Authors' Note: This is a series of one-shots seeking to explain Severus Snape's motivations for the things he has done. You may also notice that it seems rather like the prequels of Star Wars. This is done on purpose. These stories continue long after the events of From Spark to Flame and its upcoming sequal Dark Harvest, and were written as a response to a Fairy Tale Challange we came across quite some time ago. We used every bit of canon material we could find and then filled up some holes...and made it a parallel to to the events in the first three Star Wars movies. So sit back and enjoy and let us know what you think! We love hearing from you.
Also, many, many thanks go to our beta, D'arcy (aka Savageland) whose tireless efforts on our behalf we are most grateful for.
Avada Kedavra
There are times in a man’s life where he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he has come to a critical crossroads, each choice preceding it having led to that particular kairotic moment. Each selection made then informs the next one to come…and on and on. Every decision, whether lingered on or made in a split second, is now a point in a causal nexus, leading inevitably to the next pivotal, fate-forming moment in one’s existence…a vital life point that one cannot turn away nor go forward from without incurring great personal cost.
The life of Severus Snape had been too frequently punctuated by such moments. Now, as he raced up the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, cursing under his breath as the world closed in around him until all else was excluded but the thought of the choice to come.
A choice that did not feel like one at all. The kind that made one wonder whether humanity, rather than being the creatures of chaotic free will they thought themselves to be, actually led lives of quiet predestination.
For this was a choice he had never wanted to make. One he had danced and sidestepped around for years with the grace of an expert swordsman…parrying, deflecting, sheathing the sword of his wit, and quietly pleased with his own skill, only to turn and find it looming over him all the same. Despite all his expert manoeuvrings and his chess-like precision, it had still come to this.
It had not taken more than five words from Filius Flitwick for him to realize that tonight was the night his life was going to be turned upside down...again. And he wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed that Draco Malfoy had finally succeeded in getting Death Eaters into the castle or that the idiot child had caused utter chaos in the process.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he could hear the battle rage behind him…but his focus was upon the confrontation ahead.
He could hear the headmaster’s soothing voice, the indecision in Draco’s, and the snarls of that monster, Fenrir Greyback. Banging the door open, it only took him a heartbeat to take in the scene.
A heartbeat that slowed and seemed to go on forever.
“We’ve got a problem, Snape,” the voice of Amycus, a fellow follower of the Dark Lord, drifted into his ears, “the boy doesn’t seem to be able to…”
But it wasn’t his voice that captured his attention -- it was the beseeching eyes and voice of the elderly wizard half slumped against the brick wall of the tower across from him.
“Severus…” the voice whispered…begging him…pleading him.
The accompanying message in those eyes, one that any fool with the faintest hint of talent in Legilimency could read, was as clear as the crystal blue sky reflected in that gaze.
End it. I’m dying…so much pain…end it. Please. Now. Save Draco…save the others…
The people around him did not see the infinitesimal hesitation that swept through the new addition to the group as the connotations of fulfilling such a request flashed through his mind in instantaneously stark terms.
He would be branded a murderer…the executioner of the greatest wizard of the modern age. The assassin of the man who had attempted to give him a second chance.
Oh, he would gain renown amongst his fellow Death Eaters, the Dark Lord would be mightily pleased with him, and the Malfoys forever in his debt…but…Dumbledore…Albus Dumbledore, a colossus, would be dead, his blood forever staining his hands, the world forever changed…and he would lose his cover, his life here…what little veneer of respectability he had left in the Wizarding World and his freedom to walk openly within it, and the shadows he had darted in and out of for so long would swallow him completely.
But more than that…far, far more.
His gaze flattened, beetle black eyes turning as hard and as sharp as two pieces of flint.
“Severus…”
The old man wasn’t just asking him to commit assisted suicide…he was asking him to kill his only hope…extinguish the only flicker of light in his dark existence. Blue eyes gazed unwaveringly into obsidian.
