Walls

There was no point anymore. No point to his existence. No point in continuing on in this black, empty life.

Voldemort was dead and gone, never to return. Potter and gang had seen to that. He had been lauded along with the rest of them, which in all honesty had surprised him. The shiny medal of The Order of Merlin brought him no comfort, no peace. It was merely an object to hang on ones robes if one were vain enough or to hide in the bottom of a drawer somewhere if one were modest about their contribution.

Or ashamed.

Severus Snape paced his bedroom this morning, just as he had every morning for the last two decades. Only this morning the thoughts that wandered through his head were different than those of the last twenty or so years. His morning pep talks usually consisted of the reasons why he was there in the first place. For the side of all that is good. For the light, for those whose circumstances of birth had somehow doomed them to death because they weren't considered pure of blood.

Foolishness, utter foolishness, this blind prejudice. All of the death and destruction because of one psychotic half-blooded wizard named Tom Riddle.

It was ironic really, how this monster was so like another. Hitler was believed to have Jewish blood flowing through his veins, yet he was responsible for the torture and destruction of millions of Jews.

Blind, psychotic prejudice. History, whether Muggle or magical does repeat itself. The human psyche thinks that these monsters are merely aberrations, that the soul of most isn't capable of such evil.

Blindness. Blind naivete. The evil sneaks up on you. The evil is subtle and sweet-talking. The evil comes in the guise of making the world a better place to live in. The evil hides itself behind a beautiful face and makes love to you until you are completely taken in. Once you belong to the evil, you cannot escape. You are married to it and even if you regret it you must still pretend to love it. If you want to live.

He had fallen for the sweet talk, the promise of power and wealth and respect. Fallen for the acceptance he was shown, for the companionship and friends he had made. Friends indeed. He had gladly followed until the night that Lily and James Potter were murdered.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. He had begun feeling disenchanted long before their deaths. He had seen the lies for what they were, but had seen them too late for salvation. He had been marked, yet he had still been thinking of ways of escape. Yet he had been afraid of escape, he had not known if he could. He didn't know if he would be able to escape. There was no one to turn to.

Then James and Lily were murdered, and their son Harry seemingly defeated Voldemort. Stripped him of his power because of the protection of a mother's love.

Snape knew that this supposed defeat was merely temporary. The loss of Lily Potter nearly broke what was left of the dark man's heart. He had fancied himself in love with her at one point, but had ruined any chance that day by the lake. The blind prejudice in him speaking words that he always wished he could take back. Instead he used the anger and the pain he felt on the day she married Potter to ingratiate himself further to The Dark Lord.

So he went to Albus Dumbledore for forgiveness, for a chance at redemption.

Thus began his career as a spy. Thus began his career worked out in a dark dungeon. Thus began his life of ignoring the rumors. Thus began his life of trying to protect the children of the purest blood from following in the way of their parents. Thus began his life of waiting for the inevitable. The return of Voldemort. The defeat of Voldemort. All at the hands of a boy who grew up to be so much like his father, but with the eyes of his mother. The boy and his friends, whom he was assigned to protect and educate, but never to be allowed to let them know what he was doing. Thus began his life of coddling the likes of Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle. Parkinson and Nott. The once great House of Slytherin.

He had failed. They were all gone now. Dead or in Azkaban.

He was weary. He had never felt so damn tired and drained.

There was no point anymore. There was no further reason for his existence. There was no light at the end of the tunnel that was his life.

With a sigh, he sat down on the edge of his great bed and laid his wand on the table beside it, next to his medal. He was dressed in his finest. He didn't want to be found in his work robes.