He stood tall as Harry ran screaming at him. Throwing spell after spell at him.
"Fight back! Fight back, you cowered!"
It struck deep inside, but Snape didn't let it show on his face. He deflected each spell with a swing of his arm, a flick of his wrist.
From behind, Bellatrix cast a spell, flinging Harry on to his back.
Snape wanted to say he harshly reprimanded Bellatrix for that was because Harry was Voldemort's kill, not hers.
The real reason was because it had reminded him of that day, and he was looking at his young self.
His young self being flung upside into the air by that cruel brat James.
He dismissed the thought with disgust, as soon as that parallel entered his mind.
Harry was nothing like him, he was nothing like Harry.
He wanted to say that Lilly was the first and last ever friend.
He wanted to say that he stopped caring after Lily chose James over him. If she could forgo their close friendship for a heartless brat of a bully, then she wasn't what he thought she was.
Why did he hate Harry?
When ever he looked at Harry, he saw James.
Even after all these years, he was still holding tight to the grudge. What James had done to him was unforgivable.
So Snape lashed out.
He looked at Harry, and he saw James.
He looked at Harry and saw red.
He wanted his revenge.
He regret it.
For once, when he looked at Harry, he saw Lily.
He could feel his life slipping away.
For the first time in years, he let himself shed a tear in front of someone else.
In front of Harry.
In front of the person who held Lily's eyes. A painful reminder of what never could have been his. Even though Harry was by his side, and he could see his Lily in those eyes, he'd never felt so alone.
And he regret it.
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Chronicles of the Desolate
RandomFictional stories from War, to children's tales, to the darkness of space and everything in between, these are Shorts--not stories or one shots, but short accounts, spin-offs, cut-scenes and previews of larger stories or just thoughts written down o...
