The Power of Pain

Chapter 3

Severus had remained standing in his living room hours after his unwanted guest had left him. He stood, staring listlessly into the flames of the dying fire. Too encased in his own thoughts to bother with rekindling the flames. After all these years—he mused, after all these years it had to be her to seek him out. Seek out his perfect prison, his perfect—self-imposed, prison.

His eyes flicked to the shelves around him briefly as he remembered back all those years ago. Just how he had managed such a perfect escape from reality. His throat pulsed painfully at the memory of that night and he barely resisted the urge to rub the well-worn scar. He took a deep breath and straightened himself.

Five years ago, bleeding helplessly in the shrieking shack; he had felt the sweet bliss of darkness and light that swirled around him. He remembered so clearly her face, her eyes, beckoning him into the next life. Into a world filled with peace and solace for his crimes. A place where he would receive his final judgment. Though to his dismay, the final judgment never came.

He could still hear the distant howls of cries as those fought for their lives in the distance, the smell of the stale moist air and the feeling of insurmountable pain; throbbing through his entire being. He was a potions master, after all; he'd been prepared for his 'master's' strike. He'd been prepared for years. He knew that his days were numbered, and yet, like a fool, he'd prepared himself instead of accepting his fate.

A deep frown lined the weathered man's face. Thinner now than before, though not unhealthily so. His frame was lean and thin as it was meant to be, though color and darkness had lifted from his aged frame. He no longer stood with a deep shadow cast over his features. No, he stood, bathed in the firelight of freedom. His eyes turned towards the fire once more, watching the flames cling so desperately to life. Just like that night. Just like the many nights that followed that dreadful day.

His face twitched slightly and he could no longer restrict himself from touching the smooth discolored scar hidden under his collar. Why had he been spared? Why had his need to always be prepared actually paid off? Why had this place, this place not meant to bring peace and solitude to a man of his character been so willfully provided for him? His eyes turned slowly to the mantle. The ornate carvings suddenly catching his extreme interest as if they themselves held all the answers to the questions he'd been holding onto for years.

Why had she, of all those who could have come to his aid, why had it been she; who had done what she had done? He ran his finger lightly over one of the engravings. No one had ever even known about it. They simply knew that the final plan had been activated, that only those who would have access to the mastermind himself would ever learn about. He supposed that was how Minerva had found him this night. How after all these years, his solitude had been so brutally interrupted. But did she know? Did Minerva know who had actually saved him that night? That he, in fact, was saved from death not by his own two hands but by someone else's?

Severus felt his jaw tighten and exhaled heavily from his nose. For years, he'd told himself that it wasn't true, that he hadn't been saved, but was merely living some alternate reality, his own personally created hell on earth; a penance for his crimes.

Severus shifted away from the mantle and sat heavily in his worn chair. His eyes shifting back to the fireplace. What did he truly owe them? Surely, the escape hadn't been meant for him in the first place. It was a safety for someone unwitting enough to find themselves in need of an escape. Severus sighed heavily through his nose and rested his chin on the back of his fingers worrying his upper lip with his finger. How could he have known?