You swore, Severus…you swore an oath to me…
Snape’s lips set in a grimace; his face racked with loathing. How he hated Albus Dumbledore…hated himself.
You swore, Severus…
Albus Dumbledore was rarely surprised by anything anymore. He had lived over a hundred years and at this point, had thought he had pretty much seen everything. Even now, he was embroiled in a war against one of the darkest wizards ever to rise up...but hadn't he just done something similar before not too long ago?
Grindelwald had been just as twisted and self-serving as the pretender to his crown...but he had been vanquished in the end. Though Dumbledore didn't often pay attention to the praise he got about that. Stopping him had merely been the right thing to do after all...and he was glad he could help. But, as ever, each experience informs a man...makes him older but wiser. And so, when Riddle had eventually turned, just as he suspected he might but had vainly hoped against, he hadn't been surprised at all, really. Power corrupts...and he had seen that saying hold true time and time again. And young Tom Riddle had had a taste for power from an early age that bordered on the gluttonous.
No...what did surprise him was not history repeating itself or these earth shaking inevitable events…but rather the quiet but firm knock at his door on this sunny late August day that preceded the tall, dark clad, glowering man who entered his office just afterwards. A man he hadn't truly ever expected to again walk through his door again. Not after...
He frowned a little and rolled up the scroll he had been working on, placing it in his desk, more curious than wary about what this young man could possibly want. By all reports, given his more than suspected allegiances and recent personal history, this graduate of Hogwarts should hardly be within shouting distance of his old alma mater and more particularly…of his old headmaster.
As Dumbledore took in his appearance, he found himself inwardly sighing. Though his eyes were no less as sharp and his glower no less as full, Severus Snape looked more pale now than he had when he'd been attending school here. And there was a weariness to him, as though his heart was not entirely in it anymore.
Needless to say, Albus was not surprised at that either.
The young man walked slowly into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him, and headed stiffly to the proffered chair that his old headmaster bade him into, an inscrutable look on his face and his eyes more inexpressive than Dumbledore had ever seen them.
"Severus," the old man greeted him, taking in his pristine formal and austere attire. On a boy that used to be one of the more noticeably crumpled and dishevelled in the school, that, he thought, was most certainly new. "How are you? You look well."
His posture erect and rigid, Snape took the seat across from his old teacher, maintaining the old man's gaze as if it were some kind of subtle test, which…knowing Albus Dumbledore as he did…was almost certainly precisely what it was. He had learned very early on in his first year here that everything about Dumbledore, especially his more innocuous questions, was far more than it seemed. Crossing his legs, he laid his hands on the arms of the oak chair he was seated in. The inclination of his head in response was so slight as to be almost non-existent.
"I am well enough, Professor," he replied, speaking again before the ancient wizard could converse or quiz further, as he knew from years of experience that Dumbledore's penchant for apparently inane small talk was legendary and his own personal lack tolerance for it equally so. As he had long planned in advance of this visit, the young Death Eater came directly to the point. "Well enough…and here to make you an offer. Whether you care to accept it...or even believe it, however, is something that remains to be seen."
Arching an eyebrow, the old man leaned back slowly in his chair and steepled his fingers. "I see. So this is not in response to our current openings for teachers?" he enquired lightly, the curiosity apparent in his gaze mingling with a flicker of amusement.
Snape inhaled softly, slowly, ignoring the question and the jocularity in favour of his own route, his gaze still as direct as his words. "I take it, Professor, that it would be foolish in the extreme to assume you know nothing of my allegiances and activities this past while?"
The older man nodded with a smile. "Yes. I am quite aware of where your loyalties lie, Severus. Sherbert lemon?" He gestured to the dish of garishly yellow sweets on his desk.
"Thank you, no," the young dark wizard declined brusquely. "Nor bullseyes, mints, liquorice, or toffees of any sort. I shall be blunt, Professor. I am here, by request, to apply to take up one of your teaching positions, that of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Given what you know, I hardly need to spell out the identity of the maker of that request."
