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Blackness for a long time, and a kind of hot pounding in his head. He supposed he must have been walking through the castle corridors, because the next time he became aware of his surroundings, he was floors away from the Hospital Wing, staring out of the window of the Second Floor Corridor, beside the Gryffindor Portrait Hole.

The window-pane was flecked with rain-drops, but the sunlight was blazing through them, creating brilliant sparkles that seared themselves into his eyes. The glass looked splintered, as though it had been fractured into thousands of little slivers that were only staying together because they hadn’t realized yet that they were broken.  

That was how Severus felt. When he realized that he was broken, it was going to hurt, but, right now, in the painful white glare of the windows, he only knew he was hot and he wanted to be someplace dark.

Auto-pilot took over again, and then he found himself in the dungeon classroom he used for studying. There was a dull, throbbing pain in his knuckles, and he noticed, as though he was standing outside himself, that his fists were clenched and bleeding.

Had he broken the window? Hadn’t he just been imagining that the window was broken? And why, if he was going to break something, would he use his fists like a common muggle? Like his dad. Tobias Snape was always using his fists to open everything. It didn't matter that it was ineffective, because it made a point.

In that moment of confusion, he suddenly heard Narcissa’s voice purring: “No matter what you do, no matter how hard you work, you can’t empty your veins of that muggle blood. There’s only one way to do that.”

Was that what he’d been trying to do? Bleed out the muggle in him? It was the kind of solution Bellatrix would think of.

It was funny, but he seemed to remember a spell for drawing corrupted blood out of a person, but he couldn’t remember where he’d read it. His thoughts were creeping sluggishly around his skull, like scattered fish in a vast, lifeless ocean, and, all the time, his half-muggle blood was trickling down his arms as he held his still-clenched fists before his eyes. Why couldn’t he unclench them?  

They were holding something, he realized; something they obviously didn’t want to let go of.

Severus felt a little of his old frustration creeping back into him. They were his hands, after all, and he could open them if he wanted to.

Still, it took a few more moments of concentration, and there were a few more trickles of blood winding down his forearms like black snakes, before he was looking at the object in his open palm.

It looked like a fancy quill – one of the ones made of Hippogriff feathers, except that this one didn’t have a gold nib. With another rush of dizzy shock, he realized that the tip of the quill was deeply embedded in his palm. He pulled it out, still feeling nothing except heat and confusion.

Perhaps it was the Cruciatus Curse, he thought suddenly: that was supposed to rob you of your ability to feel pain. Torturing Malfoy must have made him numb. There was something very appealing about the idea of being invulnerable: his imagination had always been enthralled by it, ever since he’d first been hit by his father and thought: if muggles were so inferior, then this shouldn’t hurt. If they were the idiot cousins of wizards, then their fists should just bounce off us, as if we were made of metal.

But no, there was going to be pain, he was sure of it: he could feel it looming over him like a dark, threatening cloud. It was just waiting until he was good and lucid.

He looked back at the giant feather, and wondered where he’d got it from. It had been squashed flat by his grip, but Severus couldn’t have made out its colour anyway, because it was dirty and matted and covered in what looked like congealed blood. It must have come from the Griffin in Abraxas Malfoy’s oubliette.

And then he realized several things at once:

One was that he had a way out of the castle that Dumbledore didn’t know about, and the other was that Lily was going out with James Potter.

And there it was, as there always was when Severus blacked out from excessive anger, or hatred, or jealousy: a plan ready-formed in his mind: a way of getting his life back, a way of making his tormentors suffer. And the feather was the key.  

He needed to get rid of Potter. No more stupid schemes to get him expelled or humiliate him. Potter had to disappear from Severus’ world forever.

But he’s better than me, Severus thought, with a twisting pain in his stomach. He always wins.

No, he was not better. He was just lucky. The teachers had him wrapped up in cotton wool, and would put you in detention if you even looked at him funny. And everybody was willing to let him copy their homework, because he was the Quidditch Captain, and nobody dared to jinx him, because he had rich, important, fawning parents who thought he could do no wrong. His head was puffed up to such a degree that he wouldn’t even notice if he was beaten. He was too arrogant to feel defeat.

But Dumbledore was the main problem. Potter was Dumbledore’s favourite, and there was no getting to Potter while Dumbledore was around.   

