Innocence

-Part Two

But, of course, Severus would never be clean of the blood on his hands. His memory could never be free of the scared and tortured faces of the people he had killed under the direction of the Dark Lord. His ears would never be free from the screams. His eyes would never be free from the green light. It haunted him.

His pensive gray eyes stared as he thought, seeing the unseeable, remembering. That night Death Eaters from across the country converged on Hogwarts, and the Great Battle was fought. It was called "great", but little could be great about the end of the war against the Dark Lord, unless it was the number of dead when it was done.

He had always hated Harry Potter, Severus knew. He had hated Harry's father, and he hated James's son. James Potter had been arrogant, self-centered man, and had made Severus's life hell whenever possible.

The clock on the wall, tilting its dark brown wooden nose toward Severus and the table the Potions Master was sitting at.

"Are you going to sit there all day with your tea, or are you going to get up and do some productive brooding?"

Severus rose from the table, his silver silk housecoat swooshing over his plain black robes. Red and green dragons danced over the fabric, delicately and tastefully eying the clock and the other objects in the room. His tea cup was empty, and he banished it through the open doorway into his kitchen where, with a flick of his wrist, it began washing itself. He turned and walked through to his bedroom, pausing briefly at the doorway to renew the silencing charm on his cheeky clock.

His bedroom was a study in simplicity. A bed, placed in the middle of the room, was the main focal point, covered in a plain cream comforter, already made up for the day. Severus Snape was the model of efficiency. Next to the bed stood a small side table, unadorned and round. Many half-burnt candles of various sizes stood upon it surface waiting to be used, and a similarly unlit fireplace faced it. One window covered most of a side wall, and there on either side hung pale green velvet curtains.

As Severus entered this he looked toward the wall the fireplace was set into, upon which sat rows of shelves, holding potions references, recreational reading books, and old diaries. Arrogant, self-centered, undeserving, pompous man, Severus corrected himself.

It was bad enough that James Potter had been annoying in adolescence and had rivaled Severus in everything, but in adult-hood Severus had actually grown to loath him. James Potter became successful, wealthy, and well-liked. He had also fathered the boy who had done what Severus could not: destroy the Dark Lord.

Somewhere across England, every family that Severus helped tear apart, every child who lost a father, every woman who lost a sister, everyone who lost a cousin or co-worker, was slowly moving on with their lives. They were growing skin over the large hole Severus had put there, one which would never fully heal, never be perfect again. He had put it there, he, Severus Snape, had caused terror and torment to too many people to ever be forgiven. No one would ever see him the same again. Dumbledore was the only one who had ever been able to give him that gift, and Severus had repaid that with lax attention. Albus Dumbledore was dead.

Severus jumped as his reverie was again broken. There was a tapping at the window.