Popping a candy into his mouth, Dumbledore appeared distracted as he sucked lazily on it, and for a moment, Snape wondered if he'd heard a word he'd said. But a heartbeat later, the old wizard opened his eyes. "A chocolate frog, perhaps? I am sure I have one around here somewhere…providing it hasn’t got out of its box.” He gazed down at his desk drawers with a small frown.
A strangled growl emanated from Snape’s throat that seemed to approximate the word, “Professor.”
A small chuckle passed from the headmaster’s lips before he held up a placating hand to his former pupil and nodded more seriously. “Yes, well...you are of course free to apply for a post, Severus. Obviously, Voldemort would like you to work here so as to keep an eye on me? How very blatant of him..." He sucked on his sweet for a moment more. "And you, Severus, what would you like?"
"What I would like, Professor...is not remotely relevant to this conversation. What I am about to tell…and offer you...is," he replied shortly. "On the face of it, it is of course a blatant attempt by the Dark Lord to spy upon you. One which he knew you would never accept." His fingers thrummed once upon the arm of the chair. "Which is why he wanted me to come here with the intention of convincing you that I wished to switch sides and offer my services to you as a double agent, when, of course, I would be still reporting to him."
The old man nodded. "Of course. And what, then, is your own intention, Severus?" he asked after a moment, his blue eyes fixed on the younger man's.
"My intention, sir...is to make precisely that same proposal to you..." Snape’s fingers thrummed once again, his voice low and quiet. "Only with the absolutely genuine offer of working for you and you alone."
The other man said nothing, merely placed his steepled fingers to his mouth and continued to regard him as he sucked quietly on the fizzy boiled sweet. "Why?" was all he asked after a full two minutes had passed.
The young man’s face was a mask, his voice without the slightest hint of emotional inflection of any kind. "I have my own, varying reasons..." he replied. "But in essence, it is reduced to my realisation that His wider plans can only result in the ruination of the Wizarding World and not its salvation. The Dark Lord is, in essence, a liar. And his actions...and the actions of the Death Eaters under his command...myself included, are purely destructive."
"I see..." was the soft response. "And what brought about this change of heart?"
There was a pause as Snape drew a long breath, his answer coming on the exhale. "Ultimately...my background. I do not share his pureblood views. I am not of pure blood, as you know. And I did not join the Dark Lord to purge myself for reasons of wizarding purity. I do not care for the Muggle world of my father, but the future of the Wizarding World cannot be sustained by a few 'ostensibly' pureblood families. We are few enough as it is. And attacks upon ourselves..." his forehead creased minutely, "on families, mothers, and their children..." he trailed off for a moment, his voice growing even quieter, "they make less and less sense to me."
Rallying instantly from his slight introspection, he pushed his shoulder blades against the hard boards of the chair’s back. "I joined with him, Professor, because I was seeking something and I thought he could help. In keeping with that, I thought too at the time that his eventual aim was ultimately altruistic. Aggressive, yes, but altruistic. Maintaining our way of life and keeping it safe from the outside world. Increasingly, all it seems to be about is the garnering of power for one side to the cost of all. We cannot secure our world by dividing it.” His words were flatly matter of fact. “I was wrong in my reasoning on both counts."
"So you are doing this...for her?" the old man interjected surprisingly direct. "Because your conscience is finally listening to her words?"
Snape tensed, and a long moment passed before his level one word query. "Her?"
Dumbledore continued to watch him before finally sighing and shaking his head. "Still keeping secrets, Severus? Very well, I shall play along. Your words, my boy, notably reflect several impassioned speeches I heard over the years from a remarkable young woman and diplomat...the late Paidea Abernathy? Her pleas for peaceful resolution, cohesion, to hold true to our values...that the cost of what Voldemort offered as a ‘remedy’ was too high..."
He barely paused for a breath. "And she was right. Do you know I offered her membership with the Order? She refused. Refused to be part of any organisation that could lead to bloodshed...even if it was for the 'right' side. She preferred a diplomatic and judicial solution...and not...how did she put it? Ah yes… Aggressive negotiations." He sighed and shook his head. "She passed on far too soon."
