There was no answer from Dumbledore – perhaps because he was giving Snape a choice? For a fraction of a second hope rose in Snape's heart. He didn't have to return to the Dark Lord. Escape was still a possibility. And then - and then he returned to the truth. Why must the truth always be so hard to face? There were no warm corners in Snape's life, no reassuring facts he could comfort himself with. He rested his head in his hands, noticing as he did so that his left arm felt a little stiff, and saw that his future would unfold as bleakly as his past. His whole life had been like this, as if it were a punishment – but what had he done to deserve it? Every choice he had made had seemed inevitable at the time. Would this choice too lead to more pain? Another harsh truth to be faced later? He would be facing the Dark Lord later, and that would certainly lead to more pain, once he discovered Snape's betrayal. Of course!
"I can't go back," Snape said. "He will know that I have turned, he will know immediately. He has powers..." and Snape remembered that last meeting with his master, when he had longed for death. Death seemed the only solution now as well – he could remain with Dumbledore, thus alerting the Dark Lord to his treachery, and stay in hiding and fear for the rest of his life; or he could return to the Death Eaters, be discovered as a traitor, be tortured, be killed. Either way, he would have to watch, a useless spectator, as the Dark Lord grew in strength, as Dumbledore and the Ministry tried to defeat him, as those children – Neville and Harry – were destroyed. It was fortunate that he had remembered to bring poison tonight.
"You mentioned Voldemort's powers before," replied Dumbledore. "What precisely does he do? If it's merely a case of using the Unspeakable Curses -"
"No!" said Snape. He could feel the muscles in his neck and jaw tensing as he realised he was going to have to explain something of the Dark Lord's methods of communication and control. He was scratching his left arm again – how long had he been doing that? Was that why it felt so stiff? Had Dumbledore noticed? He picked up his tankard – best to keep that right hand occupied – he wasn't yet ready to reveal that mark, the symbol of his servitude. "He... He has the ability to know... He can sense... It is impossible to lie to him, or to disobey him." There, he had said it.
Dumbledore leaned forward, curiously. "When you say 'impossible'…?"
"I mean he can... somehow... sense it, and then the pain starts..." In fact, now that he'd mentioned pain, Snape noticed that there was a kind of dull ache around the mark on his arm. He hadn't been aware of it starting – it must have grown very slowly in intensity all through their conversation. It wasn't as sharp or as overwhelming as it had been when he was in the Dark Lord's presence but there it was, nevertheless – it felt as though someone was pressing onto a fresh bruise. Was this because he was betraying the Dark Lord, by revealing his secrets? Could he, as he sat far away in his mansion, also feel this bruising and know that one of his followers was a traitor?
"The pain starts..." prompted Dumbledore, patiently.
Snape tried to ignore this new sensation in his arm – at least it didn't seem to be getting any worse, and it was bearable. "Yes, the pain starts when he realises he has been deceived. Or disobeyed. Although, actually, there is a kind of background ache that occurs whether he knows or not." Yes – that seemed to be what was happening now. He tried not to look at his left arm. It didn't hurt much. Not really.
"So," Dumbledore said, thoughtfully, "Voldemort can sense your emotions – your guilt and shame? Has he ever, for want of a better phrase, read your mind?"
At Dumbledore's words, Snape's ears were immediately filled with the sound of Voldemort's cold voice, saying, "There is no need to kill you, Snape." He had felt then that none of his thoughts could be private in the Dark Lord's presence, as he heard his master reply to his unspoken wish for death. Snape looked at Dumbledore and nodded, mutely.
"Ah," breathed Dumbledore, "Legilimency."
Snape glanced sharply at Dumbledore. Legilimency? Why hadn't he thought of that? Suddenly, a half-forgotten memory from his childhood resurfaced in his mind. His parents fighting. His father had been drinking and had ... invaded his mind, not trusting Snape, demanding that he be obedient in thought as well as deed. He had begun to lose consciousness when his mother had stepped between them. His parents had argued all night and, as he had sat in the corner, trying to pluck up the courage to apologize to his father, Snape had known it was all his fault. Even now, so many years later, Snape could still hear his father's voice, slurred with fire-whiskey, saying, "Legilimens!"
