Dying Every Day

The cold and the wind hit his body so hard it stung. He shivered and struggled to stay upright. It was one of the worst storms of the winter so far; rain and strong winds had lashed at the castle for days on end. He still trembled from the strain of the repeated cruciatus curses he had endured that night. Voldemort hadn't welcomed him back with opened arms as he had secretly wished, though he knew it had been a vain hope really.

He had suffered this pain too long. Months of the cruciatus curse, sometimes several times a day was having an immense strain on his body and his mind, he didn't think he could bear this much longer.

He walked closer to the wall at the edge of the platform he stood on, on the edge of one of the towers. It was a wooden platform, designed for watching the universe and for doing long distance magic, not for standing on while contemplating death.

The icy rain lashed down and froze his body. The rain mixed with the tears on his face as he held the edge of the wall, at the mercy of the wind and the rain. No one would miss him if he died, the only friends he had ever had were dead and rotting by now. No one had ever truly liked him for himself, and he could understand why, he was a monster. He didn't deserve to have any friends, he deserved to be tortured and slowly killed.

There was a fierce pain in his head and behind his eyes; a wave of sickness swam in his stomach. He deserved the pain. He'd killed, raped and cursed enough innocent people as a Death Eater. He was some of the worst scum on the earth and he knew it.

He slowly leaned out over the wall to look at the drop in front of him, several hundred feet. No one would miss him, no one had ever cared for him, he might as well throw himself off the platform. It would be better than wasting his time on earth, getting in peoples' way and making life difficult for every one else.

The rain was beating down harder than ever and it was a struggle to breathe against the wind.

He shouldn't have gone back to Voldemort. He would go to hell for all he'd done. He would suffer whatever he did.

"Severus."

He turned round to look at the door to the platform. Albus Dumbledore stood there looking at him. He beckoned him inside

Severus Snape looked down at the huge drop behind him, then went inside. Albus carefully put his arm around his shoulders, avoiding the spots of pain lingering from his torture. There was no point killing himself.

He was dying every day.

There we are people. I was in a miserable mood and just decided to write this. Please review, it's the first time I've ever tried anything like this.