So much the better for him, so much the worse for Severus Snape
To some extent this fic is a clothes horse for some ideas about how the Horcruxes might pan out, but it also brings Harry and Snape a little closer towards détente. It's Harry's turn to look into the void and feel some pain – and to see the kind of stuff that Snape is made of. Whatever else Snape may be, he's no coward.
This may not make much sense unless you've read the seven part series.
Chapter 1: Harry Potter
He'd stayed calm while Snape told him the truth of what had happened on top of the Astronomy Tower and why Dumbledore had trusted Snape so completely, but by the time he'd said goodbye to Mad-Eye Moody, walked out of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and Apparated home to Privet Drive the shock had hit him with all the force of a stampeding troll. He'd been so churned up, so mixed up inside - because if Snape is still Dumbledore's man through and through, then his world has turned upside down - that he'd had to put his arms around Hedwig and bury his face in her soft feathers, because she at least is beautiful and uncomplicated and unequivocally good. And although normally Hedwig wasn't keen on being petted and cuddled, she'd been very gracious about being hugged so tightly, and having her feathers messed up and sniffled into.
Then he'd put his wand and the Muggle gun that Snape had given him on the bedside table and thrown himself on his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts because thank god it was shaping up to be a decent sort of a summer and Dementors don't like the heat - and he'd just lain there and brooded, while Hedwig perched at the foot of the bed and hooted softly, comfortingly to him.
He'd thought, this is just like a Muggle murder-mystery, because once you know whodunit, it's just so bleeding obvious, there's a clue on practically every page. Once you know how far the Unbreakable Vow went – that Snape was bound not just to help Draco and to protect him, but to finish the job if Draco couldn't do it – then all the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle fall into place. And Snape must have told Dumbledore about the Vow straight away, because Dumbledore gave Snape the Defence job, even though he knew the position was cursed, even though Dumbledore had never been able to keep a Defence teacher for more than a year.
He'd had to fight back tears when he remembered what he'd said to Ron at the Arrival Feast, there's one good thing, Snape'll be gone by the end of the year ... personally I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death - because he'd got his wish, though not in the way that he'd hoped for. And then the words of the lumpy Death Eater Amycus had come bubbling up into his mind, we've got a problem, Snape, the boy doesn't seem able ... Dumbledore had known what those words meant, he'd known that Snape had the choice to break the Vow and die, or to fulfil it and live. And he'd thought, how could I have ever believed that Dumbledore was pleading for his life - he was pleading with Snape to fulfil the Vow, and to get the Death Eaters off the Tower, to get them away from me. Of course Dumbledore would sacrifice himself for me, he did it before, when Umbridge found out about the DA. It's a game of chess, the less valuable piece is sacrificed for the sake of the game – and I've never been much good at chess, I didn't see the move. And Voldemort won't see it either, he thinks there's nothing worse than death, I heard him say so in the Ministry of Magic ...
Remembering what Dumbledore had said to Voldemort in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness, had made him feel a bit sick. He'd thought, poor bloody Snape, he knows very well that there are worse things than death, and he wanted to die on the Astronomy Tower, but Dumbledore wouldn't let him. For my sake, Dumbledore wouldn't let him die, and I know now that's what they were fighting about in the Forbidden Forest. And if Snape hated me before, how much more must he hate me now? But he didn't attack me, not even when I tried to use his own spells against him, he didn't lose control until I challenged him to kill me as he'd killed Dumbledore, until I'd called him a coward. He didn't hurt me until I'd really hurt him.
Then he'd remembered what Sirius had said about Umbridge - the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. And it still hurts to think of Sirius, it still angers him to know that while Snape might have done everything he could to prevent Sirius from going to the Department of Mysteries, he wasn't sorry that he'd failed - no, Snape would have been glad that the mutt was dead, he'd have gloated over it, because Severus Snape isn't a good person, he isn't nice at all, but he isn't a Death Eater, either – well, he is, but not really, not if he's still Dumbledore's man.
And then he'd thought, Merlin knows that Snape is thoroughly nasty, but he's not like Umbridge – with her kittens and her pink parchment and her falsely sweet voice and her Detention Quill – and that horrible, eager, excited look on her face when she was about to crucio me. Umbridge is a sadist, she really gets a kick out of causing pain, but Snape is more like a cornered wild beast, lashing out at everyone he's afraid of, everyone he thinks is trying to hurt him ... and Snape was so awful to me in that first Potions lesson, could he have been afraid of me? I was eleven years old, I didn't know anything about magic or the wizarding world, how could Snape have been afraid of me? But I wasn't just any eleven year old boy - I was the Boy Who Lived, and I was James Potter's son, and he wanted to make sure that he'd have the upper hand, he wanted to make sure I'd never treat him the way that my father treated him, and it all went terribly wrong. If I'd just kept my mouth shut - but I made that stupid remark about how Hermione knew the answers, and people laughed, and after that it was war between us.
