How long must it have been now since last he had felt trusted? Not since Hogwarts and not since before, either. Not since her. Severus gave an annoyed jerk of his head in a physical attempt to banish these thoughts from his mind. She had let him go. She had let him walk so far down this path; he had no means of turning back now.
No means of turning back now.
The thought almost brought a smirk to his lips and gave him a small sort of comfort he didn’t understand. This was it. He didn’t have a choice anymore. His destiny had been decided, had really been decided years ago, and he could trace it back to the very moment in which it had: the moment she had walked away. He could still remember the exact feeling that had gripped his heart, the way his stomach had seemingly fallen away…
Lily Evans.
No, he corrected himself, Lily Potter.
That was how she had broken him, had really and truly broken him: marrying the man who had so often made his life hell, the one who would seemingly delight in his own awkwardness and embarrassment. She had chosen to spend the rest of her life with him while his own was spiralling ever downwards into this endless chasm into which he had fallen all those years ago…
It was only when a thin trickle ran down his hand that Severus realised his fists were clenched in rage, his nails digging into his palms so deep they were drawing blood. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers and allowed his emotions to melt back into the mask they had become years ago. He would need it for what was to come.
When he felt satisfied that his anger was in check, he raised a hand slowly to the gilded knocker and let it fall three times, and then he waited. After a beat or so, the handsome oak door opened and a very ancient house elf was revealed. It was stooped, shuffling, and defeated-looking. Its shoulders slumped; its eyes darted from here to there, never affixing themselves’ with Severus’, and a thin cloth hung limp and lank about his shoulder, tied in a toga-like fashion and seemingly sporting the dust and grime of centuries.
“What business is you having here?” the elf asked in a hoarse squeak.
Severus held his chin high, apparently regarding the thing with cool detachment. “I seek Lucius.”
For the merest fraction of a second, the elf’s eyes met Severus’ before speaking again.
“And is Master Lucius expecting sir?” Severus nodded impatiently. “Then I is taking sir to him right away,” said the elf, turning and walking down the hall.
Lefèvre Manor, with its superb exterior of elaborate marble bricks and ornamentally carved doors, was its own opposite inside. The hall the teetering little elf was leading him down was twisting and narrow with others leading off this way and that. The walls of the place were stained; the paper was peeling, and in some places, ripped off completely. The carpet was threadbare and the once magnificent rug running the length of the hall was tattered and unravelling at the ends. Severus almost smirked; this house was in every way his reflection, the cool and collective outside hid away the chaos within.
“You is to wait here, sir,” said the elf as they reached a door at the very end of the hall.
Snape waited as the elf hesitantly pushed opened the door, which was completely worn through in places, leaving holes, some as large as three inches in diameter in its dull surface.
He could hear indistinct voices from within. Someone was shouting and another, higher voice was whimpering in response. Finally after several moments of this, the worn door opened again and the elf peered up at him, his large eyes swimming with tears.
“Sir can come on now,” said the elf in a quavering voice.
Without even bothering to look at the pitiful thing, Severus swept past it and into the room.
Opposite him was a large and comfortable looking cushioned chair; in it sat a figure whose face was hidden by the glare of the fire blazing behind the single piece of furniture.
“Ah, Severus,” said the figure in the chair. It had the smooth sort of voice belonging to a wealthy bureaucrat, despite the hovel it was apparently staying in.
Though Severus was certain as to whom the voice belonged to, he waited until he could make out the man’s face before answering. As he neared the figure, the harsh glare of the fire began to subside and he was able to discern the man’s face, a small smirk on his lips.
“Lucius,” Severus said curtly, extending his hand to him.
Lucius rose gracefully from his chair and took his outstretched hand. As he did so, a spasm of pain ran up Severus’ left arm. The smirk on Lucius’ lips grew wider at the wince that flashed across Severus’s face.
“Ah,” he said softly. “Am I to assume you have ascended our noble ranks?”
“Indeed,” he answered just as softly.
Lucius now had a look of impression on his face. “If you don’t mind?” he said, and without waiting for a reply, grabbed Severus arm and pulled back the sleeve of his tattered robe. On his bare forearm was the blistering red scar that had been burnt into it just hours previously. The skin had started to scab around the Dark Mark, making it more grotesque than ever.
Lucius turned his arm slightly so that the mutilated skin caught the firelight. The quivering glow cast by the flames seemed to make the burnt-in snake dance and the scalded eyes of the skull from which it protruded shift from Severus’s own face to Lucius’s.
“And your first orders were—?”
“Why, to find you, of course,” Severus replied smoothly.
The smirk on Lucius’s face was now so wide his eyes were barely visible. “Ah,” he replied. “Please,” he said, waving his wand so that a chair appeared, “sit.”
Severus gave a curt nod and sat. The chair Lucius had conjured was high-backed and uncomfortable.
They sat for several minutes without exchanging so much as a sound. Severus could only assume they were waiting for someone, but a quarter of an hour later, it was growing tiresome.
Suddenly, the fireplace burst into green flames and a man’s head appeared in the spinning flames. He had tattered robes that looked several sizes too small stretched between his wide shoulder blades. His hair was flecked with grey and his face was unshaven and rough. He seemed to bring with him the smell of mingled blood and sweat.