Snape’s knuckles turned slowly whiter as he gripped the arms of his chair harder and harder as Dumbledore spoke. On his last words, they were released, one hand resolving itself into a fist and hammering on the desk of the ancient wizard while one long finger of the other pointed itself into Dumbledore’s face as the black clad wizard leaned over his desk in cold fury.
"I warn you now, Dumbledore, no matter how these negotiations go...never...ever...speak of her or try to use her memory as a pawn to sway me in our dealings again," he hissed quietly from between clenched teeth. "You think you know everything, old man. But you know nothing of the truth of what occurred between us. Nothing. And it is none of your affair. Use her name to me again...and I will strike you down the first moment I can."
His only response was the headmaster's arched eyebrow. "Indeed so? You are, of course, correct, Severus; I know virtually nothing of you both. Perhaps you would care to fill in the holes of my knowledge? I know she loved you. That you were together, though I can only suspect for how long. You both kept that a secret extraordinarily well, especially given the rampant speculation and probing after it became known she was with child with no apparent father. In fact, I was only privy to your name at the end of her life.”
He raised his hand again as he saw Snape’s boiling anger at his continuance of the topic peaking, ready to erupt again, the younger man’s hand twitching unwisely towards to the pocket in his robes in which he no doubt held his wand. “But...” Dumbledore said softly and reasonably, “if…as you say… this is not about her...why should I trust you...or believe anything you tell me now?"
Snape straightened slowly, calming himself with rare effort, though his voice was tight and dangerous still. "I never said my decisions had nothing to do with my past, Headmaster. Only that that part of my life is none of your affair."
"Quite right...quite right…" the old man agreed before adding, "under normal circumstances. If things were different I would drop it and never question you on it again. But events occurred back then, Severus, that make that impossible…and your being here now, making this offer, makes it even more so. You expect a great deal of trust from me. And though I am a firm believer in everyone having a second chance, while you are incredibly gifted and intelligent enough to be a tremendous ally to our cause, your skills also make you a very real danger. With that being the case, I feel I should have some proof that my trust would not be misplaced. Don't you agree?"
Snape relaxed further, dropping his hands to his sides after he unfurled them slowly from their clenched positions. "You have no reason to trust me. I knew that when I came. But consider, Professor…had I wished solely to win you over above all things...to do the Dark Lord’s will like his other slaves...I would fall to my knees weeping and tell you everything you wished to know about my past and how it has fuelled my change of heart...make it a sob story for the ages. Whining and snivelling, I would tell you anything you wanted to hear just to convince you of my sincerity…to fulfil his will." He leaned on the old wizard’s desk again. "But I will not.
"Despite what he believes, I am not his slave...and neither will I be yours should you choose to take me on board. I have realised things...about Voldemort...and about myself, but I will be no one's pawn...not again." Resuming his seat, he crossed his legs once more. "Trust must be earned...and that can only occur over time. But rest assured, I have things to tell you that will make that easier…and I will make the first move now in providing you with a piece of information you should know urgently as a show of good faith.
"I came once before to apply for a position..." he informed him calmly, "and while waiting for you at The Hog’s Head, I overheard the interview of the applicant before me. A woman. A seer. And overheard not just her interview..."
A light frown crossed the headmaster's face. "What did you hear?"
"I suspect..." he replied, "from my un-ceremonious entry into the room that day, you already have your suspicions. Not that your attempt to read me then provided you with anything but proof of what I wanted you to think. You and the Dark Lord have that in common at least." There was a momentary gleam of pride on that point in his dark eyes.
"In any event...you read from me that I heard nothing." He folded his arms slowly. "The truth was rather more towards the opposite end of the scale."
The old man's lips set. "How much?" he demanded to Snape’s immense satisfaction. It was not often one saw Dumbledore rattled.