And there's the other thing, Dumbledore promised me that he was going to tell me everything when Sirius died, but Dumbledore didn't tell me everything, he didn't tell me why he trusted Snape - because I was so angry, I was so determined to blame Snape for Sirius' death that if he'd told me, it would just have given me another reason to hate Snape. If I'd thought that the filthy Slytherin had dared to look at my mother, it would have been just another reason to hate him.
And then he'd got off the bed, pulled the handsome, leather-covered book of wizard photographs that Hagrid had presented to him at the end of his first year at Hogwarts out of the wardrobe, where it had languished, untouched, since the summer when that Mad-Eye Moody had shown him the photograph of the original members of the Order of the Phoenix and run through the names of the missing - Marlene McKinnon, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Benjy Fenwick, Edgar Bones, Caradoc Dearborn, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Dorcas Meadowes, James and Lily Potter ... and Peter Pettigrew - and sat cross-legged on the bed, looking through the photographs.
He'd flicked through the pages of wedding photos and baby photos until he'd come to the graduation photos – photographs of James with the Marauders, James with Lily, Lily with her girlfriends, both of them with their proud parents and professors – until finally he'd found the photograph he'd been looking for, the photograph of his mother with Horace Slughorn. Slughorn is looking expansive and self-satisfied, Lily is smiling, looking incredibly pretty – and why has he never realised before how much Ginny is like her, the same dark red hair and something about the face – and Lily is tugging on someone's arm, someone who's lurking outside the frame, and before the third person even comes into view, he knows who it is, and he thinks, Slughorn must have given Hagrid this photograph of himself with his two most brilliant NEWT students.
The Snape in the photograph is at least a couple of years older than in the memory he'd seen in the Pensieve, and this Snape has changed, grown up a lot. The same oily hair is hanging over Snape's face, but he can already see a good deal of the graceful, dangerous adult he's always known. And when Snape doesn't have a sneer or a snarl or a smirk on his face, he isn't so ugly, no uglier than Viktor Krum, anyway – Krum was just as dark, sallow and hook-nosed, but girls had swarmed around Krum, because he was a Quidditch star.
The Lily in the photograph turns to Slughorn, embraces him, kisses him on the cheek, and then she turns to Snape, reaches up to kiss him, and Snape looks stunned, he's taken by surprise, he turns his head, Lily's lips brush against his for a moment and then Snape flushes with embarrassment and steps away from Lily as if he'd been burned.
He'd closed up the book and he'd thought, when you know whodunit, it's so bleeding obvious, Slughorn said everyone who met my mother liked her - and she was beautiful. Snape must have been so much in love with her, he hung around the Evans house even after my mother started going out with James, hoping and hoping - I bet Snape was the awful boy that Aunt Petunia overheard telling Lily about Dementors - and Snape killed her, he killed my mother the day that he went running to his Dark Lord and told him of the prophecy.
And then he'd felt a sudden surge of anger, both towards Dumbledore and Snape – he'd thought, Dumbledore knew all about this, he must have known how much Snape would hate me – how much he'd hate the very idea of me. How could Dumbledore have let Snape stay at Hogwarts for ten years, wallowing in his misery and his memories, until I showed up? To him, I'm the son of the man he hated, or I'm the son of the woman he loved, or I'm the weapon against Voldemort, I'm never me, I'm never Harry. And what did Snape have the nerve to say to me in the Occlumency lessons? He called me weak, a fool who wallowed in sad memories and allowed myself to be easily provoked! The miserable sod, who was he talking about - me, or him?
Then he'd had an uncomfortable thought – did Dumbledore make Snape stay at Hogwarts? Did Dumbledore keep Snape because he knew that one day Voldemort would return, because he knew that he'd need Snape again? That he'd need to send Snape out to spy again, to pretend to Voldemort that he'd just been biding his time, waiting for his master to return? And then he'd wondered - why did Snape ever join with Voldemort? Snape was a half-blood, he could never have believed the pure-blood supremacist crap ... what had Voldemort offered him? Money, power, position – a share of the glory?
Thinking about the Occlumency lessons had made him remember the vision of the hook-nosed man shouting at the cowering woman, the woman he now recognised as Eileen Prince – why had she cringed, she was a witch, why would Eileen Prince have ever been afraid of a Muggle? And what were they fighting about, was it the little dark-haired boy crying in the corner? Were they fighting about magic? Tom Riddle abandoned his wife when he found out that she was a witch - what had Tobias Snape done? Had it been worse than shouting? Had he beaten Eileen, beaten his son as well? And that thought had been upsetting, because Uncle Vernon has never hit him, Vernon has threatened and shouted and pushed him around, but Vernon has never beaten him ... but if Vernon had beaten him, how would he feel about Muggles? About using Dark magic on Muggles?
His head had started to ache, thinking all these complicated, confusing thoughts - it had been so much simpler only a few hours ago, when Severus Snape was the enemy, the coward and the traitor, and he'd known that he couldn't share this information with anyone, not even with Ron and Hermione.
