I've Reached My Breaking Point

TRIGGER WARNING: There are homophobic slurs used in this one-shot.

Rated M for swearing, mentions of heavy drinking, unintentional self-harm, and mild violence.

Thank you so much to my beta, Hucklebarry, on FFN and AO3!

Pain.

Anguish.

Regret.

I held the broken firewhiskey bottle with a vice-like grip as it penetrated the barrier on my body between air and flesh. I watched my palm with grim satisfaction as the dark, wine-red liquid trickled down my arm and slowly turned my white cuff into a bright, bloody red. It stood out against my skin, which now looked as white as death itself.

Hatred.

Revulsion.

Fury.

I stared at the flickering embers of the dying fire, feeling too drained to rekindle it as I thought of what I had done just hours ago.

"Severus..."

I screamed as I flung the bottle at the wall, and I watched it shatter as the bits and pieces of glass ricocheted in my direction. In reflex, I quickly grasped my wand and cast a nonverbal Protego to prevent one of the shards from taking my eye out; it got slicked with the blood that was flowing from the cut on my wand hand, but I couldn't have cared less.

"Severus...please..."

I rammed my fist into the wall. I didn't care about the cracking sound I subsequently heard nor about the bone that now protruded unnaturally from my hand. I deserved this pain, for I had agreed to this. I had willingly agreed to this. Now, I had to suffer the consequences as the rest of the Wizarding world looked at me with disgust. Now, they would finally see me how they had wanted to see me for so, so long: a Death Eater in disguise. A slimy, manipulative Slytherin. A mistake.

They'd see Dumbledore as a mad old coot, too, and not as the leader they ought to have seen him as. They'd claim in their own righteousness that Dumbledore shouldn't have trusted someone like me. That he shouldn't have hired me. That he should've left me in Azkaban to rot all those years ago. That, if it weren't for his foolish mistake, he would still be alive.

Ironically, that last one was very true. As I realized this, I sank down to my knees and started sobbing.

"Why, Albus, why?!" I screamed at the ceiling. "WHY DID YOU HAVE TO PUT ON THAT DAMN RING?!" I pounded the ground in frustration as I screamed again, "WHY?!"

I put my head in my hands and sobbed even harder, smearing my face with blood, lamenting my current situation. It was too much to take. It wasn't about Lily anymore. It never was, really. It was always about ridding the world from that monster forever. Funnily enough, I needn't have worried about whether I'd stop fighting. After all those years, I had come to truly believe in Albus's cause. I truly believed in the destruction of Voldemort, and I wanted him to die by any means possible.

That brought me to another grim thought: Potter. No matter how much I hated the child, I didn't want to send him to an early death. I still wished that I could fulfill the vow I made, but now I knew that it wouldn't be possible. In order for Voldemort to die, Potter would have to die first by the former's hand. Even though I dedicated the rest of my life to protecting Potter, Lily would still hate my guts were she alive. I treated her son like garbage. If she saw how I treated Longbottom and Granger, she'd hate me even more. Frankly, I couldn't bring myself to care. I'd just have to live with the consequences once all this was over. There were many, many more important things to worry about than the emotional state of three fragile Gryffindors. Besides, it wasn't like I was going to survive. I knew I'd die at some point now that Albus was gone. I just hoped that I'd survive long enough to give Potter the message.