Status: Drabble
Christmas Letter
1/1
Dear Dumbledore,
If I were to die tomorrow you would miss me – for the wrong reasons. I am not stupid enough to think that I am not needed. I am wise enough to know though, that I am gone beyond repair, and I am bold enough to put the blame on you. That's right – you did this to me.
I don't care how that makes you feel – I hope it hurts, in fact. I hope it hurts the way I hurt every day; no more than that but definitely not less. I want the guilt to consume you the same way that my memories do to me. I want the guilt to keep you awake; to make you stare at the darkness while it stares boldly back. I want the guilt to make you look in the mirror as punishment…
Most importantly, I want the guilt to make you think, but not to think of how you could have saved your own ass; instead think of how you couldn't save theirs.
Yours faithfully,
Severus Snape.
Professor Snape sealed the envelope in one fluid movement, then pocketed it and tipped the waiter two sickles. Outside, the village of Hogsmeade lay beneath an every growing blanket of freezing snow; the castle in the distance blurred against the storm, and in his coat pocket, the letter that he wrote and re-wrote every year, burned silently to ashes.
If I were to die tomorrow you would miss me – for the wrong reasons. I am not stupid enough to think that I am not needed. I am wise enough to know though, that I am gone beyond repair, and I am bold enough to put the blame on you. That's right – you did this to me.
I don't care how that makes you feel – I hope it hurts, in fact. I hope it hurts the way I hurt every day; no more than that but definitely not less. I want the guilt to consume you the same way that my memories do to me. I want the guilt to keep you awake; to make you stare at the darkness while it stares boldly back. I want the guilt to make you look in the mirror as punishment…
Most importantly, I want the guilt to make you think, but not to think of how you could have saved your own ass; instead think of how you couldn't save theirs.
Yours faithfully,
Severus Snape.
Professor Snape sealed the envelope in one fluid movement, then pocketed it and tipped the waiter two sickles. Outside, the village of Hogsmeade lay beneath an every growing blanket of freezing snow; the castle in the distance blurred against the storm, and in his coat pocket, the letter that he wrote and re-wrote every year, burned silently to ashes.
♠ ♠ ♠
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