, he had to aid in the defeat of the Dark Lord, hopefully without losing his life or Draco's soul. And, of course, receiving an Order of Merlin wouldn't be amiss.

Only a Slytherin. Only me, he amended. The web was too tangled for any other to manage it.

He sighed and wondered how he'd gotten in quite this deep.

No matter, he rationalized. There's no going back.

He transferred the start of his 'manual' onto a fresh sheet of paper. A manual. Severus snorted. What would the Dark Lord's next mad idea be? Introductory teas?

There was a knock on the door, and Severus jumped.

He promptly chastised himself again--he was not supposed to be this easily shaken. He walked to the door to open it.

Back to life. Play the game. Shield my soul. Wear the mask. I am the perfect servant.

As always, by the end of the litany he was Severus Snape: loyal, unquestioning Death Eater, most trusted servant. No regrets. No looking back.

He looked behind him at Draco's sleeping form.

Only moving forward.

He opened the door.

'Narcissa. Do come in. I expect you're here for your son?'