"How could it be legilimency?" he asked Dumbledore, now. "When my fa- when I've witnessed other people practising legilimency, they've said "legilimens" as they do it. He said nothing – he just seemed to know. And I could not feel him in my mind. There was no hint of another presence. When I was a ch-" he broke off, hastily. How could he explain what it had felt like, when his father had crashed into his thoughts? It was as though he had been reading the pages of Snape's life and tearing them out, one by one. Dumbledore would think him insane. He tried to think of a better, less personal, way to describe it. "I have noticed that, to the mind being accessed, legilimency can feel like a blunt instrument."
"But with Voldemort you feel nothing, even as he knows your thoughts? Well well," and Dumbledore sounded impressed, "then it would seem that Voldemort is a highly talented Legilimens." Seeing the frown developing on Snape's face, Dumbledore continued, "As you say, legilimency can be like a blunt instrument – when used by an unskilled practitioner. However, for a skilled Legilimens, it can be a very delicate operation . And of course, as one develops a talent for fine-tuning one's own thoughts, one also loses the need to say anything out loud."
Peering shrewdly at Dumbledore, Snape said, "You're a Legilimens, aren't you?"
"Yes, I'm afraid I am, Severus." He smiled apologetically at Snape. "I try not to use it too much, of course – it has always seemed a very underhanded way of getting to the truth. However, there are times when it can seem like the only reasonable course of action."
A suspicion was forming in Snape's mind. "That's how you recognised me, isn't it? You used legilimency?"
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "When you arrived, this evening, I had no idea whether or not you could be trusted. It seemed a sensible precaution to take." There was a knock at the door. "Excuse me, Severus," said Dumbledore as he rose to answer it.
Snape leant back in his chair, using this moment of solitude to reflect on the thoughts he had had since he walked into this room. How much had Dumbledore seen? Had he been a party to all of Snape's memories and fears that evening? Snape was angry. It was so unfair! How could he protect himself from an attack he couldn't even feel? He knew that occlumency was the only defence, of course. Once, during his childhood, he had found the strength to defy his father, to suggest that he would learn occlumency, that his father would never again know what he was thinking. His father had replied, with grim satisfaction, that occlumency was almost impossible to master, could not be learnt from a book (this with a sneer), that only a handful of wizards could do it well. Snape the child had been defenceless. What about Snape the man? A resolution was made. The children, his master's intended victims, were defenceless too. The resolution solidified, became a plan. He must act now! Where was Dumbledore? Waiting was intolerable. He got up, intending to find Dumbledore at once. At the same moment the door opened and Dumbledore returned, looking relieved.
Before Snape could speak, Dumbledore said, "That was Stur- ah, that is to say, a colleague has just informed me that James and Lily have been warned of the imminent danger. They are taking the necessary measures to protect Harry, even as we speak. The Longbottoms have similarly gone into hiding. I suspect your fellow Death Eaters will find it difficult to trace them." He was beaming at Snape now. "You have a lot to proud of, Severus."
"I could do more," said Snape, as soon as Dumbledore finished speaking. He felt that he was standing taller than usual. He felt proud, strong. "I could find out more."
"Are you sure you know what you're suggesting?" asked Dumbledore, although he did not look surprised.
"Yes." Yes, Snape knew. He would have to be constantly alert. His life would be always on the edge of death. He would be alone – if anyone were to get to close to him they would become a liability. He would be living in fear. But he had always been afraid, his whole life. This time at least he was walking into the fear – he would be prepared. "Yes, I know. But I could use occlumency, could I not? I could shield my mind from the Dark Lord. He need never know, as long as I was careful."
"You are not an Occlumens, Severus," said Dumbledore, gently. "It takes work, patience, self-discipline. It takes time."
"Well," said Snape, a trace of a smile on his lips, "there are still nine hours until morning. Teach me, now. Tonight."