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XXVI

Snape's chapter...It's a biggie...
warning: mentioning of vomit/throwing up
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Snape sat on the same wooden stool that was once at the head of the Potions class, except now it sat in Dumbledores old office. Snape refused to use anything that once belonged to Dumbledore, he didn't want to sit in the mans chair, eat his sweets, or use his desk. The only thing he left inside was the cage that once belonged to Dumbledore's Pheonix, and the Pensieve. Snape believed that the memories would come in handy, and maybe, if something went wrong, someone could take his memories.
Not because he wanted his own life and memories to live on after he passed. No, he could care less who remembered him or not, but he wanted to make sure everyone was able to see that young girl, that happy red head who would leap down the halls and would pick flowers by the whomping willow.
"Sev— Headmaster Snape." Mcgonagall whispered, she had grown to fear Snape rather than see him as an equal.
"Yes?"
"Longbottom would like to use his owl—"
"No."
Minerva seemed to be taken back by his response, students hadn't been allowed to send letters since he became Headmaster, and it almost seemed cruel. She couldn't imagine being young like the current students and not being able to talk to their friends or families. "Severus..." She tried to plead, afraid to go back and tell poor Neville that he could not send an owl to his grandmother who has been worried sick. "I gave you my answer." He responded coldly and stood up to usher Mcgonagall out. She quickly turned away from him, afraid that if she stayed a second more she would hex that cold expression right off his face. When she walked out of the office, she was met with the sound of a slamming door behind her.
"Dumbledore would have never treated his students like this! He would have never!" She yelled through the door with such anger before storming off to go find Neville.

Snape, who was leaning against the other side of the wooden door felt bile come up from his stomach, and he hunched over, spewing out whatever remnants of food was left in his stomach all over the wood floors. He wasn't at all phased by this, it was a regular occurrence now, he hardly kept anything down now a days. Everyday he ate a single slice of toast and a cup of tea, and every hour or so as he became more and more furious with himself he began to feel more and more ill, until like right now, he would spew his food out all over himself in a vicious spiral of anxiety. He wasn't just worried about himself, but he was worried about Harry, and even a bit worried about Y/n. But Snape resisted these thoughts, however, the more he resisted the more torn apart he became, which is how he reached this viscous cycle of anxiousness.

Snape hovered over the mess, and with a sigh he took out his wand and cleaned himself and the puddle of his vomit at his shoes. His head was pounding, and with Mcgonagall's remarks his head swarmed with thoughts that seemed to make his headache worse.
Dumbledore would never treat his students like this!
She was bloody right of course, he wouldn't, but Dumbledore did a lot of things that Snape would dare to do either. Snape wouldn't of let Lily been killed, he wouldn't of used Harry Potter like a weapon, he...he...Well Snape didn't know what he would do if he had been the one to decide Harry's fate. Harry Potter was a constant reminder that James Potter did in fact beat Snape in absolutely everything, that Snape was always second to him, even if the man was dead. It tormented him, drove him absolutely insane, because his whole life was spent healing wounds that no one would ever understand, and there came Harry Potter, ripping every sutured wound open with a blade.
Snape felt horribly guilty about these feelings, he knew that Lily would be heart broken if she knew how Snape treated Harry. He felt guilty about all sorts of things, about calling her a Mudblood, about becoming a Death Eater, about killing Dumbledore in front of Harry Potter, the list went on and on. Which is why he focused so heavily on Y/n, because if everyone else hated him, he hoped at least one person would think of him fondly, and maybe when he did die he wouldn't have to feel all of the guilt knowing that he did something right. He had no children, no family that cared about him, no real friends, and to him Y/n was almost like a daughter....Well maybe a successor or apprentice.