This sky. Dark. Huge.
There he was, Severus Snape, perched on the balcony of his class looking far away, lost in thought, lost in the whirlwind of emotions, emotions that he wanted to hush up.
It was so damn difficult.
Too much was going on and too many responsibilities rely on him now.
The Dark Lord.
To mention only the main subjects of his turmoil.
His eyes were revolve around the sky but didn’t really see what he had before him. He was above that. He was seeing bits of his past and hoped for a less stormy future.
He could hear the choir in the distance and it had a calming effect on his exhausted conscience.
He had not yet done *anything* but it would be like that, this he knew.
Albus Dumbledore ....
Oh how he could curse this name at the moment.
He cursed the man once for all of his unfulfilled promises and for those he kept ...
A long time ago he had been hurt to note that the man of the *Greater Good* was sometimes using *Evil methods*.
Intellectually he understood that "the end justified the means", but the trial was not any easier.
Many regrets for a life that been not so long after all.
His impassive mask hurts him now more than ever.
He was ... frozen, suffering from not being able to let go. Let go of his sorrow, of his scars.
His eyes only were alive.
He didn’t want to believe that this *decision* will agonize him… Why though?
Was it because it was *Albus*? Because even if he hadn’t been the perfect mentor he had been his?
Or was it simply the killing? *Kill again*?
Severus looked down, his eyes starting to sting.
Beyond Albus and this *decision*, his biggest regret was.... * Lily *
And tonight it seemed that the two were inextricably linked....
If he... hadn’t heard that damn prophecy.
If ... he hadn’t repeat it for some reason that now was completely inappropriate to him.
If ... he didn’t feel drew to the Dark Arts since childhood.
If ... he hadn’t go astray by insulting the only friend he has known.
If, if, if .... If….
If ... Albus hadn’t put the damn ring.
If ... Albus hadn’t trapped him by the Vow.
If ... Albus wasn’t dying.
If ... Albus hadn’t asked him *that*.
* If *. Again and again over * if *.
Lives were lost because of him.
Lives that were equally wasted.
His. *Potter's son*.
He felt the moon on his face, which seemed to illuminate his tumultuous ideas.
Taking a deep breath of this air that had become oppressive, he forged a new shell.
A new resolve.
One that will remain when he would point his wand at the man who knew him since he was eleven.
He felt the tears starting to sting again but refused to shed any.
He couldn’t afford it.
This would be the beginning of the end.
He took one last look at the darkening sky.
An omen…. Maybe.
He decided to leave, his footsteps were heavy and slow.
Because he knew wittingly that his steps will led toward….
…The death of Albus.
What others would see as the *killing* of Dumbledore.
To what he knew to be the extinction, even more, of his soul.