But the Dark Lord could do it. The Dark Lord was the only one who could beat Dumbledore: because, much as Severus hated the old fool, he was prepared to admit that he was a powerful wizard. He was just an extremely bad judge of character.

Severus needed to get into the Dark Lord’s good books. And what the Dark Lord wanted more than anything else was Caladrius.   

And now Severus had a ready-made way to get Caladrius out of the castle. If he could lure the Divination teacher into Abraxas Malfoy’s tunnels, he would not be able to protect himself, because nobody but Severus (and Malfoy and Lily) knew the secret of using magic inside the dampening field.  

Dumbledore would have all kinds of protective spells in place to ensure that nobody could be taken outside the borders of the castle grounds against their will. But he didn’t know about the oubliette, and how could he protect a place he’d never seen? It was only visible to people with a guilty conscience.

The river in Malfoy’s oubliette flowed outside the castle grounds. And, from there, they could Apparate to London. Severus had passed his Apparition test earlier in the month (with admirable concentration, considering that Potter had been taunting him the whole time: “I always assumed you’d be good at Appraition, Snivellus, because nobody knows you’re there at the best of times,” “Careful not to splinch yourself, Snivellus, we don’t want you leaving that greasy hair behind – oh, and I know it must be hard to keep track of that gigantic nose, but try to take it with you, or Padfoot here might start using it as a pool cue”)  

Feeling was starting to creep back into his limbs now – tentatively at first, with a few prickles of pain in his hands, and then devastatingly, as he remembered Lily and Potter in the Hospital Wing – Potter’s dazed, triumphant, despicable grin, as he lifted Lily’s bag off her shoulders, and boasted about his stupid father, and his stupid father’s moronic friends.

Snape’s vision blurred with hatred, and he had to steady himself against the damp stone walls of the dungeon, smearing them with blood as he did so. He folded his hands over his stomach instead, giving the dizziness full rein. Jealousy was tearing at his entrails like a ravenous wolf – it was real, physical pain, and he felt that if he could just protect himself, maybe conjure a Shield Charm or an Impediment Jinx, he could fend it off somehow.

Then the memory of Lily’s reproachful awkwardness descended on him like cold water.

She made him feel as though he’d taken advantage of her. And that was not a nice thing to feel, when you loved someone, especially when you wanted them enough to take advantage of them but had tried with every fibre of your being not to. He had almost killed himself with not taking advantage of her. What did she want?

Unfortunately, his mind could supply a ready answer to that question, in the shape of the word he hated more than any other: Potter.

It was all Potter’s doing, he told himself. Potter had got to her, turned her against him, swayed her with all that arrogant talk about the Weird Sisters and the special privileges of Quidditch Captains. She’d been vulnerable without her memories – suggestible. And everyone in the school thought Potter was so perfect, so cool.

He made her say the things she said to me, Snape thought desperately. It doesn’t mean… But he couldn’t even finish the thought.

He focused instead upon his hatred, because he could usually deal with that. It had never been like this, though. He’d never had to imagine what Potter might be doing with Lily – draped and drooling over her shoulder, like some kind of lecherous parrot.

He buried his face in his hands, trying to block out the horrible images that kept occurring to him. The calm of his Occlumency state seemed worlds away. He couldn’t stop imagining Potter’s clammy, fumbling hands on her body, slipping the straps of her dress off her shoulders…

Stop it, he told himself.

And they would be out tonight, drinking together. Would she tell Potter how he felt about her? Would they spend their evening laughing at him?  

Stop it, stop it.

But even these thoughts were better than the idea that maybe Potter had nothing to do with it. Maybe Lily just didn’t want him. Maybe he made her skin crawl.

Jealousy was his comfort; that was how bad things had got.

He pushed his forehead against the cold stone wall, wondering why he had ended up here, of all places. The only place he’d ever been happy. The only place where his demons had been put to sleep for a while. Because they’d always been there, he realized – in the library, when he and Lily had shared chocolate frogs and whispered about Madam Pince’s distinctive, musty odour – she smelled like she slept between the pages of old books - in their little basin of shade beside the river in Spinner’s End – even on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, when she’d touched his shoulder, and it had felt as though she’d reached right through his bones and into his chest, picked up his heart, dusted it off, and put it back again, good as new. Better than new. When had he ever felt a tender touch, even as a child? He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t shrunk from physical contact, so deeply was the memory of his father’s violence and his mother’s bitterness imprinted in his heart.    