“Greyback.” Lucius didn’t bother to hide the look of repulse on his face. The man grinned, revealing pointed, almost inhumane teeth.
“We’ve attacked a Muggle village,” he reported. “Lots of woman and children to maim,” he added with another grin that made his eyes roll and his teeth bare. “Nott seemed to think it would be a shame if you were to miss it.”
The disgusted look on Lucius’s face melted away almost at once. “Ah,” he said, a smile curling his already-smirking lips. “We’ll be there at once.”
“Right,” said Greyback, scratching his face in an animal-esque fashion. “The Village is called Biggleswade. See you at the slaughter,” he added with another of his stomach-turning smiles.
They Apparated hurriedly. The gasping breaths Severus took in brought with them the smell of burning wood and the air was thick with smoke and smog. In the distance, people were shouting in indistinct chaos.
“This way,” Lucius muttered, and he and Severus rushed toward the horizon where a strange light seemed to dance across it.
Severus felt slightly surreal as he crossed the short stretch of land between their Apparition point and the small town. He felt like something of a shadow in the dancing light that dappled the smoke, gliding across to whatever atrocity awaited.
As the village came into view, suddenly the voices and screams also seemed much clearer; most of the noise was the high-pitched screams of women or children, occasionally punctured by a man’s commanding voice or a ripped apart by cruel laughter.
Several buildings were ablaze, including what looked like a small church. The others lay in shambles; a few had even been blasted away completely. Jets of light flew past Severus, who stood stock still, unbelieving, always followed by another scream…
Just for a moment, Severus allowed his eyes to widen with horror and his jaw to drop in a silent scream at the terrible sight, but as Lucius turned to look him, his own face alight with apparent glee, Snape forced his features into a look of assumed indifference, almost amusement.
As the two stood there, something moved so quickly and within such close proximity to him, it nearly knocked him over. It seemed to be two figures struggling, and as the larger of the two succeeded in toppling the smaller, Snape caught a glimpse of a woman’s face fall onto the grass. A moment later however, where that face had been, there was only a mangled, bloody mess, the remains of the poor soul’s face all over the man’s who had forced her down. With a sickening jolt of the stomach, Severus realised it Greyback, the man who had sought them out in Lefèvre Manor. He leered up them, setting his eyes rolling once more.
As he approached them, he wiped the woman’s blood off of his face with the back of his arm and licked it, but Snape was hardly paying attention. His eyes were fixed in horror on the figure that had just been maimed. She had glossy red hair that curled at the ends just like—
“Well,” said Greyback, jerking Severus’s eyes off what remained of the woman’s face. “What are you waiting for? There’s so much more innocent flesh to be ripped!” His tone was gleeful, almost indecent.
“Yes, Severus,” said Lucius, his voice full of cruel amusement, “what are you waiting for? Give one of these Muggles exactly what they deserve.”
And what choice did he have? Slowly, almost dream-like, Snape approached a sobbing woman, lying curled in the grass, clutching her crying young son.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, help us. Do something; stop them!”
Severus’s only response was to draw his wand, pointing it directly at her heart. “Crucio!” he hissed.
And the small boy began to cry even louder, as his mother writhed in pain before his very eyes and her screams joined the others’ filling the night air.
And Snape stood there, for how long he never knew, with his wand pointed at the woman, taking a strange and repulsive pleasure in the woman’s screams and her child’s….
It had been weeks, months, maybe, since he had first sought Lucius at Lefèvre Manor. All he knew was that he was spending every moment attempting to please a Master he had yet to actually lay eyes on. Since he had first arrived, he’d taken part in several more “Expeditions” such as the first one, until one day, Crumpson, the pathetic house-elf who served the manor and family informed him he was to see the Dark Lord immediately.
“What does he wish to discuss?” Severus demanded instantly of the thing.
“I is not saying it! I is not knowing!” the house-elf squeaked in a terrified voice.
“Then get out of my sight, you filthy excuse for living!” he spat at the pathetic creature.
Crumpson did as he was told, recoiling and wincing as if Severus and physically harmed him.
Throwing on his travelling cloak, he hurried to the door and Apparated to the place he had only been once before and expected to return only under the gravest of circumstances.
It was a small cave-like dwelling Severus guessed wasn’t too far from Lefèvre Manor. Before entering, he closed his eyes and allowed any emotions he may have been feeling to glide way from him. Then, with the assurance of a man with nothing to hide, no secrets at all, walked into the grotto.
The entire dwelling was comprised of only one, room-like place. The dancing light from mounted torches gave the creased walls of the cave the illusion of movement. Near the cavern wall opposite Severus, paced a tall figure, as he approached, the man ceased his pacing and turned to face him.
“Ah, Severus, I wondered when we would meet again,” Severus didn’t say anything, not quite trusting himself yet, but inclined his head toward him. “Lucius has told me you are quite the cunning spy.”
Feeling he could no longer feign dumbness, Severus spoke. “Lucius has always been good to me, my Lord,” he said softly.