"Enough for it to send Him into a spin at the news..." His eyes dipped for a fraction of a second at the remembrance of the Dark Lord’s manic reaction to the prophecy, and a rare flash of guilt at what he might have set in motion that day shot through him.
"I see," was the only response he got, though the old man continued to look more than a little annoyed. "Very well...a meeting will have to be called...and plans put into motion." His eyes turned to Snape. "Exactly what did you hear? I want it word for word."
Closing his eyes for a moment, Snape repeated verbatim the initial part of Sibyll Trelawney's divination.
To his surprise when he was done, Dumbledore sighed with almost relief.
"He did not get it all," the old man explained and rose to his feet. "Though those plans will still have to be put into gear to protect the innocents involved...a few people are going to be very put out." Crossing over to the window, he gazed out of it a minute before speaking again. "Very well, Severus...I believe I am inclined to put my trust in you. Though I would like some collateral beyond a piece of information Voldemort has known for over a year."
"What do you want to know?" the young man asked, not wholly surprised at the older wizard’s requiring more. “I have names if you want them…a few places of interest…”
Shaking his head, Dumbledore pulled out his wand and moved it over a dozing portrait, tapping it several times before he pulled it open to reveal a hidden storage chamber. From within its depths, he drew out a middling sized wooden chest and carried it to a table, placing it down as the painting swung shut behind him with its occupant still fast asleep.
"I have been keeping these for over a year. I think it's time to return them to their legal owner...that is, if what I suspect is true...though no one can find a record of it anywhere. Muggle marriage, was it?" Pocketing his wand, he waved a hand over to the bemused Snape, beckoning him to investigate the box. "We were fortunate to get there first...” he advised him, “before her parents arrived to take care of her belongings."
Snape watched him in growing apprehension. "What are you talking about?" His eyes went to the box, a glimmer of fear seeming to flash there. "What has this got to do with the Dark Lord or my giving you collateral for my trustworthiness?"
Taking a small old key from his pocket, the white-bearded wizard unlocked the box, rolls of parchments and something soft that looked yellow and blue just peeking out...and the smell of a floral perfume began to waft into the room, its scent causing Snape’s breath to hitch audibly. "If we cannot bring her into this for you to swear on...for I think you would not swear on her name lightly...will you swear on her child's instead?" His eyes returned to the younger man, his gaze deathly serious.
Snape was on his feet in a moment. "Her child's? What is this...some kind of twisted test? She had no child! You know that…the entire Wizarding world knows it!"
Dumbledore, however, didn't bat an eyelid. "It took a lot to rewrite the hospital Healers’ memories to keep that piece of information hidden...but I can assure you, she did. I was there."
"You're lying!" Snape blazed as he took a step forward. "She died! And the child she carried died with her!"
"No...he did not," the old man corrected firmly but with a trace of compassion. "Paidea Abernathy...Snape...died precisely thirty seconds before her son came into the world."
Snape slammed the lid of the box shut with a force that reverberated around the room. "I told you NOT to SAY HER NAME!” he roared in a rage. "You are lying!"
Dumbledore merely continued as though the other man had simply whispered. "If I give you proof...will you swear...on his life?"
Staring at him, his chest heaving in wrath and an open emotional confusion that made him even angrier, Snape could feel the invisible fingers inside of him inserting and twisting themselves into wounds so deep they would never heal. His ire and uncertainty was such that he barely comprehended the question…his mind finally focusing on a solitary word. "Proof?" he breathed, looking at the box in front of him as if seeing it for the first time.
"Proof," the other man agreed. "But first...will you swear?"
"Swear?" The strength of the word and its emphasis from Dumbledore’s lips aided the younger man in regaining his composure. He blinked. "Swear? You want me to advance an oath of loyalty to you on the life of a child I don't believe exists? On the back of proof you have not shown me? And which may be fabricated?" He snorted in derision. "What would that be worth?"
The two men regarded each other in silence, one merely waiting and the other seeking solid ground to re-establish himself.
On finding it, Snape spoke again. "I will make you a counter offer, Professor. Show me your proof and I will swear to you now if I believe it to be true...you will have your oath."
