Hidden in darkness

What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.' Do you agree or disagree? Why?

It's a fascinating and appealing notion. The thought that keeps us sane and up when life and circumstances overwhelm us with situation or events that might come so close to killing us - physically or mentally - it's almost a wonder we manage to escape.

Or survive.

But deep down, do we truly become stronger from things that go against us? Do our mental defences get undermined by yet another blow, so we are left even more vulnerable than before? Do we pretend to become stronger, just so the world will be fooled and not dare go against us again?

Do we slowly become paranoid in deep fear of a repeat?

Do we gradually close out the world, to prevent that repeat?

Do we wear iron masks and put up thick granite walls, to keep the lingering shivering remnants of our true being hidden from view?

Is that strength?

As usual, a simple question will always spawn more, as we look beyond the shining surface.

Wordcount: 165

In his life, Severus' loyalties had shifted so many times, he almost seemed fickle to himself. He chastised himself for that thought, not for the first time.

He made no excuses, since none would truly excuse anything. And to be honest, he didn't want to apologise for where his loyalties had been, and why they had shifted. All the choices and changes were made at different stages of his life, of his development as a person. A human being with knowledge, ignorance, cleverness, stupidity, confidence and deeply rooted insecurities.

First his mother, who had betrayed herself and by doing that, betrayed him. He still loved her though, the few scant memories worth cherishing.

Then Lucius Malfoy. A foolish but oh so very understandable choice. So beautifully alluring and convincing, so smooth and intelligent and tempting, it was a wonder he even managed to break free of that enchantment and the power it had held over him.

Did you ever truly break free?

Riddle, or Lord Voldemort as he had chosen to call himself. Charisma and the right words, chillingly skilled in seeing his deepest desires and hatreds. Even more skilled in using them, together with Severus' rapidly growing skills in potion making and the Dark Arts. And his eager lust for revenge, to get back at those who had made his school time almost as unbearable as his time at home.

Dumbledore and through him, the Order... When the dark mark had burned so deeply into his soul, it had started hollowing it out. A frightening emptiness Severus had felt so acutely, he had finally wondered if he'd made the right choices. Wondered if ambition, hatred and revenge was enough to follow a man, who wanted nothing other than ultimate power over them all.

Which he did have over us, still has...

It hadn't been enough.

Loyalty craved more, so much more. Like love, which brought him to Remus.

Wordcount: 320

Perception: Generally speaking, how do you think others perceive you?

Angry, sallow, scowling, cruel, vindictive, petty, greasy, sneering, gaunt, loathing, ugly, cold, intelligent, sneaky, slippery, dark, insane, selfish, callous, intolerant, unhappy, evil, spiteful...

Death Eater ... cold blooded murdered and traitor.

Oh, Severus knew all the words attached to his person. Only too well, in fact. Most had been said directly to his face, many had been evident in the eyes of people, when they looked at him, and some he had gleaned from their minds. They were right, for the most part. He was the majority of those things.

He just didn't care anymore.

Because he knew a few people who perceived him differently. Who bothered to look past the facade and dared to challenge him to be a different man. A man who actually was able to smile, to love, to care... and those people were the only ones that mattered.

True, he had killed one of them. In cold blood even, at least in the exact moment the curse had left his wand. But even in killing Albus, where he'd confirmed - once more - all those negative traits people believed him made up of, he had acted out of loyalty and love. And he would do it again.

So yes, peoples' perceptions about him were mostly correct, but they had in no way the full picture. And they never would have.

Wordcount: 225

Severus didn't dream much anymore. Or his mind simply chose to discard whatever lingering remnants of those dreams there were, before he woke. The last sounded most plausible, as he knew he would go mad very quickly, if there were no dreams at all.

Well, more mad than he already was, of course. That degree of madness was surely a matter of discussion for several people who knew him, including himself.

So he had no home of his dreams. He had a home. He even had two, when you looked at physical property. But a true home? He wondered if he'd ever had one.

And also, if he would ever truly feel at home anywhere.

Spinner's End hadn't been a home, in spite of the familiar and safe feel it had held for so many years.

Hogwarts hadn't been home either, but more a labyrinth of frustrations with nowhere to go other than into his dungeons, behind locked heavy oak doors, where even Dumbledore had hesitated to disturb him.

His childhood home? That thought almost made him laugh.

Florence or Brooklyn? Houses of convenience. One for safety, the other for ... sanity. For the chance to see Remus, when he could. A high risk, but also a necessity. But neither were the home of his dreams. And the more he pondered this, the more he doubted that home would ever exist, for him.

So he simply stopped, turning back to reality and the row of vials in front of him. Poisons of the strongest potency. Deadly in doses so small it was impossible to measure out enough the exact amount for just one person.

Was death the home of his dreams?