But his demons had still been there, even on the steam-shrouded platform. His stomach had still tightened when Lily had walked past Potter, there had still been that cold certainty that he didn’t deserve her, and he never would.  

But not when she’d kissed him in this classroom. Not when she’d pressed her body to his, and it had been hot and soft and ginger-bread-scented.  

These thoughts were twisting into Snape’s stomach like a corkscrew, and he knew that he had to get out. He couldn’t be here anymore.  

He walked back through the dungeon corridors, retracing the route he must have taken on his way here. It was easy enough to spot, because he had left a trail of destruction behind him. Doors were hanging off their frames, torch-brackets had been torn out of their sockets in the walls, and there was blood from his fists on the wet, stone walls. It made his knuckles ache at the sight.

He was going to be in so much trouble. Still, at least he had used his hands: magic could be traced, using the Priori Incantatem spell, but violence was just violence. It was there and then it was gone. There was no record of it, except in the bruises you inflicted. And, as he knew only too well, in the minds of impressionable people who had to watch.

No, his demons had not disappeared in any of those happy memories, he thought bitterly, trying to stay rational, trying to keep his mind from dwelling on Potter’s stupid, triumphant, disgusting grin, and Lily’s coldness.  

They hadn’t been gone. He’d just forgotten about them. The world had still been unfair back then, he just hadn’t minded. Happiness was the same as forgetfulness, and forgetfulness was the same as ignorance (Snape’s thoughts were racing now, as though they wanted to make up for lost time). Therefore, he didn’t want to be happy, because happiness was just a nice name for stupidity. He felt sick that he had been taken in by it. He must have looked so stupid, mumbling incoherently to her, pleading with her.

Stop it.

He looked again at the feather that had found its way so mysteriously into the palm of his hand.   

And he suddenly remembered where he’d read about the Charm for drawing out corrupted blood. It had been one of Lily’s books on Healing Magic – a spell for Charming out poison. You trapped the poisoned blood in an arm, using a modified Summoning Charm, so that it didn’t infect the rest of the body, and then you opened a vein. Any vein would do; the blood would be running to you, like a dog running after a stick. Severus had been struck by that idea – imagine having the ability to summon someone’s blood right out of their veins!

He had frequently visualized using the Charm on Potter.

That was where Dumbledore stumbled, Severus thought: banning books on Dark Magic was all very well, but any magic could be Dark Magic if you had dark intentions, even Healing Magic, which was supposed to be the ultimate antithesis: the Light and Frothy Art, as it was known in the Slytherin Common-room.

Lily had said that Healing Magic couldn’t be misused, because it was fuelled by sympathy and trust. You had to care that your patient recovered, in order for any Healing Magic to work.

But Severus knew how to fool people. His studies in Mind Magic had taught him how to mask his real feelings, even substitute false feelings, to fool a Legilimens. And, if he could fool people, why couldn’t he fool spells? They didn’t think as creatively as people. At any rate, they didn’t think as creatively as him.    

The patient needed to drink a Blood-Renewing potion right after the blood-letting, of course, because losing that much blood was extremely dangerous. But Severus had never paid much attention to the dreary, recuperative measures that followed spectacular spells. He knew that magic was all about balance, that you couldn’t take without giving, in some important way, but he had always thought that, if you did enough for magic, it would wind up doing something for you.

You were giving by expanding the limits of what magic could do, by keeping ancient spells in circulation – Dark Magic was always in danger of being forgotten, because it was solitary and illegal. Surely, then, the practise of Dark Magic was mutually beneficial, for the magic and for the wizard. Even killing, if viewed from a certain angle, was resurrecting something else.

And, if it was in the interests of magic, if it kept magic alive, if it stopped magic from being put to ignominious uses, like powering self-stirring cauldrons or causing a bunch of flowers to burst out of the end of your wand, then how could it be wrong? How could it be bad?

Severus had always thought that there was a lot of frivolity in the wizarding world: wackiness, almost. So much of the magic you saw from day to day was loud bangs and showing off: fountains of wine pouring from your wand, Quidditch rosettes that screamed the names of your team’s players at you (including, in some cases, the substitutes, the manager, the club’s caretaker, and his dog).

