Set Me As A Seal

Professor Severus Snape sat in the cold darkness of his dungeon office, staring into the last of what had been a miserable fire to start with. As it burned to the coals, he felt a twinge, a twinge he had not felt in years.

It began as a twinge, and yet quickly the sensation escalated into something more painful: sharper, more potent. Before long the pain became unbearable; a raging, burning sensation wracked his arm. Snape clawed at the left sleeve of his robe, and succeeded in ripping a tear all the way up to the elbow.

He glared at the ugly, pulsing mark on his wrist, that was even now intensifying in its ethereal glowing color. Thoughts and feelings raced about in his mind: anger, fear, pain. And yet in all the confusion, one melody pervaded. It was a Muggle tune. Merlin only knew where he'd heard it.

He was forever sealed, forever marked on his arm, but the real weight lay upon his heart. It was an awful burden, and one he knew he must bare alone. After all who could care for a black-hearted man who deserted the cause the separated him from so many to begin with? The answer came, as it did every time. No-one. He would remain sealed off from the world, from affection for the rest of his life. He would go alone, even to the grave.

Love. What did he know of love? No, this "love" had to be more of an ironic metaphor for something else. After all, weren't there always stories of how love caused so many people heartache and pain. Pain, yes that was it. The evil pain that he had willingly, gladly allowed to take up residence in his forearm so many years before, was now haunting him.

Snape hated it. He hated the small black mark and the agony it stood for. The physical agony it created for him often made him wish to end it all. It wouldn't be so hard. He was, after all, a potions master. He had access to more than a few excellent poisons. But no. There again was the agony. The suffering he'd caused so many innocent people over the years never failed to hinder that train of thought. He couldn't die, not until he'd made up the cost of all the lives he'd destroyed.

And there it was again. Pulsing, paining, penetrating his reflections. A bonfire raged in the coin-sized tattoo. It was like a Cruciatus Curse that had been contained and concentrated on one spot. Such immense pain in this small area was unimaginable.

Yet someone had imagined it. Snape's eyes gleamed in the low light. Someone indeed. Someone called Voldemort. This someone that had begun at the very school at which Snape now taught. Tom Marvolo Riddle had been a student at Hogwarts, once upon a time. He was exceptionally bright and had been a prefect for Slytherin House. Snape often wondered what had gone wrong, what had happened to turn this intelligent young man into the lord of evil that everyone knew and 'loved' today. He allowed himself a brief grin as he pawed deeper into his thoughts. Today this young man had become great, he had...oh! what he had done...

Remembering who he was thinking of, Snape snapped out of his reverie. Jumping up, he ran to the tap and shoved the detested appendage beneath the cool water. Icy water soothed the heat but, try as he might, it would not wash away the grotesque mark on his flesh.

He knew it was pointless, even juvenile to try to clean it off. He was scarred, marked, marred - defaced - for life. He would continue into eternity with it. He knew the consequences, and had accepted them. No one could escape the Dark Mark.