The other man smiled beneficently. "Done," he agreed with a clap of his hands, whereupon a stone bowl floated over to the other side of the table and landed softly. Moving over to it, Dumbledore drew out his wand once more and placed it to his head. Closing his eyes and concentrating, he drew out a long strand of memory, which flowed into the bowl. Beckoning over to Snape, he indicated the pensive. "Shall we?"
Snape eyed the basin suspiciously, unsettled again by the calm of the old wizard...and the manner of this proof…all too aware of the power of memories. "What is it we shall see?" he asked, staring at the silvery liquid.
"Your proof," was his only reply.
A part of him told him to turn away, to walk from the office and go back to face Voldemort and tell him that he couldn't convince the old wizard...that he had failed. To take his chances. That perhaps that risk might be the lesser personal hardship. But...his curiosity...and that part of him kept suffocated by anger, bitterness, and loathing ever since he had uttered an unforgivable spell…were crying out to him and refusing to be ignored no matter how he tried to quell them. Long pale fingers touched the stone bowl and caressed the runes. "Very well," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a calm that did not reflect what was churning inside him, and he returned his eyes to the Headmaster of Hogwarts and waited.
They both descended into the fog and grey...and when it cleared, Snape found he had to take a step back or be nearly run over by a woman carrying cloths as she hurried into another room. That it was a woman could only be discerned by her shape as her face was, rather disconcertingly, blurred. Glancing around, he could see two other people there, but their forms were blurred too, even more so, and he could barely make out that they were male...for not even their clothing was clear.
The only one who appeared normal was Dumbledore...or rather the memory of Dumbledore, who was watching something going on through a long glass window.
"Why can't I see their faces?" he asked, looking at the blurred figures with a frown.
"With your gifts of the mind, I felt it wiser to hide their identities. Their memories have long since been altered, but I didn’t want you tracking them down and bedevilling them with some foolish idea that you might be able to retrieve what is long gone. Believe me, even if you could find them, there is nothing you could obtain from them. They wouldn't remember what you were talking about if you were to ask them as their memories of that night are completely different," came his answer before the current version of the headmaster held out his arm and indicated the doorway into the room his memory version of himself was gazing into. "Go ahead."
And that's when they heard the cry...a woman's. And she was in pain.
Snape jolted, the recognition instant in his eyes. "No..." he whispered, taking a step back from the open portal instead. "Damn you. Damn you. Damn you, what have you brought me to!"
"You wanted proof, Severus...proof I was not lying...and I'm not. Everything here is exactly how it happened....unaltered...except for the people's identities. You wanted the truth...and here it is." The elderly wizard indicated a box that appeared like a Muggle speaker. "We can hear everything that is going on in there if you wish." And a moment later, there was the sound of a woman crying.
Over it, a distorted and desperate voice was murmuring, "Hold on...you have to stay with us. The baby is nearly here...but you have to hold on."
"Blurred forms...voices only..." Snape stared at the box and then at Dumbledore, his fear transforming itself into mistrust and anger as it so often did. "What kind of proof is this?" he snapped. His eyes turned to the doorway and his mouth twisted into a grimace of determination as he pushed his way in.
"I'm sorry..." came the answering whisper from the very clearly-focused young woman on the birthing bed, a blurry man holding her hand as Snape moved inside. On the other end of her was the woman who had nearly run him over and, he had to assume from their outfits, two Healers. Their patient appeared to be looking elsewhere as if she were unaware of any of them, continuing to murmur distractedly, "I'm so sorry...I love you so much, Severus...please forgive me..." There came another cry of pain, followed by a Healer telling her she had to push.
Snape stopped two steps inside as a blow the force of a dragon's tail struck his chest. His eyes widened as they fell on her face, his own features losing all trace of their former suspicion and anger and instead resolving themselves at last into agonized, wondering pain.
Her name slipped from his lips, barely audible even to Dumbledore. "No," he whispered, his arms closing about himself.