You would never have believed, when you looked at those trick wands that turned into canaries and pecked at you until you apologized, that magic was a noble science that was helping to lift wizardkind out of the dust.  

If people like Potter had their way, the wackiness would be in the ascendant all the time, and magic would be something that kept your broomstick in the air and made you sick on demand so that you could get out of Potions, and nothing more.  

Severus hated it. Magic wasn’t charming, or delightful, or eccentric; it was dramatic, formidable and beautiful.

This was one of the reasons he’d fallen in love with Lily – because magic was so pure in her. It was sheer, undiluted feeling. Oh, she liked frivolous little spells, too – she enjoyed the Rictusempra Charm, which induced a pleasant tickling sensation (Severus felt a painful jolt in his stomach, as he remembered putting this Charm on her while they were in the library, watching her strained self-control as she tried not to laugh. She would always breathe very deeply and purse her lips, to try and keep the laughter from overwhelming her. He had watched her hungrily, thrilling in her pleasure, waiting with baited breath for the moment when she would lose control. She always did. It had been, until that night when she’d taken the Rosura potion, the most exciting thing he’d ever felt. And then they were always chased from the library by Madam Pince’s magically magnified yells, Lily still laughing, and Severus would pretend to be very disappointed in her, perhaps calling her a squealing Hufflepuff or a Cornish pixie. He had never meant her to take it seriously).

She also loved mood potions, which caused your hair to turn a different colour, depending on how you were feeling. She had taken this potion one Christmas, Severus remembered, and all day, without the merest hint of an under-tone, her hair had been a pure, joyous gold, like fields of corn, or the Quidditch Cup.

(Severus still had dreams in which he was flying after the Quidditch Cup on a broomstick, trying to catch up to it, and he wondered whether this was an expression of his increasingly desperate attempts to get Lily. Sometimes, when the dream got very dark, Potter was racing after the Cup too, and he could always out-fly Severus, even in the dream-world. Snape had a vivid imagination, but it was fatalistic – it always betrayed him: it fixed on the worst imaginable possibilities, and then, because it was so powerful, it made them come true).

Dumbledore (in one of the detention-lectures that he frequently put Severus into) had once said that reality is what you expect, not what there is. And Snape's imagination was proving him right, which was just typical of its deliberately unhelpful attitude.

But Lily’s magic had been too strong for the mood potion. Her feelings were not the kind that could be reduced to simple colours. Somehow, without trying, she had taken the basic premise of the mood potion and improved upon it: her hair grew longer, and started to swirl about her, as though she were underwater. When she was reading, it would rearrange itself into a different style of its own accord and, in moments of particularly intense happiness, it sparked and crackled with ecstasy, as though it were burning with invisible fire.  

That was the point: whenever she performed frivolous magic, she surpassed it, disgraced it. Lily’s magic was real magic – it was made for better things than scouring dishes, or boiling potatoes. It was the least menial magic he had ever seen – in fact, it was majestic, imperious. It was like Bella, only beautiful.

Severus forced his mind away from these digressions, because they were stinging like a swarm of wasps – stings that he seemed to be having an allergic reaction to, because they were squeezing all the air out of his lungs and making his skin burn.

Everything was lost now – or would be if he didn’t get Caladrius.  

He tried to think his way back to his original point, before his brain had started enthusing about Lily. Oh, yes.

The Dark Lord, even if he didn’t know it, was honouring magic – he was expanding its horizons, reminding people that it was an elemental force, not a source of loud bangs and cheap tricks. Real wizards did not pull rabbits out of hats – that was one of the first things his mother had ever told him about magic. It had seemed cryptic at the time, but now he understood it. Magic was being degraded, its grace and dignity forgotten.