“Yes, yes,” the Dark Lord said pensively. “I believe it is time we put your slippery skills to the test, is it not? It is my wish that you apply for Professorship at Hogwarts.”
“Hogwarts, my Lord?” Severus repeated, eyebrows raised.
“Yes, Hogwarts. You are a fair Potion brewer, are you not?” he inquired.
“I am capable.”
“Fortunately enough the position of Potions Master has just—ah—opened up,” Lord Voldemort said with a nasty smile, leaving Snape to imagine the circumstances in which he had been disposed of. “You will contact Albus Dumbledore tonight, telling him you are interested in the position.”
“Yes, of course, my Lord,” said Severus, inclining his head once again.
“You will then set off for the Hog’s Head bar in Hogsmeade, where Dumbledore will very shortly begin interviewing for the post of Divination. Listen in; find out exactly what he is looking for in a Professor of his school. You are somewhat experienced in Legimency, I believe?”
“Yes, my Lord, but Dumbledore is one of the greatest Occulmens—”
“It will not matter,” Voldemort cut him off coldly. “You will begin this immediately. Go now.” And with that, the Dark Lord turned away and resumed his pacing. After a beat, Severus turned on his heel and left.
“Oh, and Severus,” called Lord Voldemort as he was at the cave’s wide mouth.
“My Lord?”
“Do not fail me, or you shall be very sorry indeed,” he said with a cold, twisted smile. Severus merely nodded and left.
Out of the cave, Severus stood gazing down from the rocky cliff and imagining the rough, stormy waves he knew must be below. He was no more than five feet from the edge and had never felt closer to it.
He took a deep breath and took a few steps back, as if to prevent himself from doing something rash. He had his orders, and delaying in carrying them out would not end well for him. With one more, weary look at the jagged cliff, Snape closed his eyes and Disapparated.
After scrawling a note detailing his interest in the position of Potions Master, Severus grabbed his thinning cloak from the peg on the crumbling wall and stepped out once again, into the cold, wet night.
A moment later he was trundling down the winding Hogsmeade street, cursing whenever he stepped in a puddle and slapping his sopping hair out of his face.
He could just make out the sign depicting a severed boar’s head in the rain and wind. The only light for several feet was the glowing lamp in the window. He pushed open the door and stepped gratefully into the warm foyer. The barkeeper nodded in his direction from behind the bar. Severus returned the gesture and sat at a table in a shadowy corner, attempting to avoid the glances he received upon arriving soaking wet.
After a moment or so, when he was sure the barkeeper was looking the other direction, he stole up the staircase.
The place was just as worn-down and dingy upstairs as it was the floor below. He squinted down the dark hallway, wondering where Dumbledore and his applicant were interviewing.
Then a voice, ill quieted by the thin doors floated through the hall.
“Yes,” the patient voice said. “Would you be kind enough to predict something for me?”
Snape hurried towards the room from which the voice came from just as another voice, a woman’s this time, spoke.
“P-predict something?” It sounded nervous. “But, Headmaster! The Inner Eye cannot be called to service! It sees only when the fates call upon it!”
“I see. In that case, Sybil, I’m afraid I must conclude our interview, should Hogwarts be in need of your—er—gift, I shall send—”
But Dumbledore stopped talking suddenly, and Snape was quite puzzled as to why until another, harsh voice sounded:
“THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES…”
Severus, his heart now beating a wild tattoo against his chest, pressed his ear to the door, listening hard.
“BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES—”
But he never heard the rest. As the hoarse voice spoke on, something grabbed Severus roughly around the collar of his robes and he found himself suddenly face to face with the old barkeeper, and he looked furious.
“What do you think you’re doing, listening in at doors?” he bellowed at him.
“I—” but the angry barkeeper didn’t seem interested in his reasoning. He bodily dragged him off and down the stairs.
“Who were you eavesdropping on?” he growled, coming to halt at the grimy door.
“I don’t—”
“Yes you do! Answer me!”
“Albus—Albus Dumbledore and—and his applicant for the Divination post!” he gasped, finding it hard to breathe with the barkeeper’s fist pressed against his windpipe.
“Get out of my pub!” yelled the man disgustedly, opening the door and shoving Severus, who landed in a tangled heap in the wet grass, out of it. “And stay out!” he added, slamming the door shut.
After a beat, head still spinning from what he had just heard and its recent contact with the ground, Severus stood up. He had to get back to the Dark Lord — tell him everything he had just found out. Then he would be rewarded — praised beyond all others, and for the first time since Lily Evans — Accepted.
And with that thought, he turned on his heel and Apparated.
It was perhaps months later — months and months of scheming and planning later — just as Severus had magically locked the gates of Lefèvre Manor that today’s Daily Prophet had hit his leg, blown by the day’s blustery wind. Stooping down, Severus unfurled it, glancing at the headline. And then he felt the breath disappear from his throat and the entire world fall out from under his feet.
The headline was accompanied by a lengthy article and a picture of man and his wife, silent laughter in her heart-breakingly familiar eyes.
Lily.
And then, never taking his eyes off the startlingly emerald ones, Severus ran towards the only man who could help him now, the man who tried so many times before.
Albus Dumbledore.