"I'm so sorry..." she whispered again before turning at last to the man next to her, her eyes focusing for a time. "There is good in him...he didn't mean this...please...help him." Her voice seemed to fail her for a moment and she barely seemed to be able to get the words out. "There is good..." She reached up and yanked the chain off from around her neck, pressing it into the man's hand before she turned away, her eyes again growing distant. "I'm sorry...I love you so much...Severus...always love you..."
She cried in pain, and the man beside her turned his obfuscated head anxiously down to the Healers, when one gasped, "Oh no..."
Blood was now pouring from the woman’s womb.
"Paidea..." Her name tumbled again from Snape’s barely moving lips as he stared at the sight of her blood ebbing from her, taking her life, her light. "No..."
"I love you..." Her lips moved in an agonising illusion of answer and with a shuddering gasp, she closed her eyes for the last time, her head lolling to one side.
"Paidea!" cried the man, his call the merest echo of the agonised cry Snape held deep inside him.
"We have to get this baby out now!" snapped the Healer, who had pulled out his wand and was frantically chanting spells, the other Healer working just as frantically at his side, knowing one patient had just expired and desperately trying to save the second.
Black eyes turned away to the tiled floor, unable to watch as he fought for imaginary breath, while everything he had tried to suppress over the past year was ripped raw again.
"I hate you," Snape said, head bowed, arms wrapped ever tighter about himself as he stood by Dumbledore.
What seemed like an eternity later, a loud vigorous cry rang out around the room.
A small bundle was hurried over to a tub, the blood washing away in the water, leaving the child pink and clean, his dark hair barely visible under the soft cap placed upon his head while he was checked and bundled.
A minute later, the memory of Dumbledore quietly entered the room as the baby was given to the blurry and now shocked man who had been still holding the child’s mother’s lifeless hand.
"What do we do?" he asked, his voice distorted.
"He needs a home..." Dumbledore replied. "Away...from all this."
Snape turned his head in their direction, watching through the veil of his hair.
The rest of their conversation was muted and completely garbled in his ears before the man nodded and carrying the infant, left the room, leaving the memory of Dumbledore to take the dead woman's hand. Bowing his head, a single tear rolled down his cheek. "Rest in peace, Paidea...and I hope you are right."
Snape felt a hand take his arm, and with a yank, they were back in Dumbledore's office.
Turning away from the bowl, he walked silently to the window and wrapped his arms about himself once more, standing there without a word for a full ten minutes, only the white of his knuckles where his fingers dug into his arms betraying his struggle for control.
Finally, straightening somewhat, he loosened his hold on himself, and his arms folded over his chest once more. "Asking you where he is...who he is...will do no good I assume?" he enquired without looking at the old sorcerer. "Seeing as he is to be your...insurance."
"It is for both your protection that I keep that from you," the old man replied, again sitting behind his desk. "What do you honestly think someone like Voldemort will do if he finds out your son is still alive?" His eyes were piercing as he looked at the younger man through his half moon spectacles. "The boy is loved and well cared for, I can assure you. And will continue to be so, regardless of your decision. He will know nothing of magic or our world. He will live a happy and relatively normal life with a family that loves him."
"As a Muggle." The younger wizard’s voice was flat as his dark eyes turned to Dumbledore.
"As you say," was the response. "Just one of billions of others. His powers bound."
"You have no right to keep him from me," Snape observed with no particular trace of emotion. "I could go to the courts and seek his return. I am not a wanted man...and everything you have done is illegal. Mindwipes. Kidnapping." Everything he said was told in a straightforward tone as he took several slow steps back to the headmaster.
"The child is just over a year...could you care for him? Do you know the slightest thing about babies? Could you keep him safe? And what would your other master do? He'd be a bargaining chip...used to ensure your loyalty, and if you were not...he would be made to suffer. Look what happened to your wife...or do you think that He did not get exactly what he wanted there," came the sad response.