He would explain to Lily, someday, that he’d done it for her, and for magic. Surely even killing could be honourable, if it was for love and magic.
Following on from Rosura, Part Eight. Another Chapter full of Snape's broodings and dastardly plans. Not much action or sarcasm, unfortunately, but there will be lots of those in the next chapter!
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:iconasmg:
asmg Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2011
this chapter has soo much emotion embedded, it'd be something i'd go back and read again for... =D

and THIS quote really got me for some reason:
Magic wasn’t charming, or delightful, or eccentric; it was dramatic, formidable and beautiful.
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2011
Thank you so much! :hug: I get really caught up in the characters' emotions when I'm writing this story (and sometimes the action suffers because of it! ;) :giggle:) If I had my way, it would ALL be emotion! :heart:

You're totally whizzing through these chapters, well done! I'd better get a move on and write the ending! I'm so happy you're reading and enjoying the story - thanks again for your lovely comments! :hug: :)
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:iconwearesevenstudios:
WeAreSevenStudios Featured By Owner May 8, 2010  Professional Artisan Crafter
(I had to think about this a bit longer, just to get it to the nearly-coherent state it is in now)

His thoughts were creeping sluggishly around his skull, like scattered fish in a vast, lifeless ocean, and, all the time, his half-muggle blood was trickling down his arms as he held his still-clenched fists before his eyes. Why couldn’t he unclench them?

You know... getting back to the songwriting skills of Amanda Palmer, this chapter really made me see Snape's dislike of his 'Muggle blood' in a physical way. "Half-Jack" is by far one of my favorite songs (in da world!), because I found it at a time I could *really* related to feeling half completely unbalanced thanks to the contributions of a parent. It occurred to me while reading Harry Potter, because of the emphasis on blood and half-bloods, but it didn't really seem to fit Snape (or anyone), because to me, no matter how important one's blood status is, it's still superficial when compared to the biological and mental problems parents can pass on to their (angsty teenaged) children. However, now I think I can finally see the physicality (maybe that's not the best word) of his having Muggle blood - thanks to the blood summoning charm -, and that maybe what Severus hates so much isn't some theoretical concept of blood status, but that everything he hates about Muggles he feels is attatched to him biologically. If that makes any sense, it probably sounds obvious, but I never quite saw it that way before. So thanks for the insight. :)

but any magic could be Dark Magic if you had dark intentions
And that is why Severus has such a thorough understanding of the dark arts.
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner May 9, 2010
Wow, I just listened to Half-Jack on Youtube, and it's so cool! Absolutely perfect for Snape: 'It might destroy me, but I'd sacrifice my body, if it meant I could get the Jack part out'.

I need to listen to more Dresden Dolls - I only discovered Amanda Palmer through her solo album.

But, yes, I imagine that's just how he feels. Because his mother and father hate each other, and argue constantly, he feels as though they're fighting in every cell of his body. I have exactly the same feeling whenever I'm around my parents for too long!

And the idea that he can't fight the fact that he's his father's child is also very significant for me. I'm sure there's a part somewhere in the story where he confesses that, for a long time, he hoped Tobias wasn't his real father. He used to dream about having a real wizard father who would rescue his mother and him from Spinner's End - but the events of the story confirm in his mind that he's more his father's child than he is his mother's.

Excellent song, thank you for suggesting it. I really love your comments, because they always get me thinking! :hug:
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:iconwearesevenstudios:
WeAreSevenStudios Featured By Owner May 8, 2010  Professional Artisan Crafter
I meant to write this in response to one of the previous chapters: I really like the idea of magic needing to be balanced, such as the Cruciatus depriving one of the ability to feel.

Your stories also bring up an interesting observation about how Snape feels regarding Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Of course, Snape hates Harry because James was cruel to Snape, but until now I hadn't given too much thought to the idea that he might resent a second generation of Dumbledore's favoritism. If James was indeed a favorite pupil (as their closeness in the canon would indicate), then that's just an another way for James Potter to be beating Snape from the grave. I love fanfiction that makes me think.

He made her say the things she said to me, Snape thought desperately.
I think fantasy is always best when it's truer to real life than 'realistic drama' tends to be. This line struck me powerfully, because I've heard those same words from someone desperately caught up in obsessive love (interestingly, this person had some views on Snape that even I --fangirl though I am-- thought were a bit too approving). You're really making me worry about Snape, which is saying something, since he was pretty bad off to begin with!
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner May 9, 2010
Lol, yes, writing from Sev's perspective, you begin to realize that Dumbledore really does have favourites! I imagine that, when Harry came to the school, Snape was infuriated, not just because Dumbledore seemed to like him so much, but because he liked him so fast, when Severus himself had been patiently serving Dumbledore for years and not getting anywhere near as much trust or affection! :( Poor Sev.