Don't be ridiculous, Severus.

Death was the easy solution, and certainly not what he dreamt of.

Home could be Remus.

That was another thought, he couldn't allow himself to linger on for too long.

Dreams were selfish after all.

Wordcount: 322

My father was a Muggle. He hated my mother, hated the pride he beat out of her and the weakness that replaced it, hated the magic he couldn't take away, hated the child she bore him.

He was a proud man, Tobias Snape, even in his most drunken moments. A tough and temperamental merchant, dealing with both the Muggle world and the Wizarding world, his marriage had opened up to him. Oh, he loved the money, even as he spit after the wizards and witches who bought his goods, cursed their names and their unnatural ways. But Galleons, sickles and knuts were just as good as pounds and pennies, I suppose. The Galleons even better, since they were of the beloved gold.

I feared him and his brutal strength. I learned to avoid him, ignoring the calls and even the pained cries from my mother. I learned to know when he was in one of his moods from a look, a word... a gesture even. I learned to defy him with silence, even as the pain took my breath away. I learned to hate him ... No, he taught me to hate. Taught me how good it felt to truly despise somebody and wish nothing other than their death.

Lessons I gather were valuable, in all their horrible nature. I would probably not have been the man I am today, had Tobias Snape been the kind man, my mother foolishly thought she had married.

She was the last Prince to be foolish. I learned my lesson well.

Wordcount: 257

Severus has not had much time to think since the new year started. Or even since before Christmas. More memories have joined the few extremely personal ones in the pensieve, while he has been in the presence of his one remaining master. Memories he should consider... events that have changed things, turned so much upside down.

Now, as he sits down with a soft sigh, finally home again - if it can be called home in any way - he knows he will have to put those memories back. The stone basin, standing so innocently on a shelf, a silvery cloth covering the top half of it, beckons him.

Severus rises from the chair and walks over to the pensieve. The cloth is smooth and heavy, sliding off the basin with a small rustle. For a moment he merely looks at the liquid swirling lazily around, the silver of memories glowing subtly.

A small practised wave of his wand is enough, the long string easy to extract ... and re-implant, in his mind. In a flash, the memory plays before his inner eye, disturbing, upsetting, alluring, arousing... Remus and Kirill. Severus blinks out of it and replaces the cloth over the basin.

Sitting back down in his chair, it surprises him how utterly clear that memory is, defying the normal haze usually attached to drunken recollections.

Were you truly drunk, or were you decieving yourself?

It also startles him, how much it emphasises much of what has changed in his life this past year. How much he's thought he's remained the same, all the while changing far more than he can comprehend.

And it's all centered around Remus.

Albus too, to a certain degree, forcing Severus into the role as the hunted, the traitor, the murderer... A situation that in turn has forced him out of the small comfortable box that had been his life. Had torn that small box to pieces, and left him floundering with only two fixed points in his life.

Remus and the mission.

And while time passes without change to the mission, without development... everything concerning Remus has shifted. Grown intenser and deeper, a love he no longer tries to question, a passion he needs, a man he no longer can be without.

A possessive jealousy, that is still strong but has somehow morphed into something he can't understand, no matter how deep inside himself he looks.

He needs to speak with Remus about this. And Kirill... Needs to understand what has happened.

Wordcount: 403

Venice...

Severus should have left by now, having completed his task. But he couldn't stop looking into the fog rolling in through the canals from the bay, swallowing up the small boats, the houses and the low bridges, already now swirling around his ankles. It moved fast, unstoppable and chilling, not only in its physical temperature, but also in the eerie muffled silence it created around him, and the lack of clear vision.

( Wishful thinking. )

Muse: Severus Snape
Fandom: Harry Potter
Wordcount: 357

Severus had never doubted his legilimency skills and their usefulness. If he wanted to, he could know all he wanted to know, about other people. Muggles would be without resistance and even strong wizards or witches would have to be prepared and ready, to repell him.

Not that he actively used this skill very often. Occlumency was his true strength, used, refined and polished over many years. His 'facts', his memories had always been well protected, even in the face of the two strongest wizards of his time.

Of course, memories were always in the eyes of the beholder. What one person saw in a situation, was rarely the same as another would see. It was all a matter of interpretation. And yet, there would always be a grain of truth even in the most warped of memories. To find that grain... that fact, and recognise the truth in it, that was the true challenge of Legilimency.

But he had never felt a need for knowing that single fact about everybody. He had enough in keeping his own facts where they belonged; In his head, where nobody would ever find them.

Wordcount: 191

Shimmering blue, like Mother of Pearl beneath a crisp winter's blue clear sky. The colour was brilliant against the dark red velvet of the table cloth. Like a bright light in darkness. A darkness that went beyond the low light in the room, the black corners and the black robes.

( Warning for torture and death )