Dumbledore sighed as he sat back in his chair. "And what do you think would happen if you went to the courts? To them, he doesn't exist, Severus. He was declared dead along with his mother...there is no record of his birth, and no one bar myself and one other knows anything about it. And then what? You attacked his mother the day she died...with an Unforgivable Curse, Severus."
"I did not mean...she would not..." the dark clad man began automatically before his eyes closed once more, and he turned his head away as the memory replayed in his mind for the millionth time. "You know this, and yet no warrant was ever issued for my arrest. No charge ever brought. You can hardly use that against me now without impeaching yourselves for a cover up in her death." He took a few steps away before glancing back. "Why did you not come after me? Put me in Azkaban...give me to the Dementors?" There was almost a longing tenor to his question.
"Because it did not contribute to her death. Gave her great pain, yes...but her death was due to childbirth related reasons. Apparently her placenta tore during labour..." the old man explained. "Remember the blood? That is what caused her death. "
Ebony eyes regarded him for a moment before a soft snort of scorn reached the elderly wizard's ears. "Did not contribute to her death? You really do know nothing of us, Dumbledore," he told him before again turning away.
The headmaster steepled his fingers again. "How so?"
Snape’s back continued to face the desk. "I told you...that is none of your concern. I know the part my hand played in what occurred; let us leave it at that. The necklace she wore..." he queried, crossing over to the window. "The one she took off in the memory...where is it?"
The older man looked puzzled. "The locket? She was buried with it. It seemed to be important to her."
Snape immediately turned back to stare at him. "She took it off...pulled it bodily from herself and gave it to someone. And you're telling me that it was put back on her again?" he said incredulously.
"I believe so..." Dumbledore replied, his brow furrowing a little as he glanced up. "We weren't entirely sure what to do with it...it couldn't go to the boy and no one could open it. Lovely old thing, though...had a P engraved on it. The young man she gave it to thought it would be best with her. And frankly, we had other problems besides old lockets...so it was given back," he explained.
Snape moved slowly to back over towards the desk and nodded. "And so you ignored her last request." His eyes were sharp as he regarded the old wizard. "You know she would have hated what you did, don't you? Hated the abuse of legitimate power as much as she hated those who would seize it from outside." He scoffed again and shook his head. "No one came close to her...to what she stood for...no one. Least of all me.
"Very well, Headmaster," he said quietly, staring up at the sorting hat where it sat on its shelf. "You have my oath. On…my child's life...you have my loyalty and I will be your informant until the day this is over...or one of us is dead."
The elderly man nodded solemnly. "Very well...welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Severus." There was a slight pause. "Now...about your job application. I'm afraid the Defence Against the Dark Arts position has been filled...but how do you feel about teaching...Potions?"
“Severus…”
Hate filled the dark-haired man in that moment. Hate unlike any he had felt before. Hate for that Malfoy brat who he had been manipulated into saving. Hate for the Dark Lord and his twisted soul and lies. Hate for that devious, ingenious old man who was asking him to help him die, asking him to kill the one man that could give him back the one remaining piece of her. Kill his last chance at ever finding his son.
‘I hate you, Albus Dumbledore,’ he thought as his wand began to rise.
But even as the slender rod made its short journey upwards in preparing to end the life of the greatest living sorcerer, the deepest contempt and the bitterest detestation was directed not at any of these but at the one whose choices had led him to this crossroads.
For him…his weaknesses, his folly, his fear, mistrust, and misplaced faith…his contempt burned the brightest. For him, who had turned a boy with the highest hopes and expectations into a man who was not only capable of this darkest of acts but of living with them. For him, who…when the words had passed his lips…would ultimately destroy the last vestige of those hopes and expectations.
For him, and him alone, was the expression of complete and utter loathing on his face as the wand aimed unwaveringly at its target.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Authors' Reference Note: The quoted full lines have been taken directly from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Chapter Twenty-Seven, pages 595-596. No money is being made from this fic...and all due credit needs to go to JK Rowling for writing a marvellous series of books that continues to inspire us to play with her characters.