The line: 'He made her say those things to me' was painful for me to write too - because it's kind of easier when Sev is being pessimistic and thinking everyone's out to get him. When he starts hoping, it's excruciating, because it means he'll be disappointed as well as hurt!
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:iconancatdubh:
AnCatDubh Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2009
Well, I guess I was right to be scared - this chapter was even more heart-breaking that the one before!! It rings awfully true and believable though, which is saying something in the world on fanfictions...
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2009
Thank you! :hug: I'm so glad you're reading this story!
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:iconancatdubh:
AnCatDubh Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2009
more than... My sorrow is such I am forgetting my spelling!
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:iconmalfoyfanatic:
MalfoyFanatic Featured By Owner Jul 31, 2008  Hobbyist Photographer
Wow, that was kinda sad. Poor Sevy... He suffers so much, and he worst part is, that he'll suffer till the end :sniff:
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner Jul 31, 2008
Yes, poor Sevy! :( I'll try and write some happy chapters for him soon.
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:iconmalfoyfanatic:
MalfoyFanatic Featured By Owner Aug 1, 2008  Hobbyist Photographer
I would really love that! I would love some Lily/Sev fluff, but the train's gone, I believe. :no:
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:iconchiburaska:
chiburaska Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2008
Beautiful..."when she’d touched his shoulder, and it had felt as though she’d reached right through his bones and into his chest, picked up his heart, dusted it off, and put it back again, good as new. Better than new."...
and sad,poor Severus...
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2008
Thank you for reading! :hug: I feel bad for him too, will try and write something where he gets to be happy (or at least sarcastic) next week!
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:iconchiburaska:
chiburaska Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2008
YAY!!!!!!
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:iconchaobaby7:
Chaobaby7 Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2008
Lovely, I've enjoyed following this series so much. Poor Severus, I so much relate to him.
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2008
Thank you :hug: I know, I relate to him too! I'm forever telling my thoughts to stop, because they're going in a painful direction! Poor Sev! :(
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:iconchaobaby7:
Chaobaby7 Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2008
yeah me too, poor Sev, I so much get involved with his feelings and how he thinks and does things. I love himxx why can't he be a real man? Waa!
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2008
I know! Maybe he is real, somewhere, only with a different name and slightly cleaner hair! Sigh... :heart:
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:iconchaobaby7:
Chaobaby7 Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2008
Poor Sev and his hair, I think he spent so much time bent over a steaming cauldron it got oily and lank but smelt of Patchouli and tincture of Benzoin. I hate washing my hair as I hate getting my head wet, I have Hermione hair so I can get away with two washes a week, poor Sev probably had that baby fine hair that gets oily even if its left for day without washing.
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2008
I have that hair, too! It's very time-consuming, you've got to wash it every day, I can understand Sev not having much patience with it! He would probably think hair-washing was inexcusable frivolity! I like the idea of his hair being greasy from hovering over a steamy cauldron all day - because Severus bathed in steam is almost as good as Severus soaked in rain! ;)
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:iconchaobaby7:
Chaobaby7 Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2008
Oh yes all steamy and smelling of patchouli, sandalwoord, benzoin and ambergis combined with his won sexy smells, looking somewhat flushed and annoyed that someone has seen him in such a way. :heart:
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2008
Now, if you could include that in one of your fan-fictions, I would be infinitely grateful! ;)
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:iconnorthangel27:
northangel27 Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2008  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Poor Severus... Poor, poor Severus... He really is thinking himself into a very dark place. I think that the sadest thing of all is how very long it will take him to escape that self-imposed prison of darkness once he gets himself in. As world wise and mature as he seemed at 16 and 17 he really was hopelessly naive.

This chapter literally and physically hurt to read, but that is a good thing, I assure you. It just underscores the profound talent of the author. Another favorite for me!
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:iconls269:
ls269 Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2008
Thank you so much, I'm really glad you liked it! :hug: I know what you mean, it's going to be very difficult for him to think his way out of these conclusions! The recovery is much more difficult than the illness! And the worst part is just one kind word from Lily could change everything. Have depressed myself. Will have to write a chapter with lots of sarcastic Severus to make up for it! :)
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:iconnorthangel27:
northangel27 Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2008  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Ooo... Sarcastic Snape. I look forward to it ;-)
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