Misery. Sharp and cold, hot and absorbent, filling his bones every day. No hope for friends, no hope for joy; merely survival. Anger with Potter and Black are the only footholds.
Triumph. Dangerous curses, dangerous potions; strength and hatred to rival even their partnership. Misery for them, and fear of expulsion. Life sometimes can be sweet.
Fear. Learning of the Dark Lord, learning the Dark Lord learned of him - frightened of Malfoy, who never told, angry with Malfoy, who told him instead. Solemnity. Because the Dark Lord wants.
Power. From the Dark Lord. For himself. No more misery, no more fear. Success in all things. Power. What he always needed, power. Part of the Dark army, Death Eaters. Belonging. Perfection.
Surprise. I want you to seek a job at Hogwarts, Severus. Dumbledore trusts you. And he does. Because Severus has always been respectful to him - naturally, he carries power, you RESPECT power - and Dumbledore has always been kind back. Some fear; much shock. None other of my soldiers for this task, Severus. Pride. Honor. HONOR. Being worthwhile is such a pleasure.
Shock. There is something I wish you to do, Severus, from Albus this time - and a question that would equally indicate trust. Honor. And Pride. But he is already committed to the other side. Trust from both; desires from both. Chance for glory from both. Glory, APPROVAL from both.
Confusion.
Horror. The Dark Lord defeated; impossibilities, illogicalities - a child, a BABY, a son of POTTER, did this thing to HIM. Horror. Trapped; alone. Death Eaters captured, tortured, hiding. Denying. Alone. No - not quite alone.
Guilt. From Dumbledore; who defends, protects. Steps up to the proverbial bat. No Azkaban; no trouble. Dumbledore protects. Dumbledore trusts. Not alone. Confused.
Content. Years pass; teaching is annoying, but it's a job. Power is good; power over students, obnoxious students, is better. And Albus trusts him. Security in that; forgiveness in that. Redemption in that? Best not to ask.
Revulsion. Potter. POTTER. Here. Knew it was coming, of course knew it was coming; but didn't think - hadn't thought - couldn't think. Potter; here. And just as bad as his father ever was.
Anger. Potter excused, loved, forgive for everything. Lauded, praised, jaded, puffed up. UNFAIR. And Black alive; forgiven, loved, excused by Dumbledore. Hated. Forever. Forever loved more than he will ever be.
Fear. The Dark Lord returns. You know now what I must ask you to do, says Dumbledore, trusting, assuming, consuming. To avoid disappointment, yes - he will go. To his death. Safety, all these years, with Albus; it will have a high price.
Pain. Misery. Cruciatus, for hours; stares of the others, loathing from the others, even derision from those among whom he was once counted. Sorrow; failure. No longer trusted. No longer honored. Degraded. You know now what I must ask you to do, asked snidely, sneeringly, in his ear once he has stopped screaming long enough to listen. Pushed back into the fray. Not to be honored; to be used, like a shoe. Betrayal for everyone. Contentment has too high a price.
Determination. Working hard; for whose side, he doesn't even know any more. Maybe his own. Survival. Trust; Dumbledore still trusts him. Still... cares for him. Doesn't know he's a traitor. Traitor to what? Acceptance was fleeting; pain is eternal. Being careful; because to be caught would mean disappointment from Albus. Trusted by no one. Deserving or not: that trust is kept, precious, like a flower.
Resignation. It's done; it's all over. The Dark Lord succeeds, Potter is dead. He is on the right side, after all; the one that won. At least, on that side enough to survive the ensuing carnage.
Guilt. Because Albus forgives him. Just before he dies.
Guilt lasts forever. But there are worse things. Guilt is better than pain, Severus, says the Dark Lord, who is always right. Guilt is better than pain. Survival without pleasure is still survival. There is nothing more to say.