He'd imagined Ron's reaction if he told him – Ron would make retching noises, and say, that greasy git, and your mum? Urgh, that's gross. And Hermione ... if he'd ever told her everything, if he'd told her about what he'd seen in the Pensieve, Hermione might have worked it out for herself because she's good at understanding how messed up feelings can get, how a teenage boy might call a pretty girl a Mudblood even if he likes her, maybe because he likes her. And then he'd thought, maybe Hermione wouldn't have worked it out, because she didn't notice how Draco Malfoy never missed a chance to call her "Mudblood", how Draco stared at her sometimes in the Great Hall at meal times or in Potions class - Hermione never noticed the sneer on Draco's face whenever he looked at Ron, as if he hated Ron even more than he hated me. Or maybe she did notice, but she just didn't say anything ...
And that had been a most unwelcome thought, because he really didn't need yet another reason to feel sorry for Draco, poor bloody Draco who'd wanted to be a Death Eater, just like his dad – right up until the moment when Draco had found out that he didn't have the nerve or the ability for the Killing Curse.
But he'd never told Hermione or Ron about the awful memory he'd seen in the Pensieve, even if he hadn't promised Snape that he'd never tell, he wouldn't have told them. He'd been too ashamed of his father and his godfather - and too afraid of his friends' reactions. Ron would have laughed, thought it was funny at first ... and Hermione would have been shocked and disapproving.
James and Sirius, they'd played tag team on Snape, he didn't have a chance against the pair of them, while Remus pretended to read a book, pretended it wasn't happening – and Pettigrew watched, nearly wetting himself with excitement. He'd remembered the look of avid anticipation on Pettigrew's face, couldn't James see what he was like, what kind of a wretched little worm Pettigrew was, why couldn't James see that Pettigrew was the type to hang around the biggest bully in the playground?
And then he'd had to fight back tears again, thinking of his father and godfather, surely they hadn't been that bad? Hagrid liked them, he wouldn't like anyone who was cruel ... Professor McGonagall thought they were trouble-makers, pranksters, but she still liked them ... and Dumbledore, he told me that I look extraordinarily like James, as if it was a good thing. But why didn't they stop the Marauders tormenting Snape? Why didn't they do something, why didn't they step in and do something? But they didn't know the Marauders were Animagi, they didn't know about the Map, maybe they didn't know about a lot of things - or didn't they care, did they think Snape deserved it, because he was a nasty, ugly, greasy, sneaking Slytherin?
He'd remembered the Floo conversation he'd had with Sirius and Remus, they'd admitted to being arrogant little berks – but then they'd wanted to know if James was playing with the Snitch! And then he'd thought - did my dad get away with being such an idiot at school because he was a Quidditch champion? Wizards are mad about Quidditch, Ludo Bagman would have gone to Azkaban, except he played for England – and Lavender Brown started snogging Ron the day that he saved every goal in the Gryffindor-Slytherin match ...
And Sirius did something really stupid in sixth year, something that might have got Snape killed and Remus handed over to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, but even Remus thought it was just a trick, a schoolboy prank! Did Sirius get away with that because he was handsome and charming and wizarding royalty – Sirius was a Black, even if he hated his family - and Snape was a nobody, a shabby little half-blood? Because even Snape's Head of House, Horace Slughorn, favoured the popular, good-looking boys? And then he'd remembered something that had really made him writhe, he'd remembered what Sirius had said about Barty Crouch, senior - if you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.
He'd been thankful when Dudley tapped, timidly, on the door of his bedroom to tell him that dinner was ready, because he was glad to have something to break the chain of his thoughts – and something's up with the Dursleys. They'd been frightened enough when Dumbledore visited the house, but since he'd told them that Dumbledore was dead, murdered, they'd been terrified – and they'd tip-toed around him as if he was about to explode.
So he'd throw on a clean T-shirt and gone downstairs to the kitchen and forked up the food, hardly tasting it, and watching his aunt, mulling it over, thinking, Dumbledore told them that I'd be protected while I live with my blood relatives, Voldemort can't attack me here until I turn seventeen, and I plan to be out of Privet Drive before then ... but what happens on my seventeenth birthday? Will Voldemort and his Death Eaters turn up and tear the place apart? Aunt Petunia knows more about the wizarding world than she lets on, she knows what Dementors are, she knows who Voldemort is - did she try to beat the magic out of me from fear that if I ever went to Hogwarts I'd bring Voldemort here? Voldemort must know I'm not fond of the Dursleys, but that might not stop him from killing them, and I bet Petunia knows exactly what the Dark Mark means ...
And then Petunia had screamed, and dropped her cutlery, and he'd realised that he'd said the words aloud, so he'd got up from the table and gone back up to his bedroom, thinking, what the hell am I going to do about this? If I ask the Ministry for help, that prick Scrimgeour will use it to stand over me, and what could a couple of Aurors do against Voldemort anyway, if he came himself? But he probably wouldn't bother, he'd be more likely to send Snape, he'd think it would be a nice little treat for his favourite to kill my family, since Snape isn't allowed to touch me - I'm for the Dark Lord alone ... I have to see Snape again, find out if he knows if the Dursleys are in danger, and if they are, can he do anything? And he never showed me how to use the gun, and he might know who R.A.B. is - I have to see Snape again, and soon, no matter how painful it is for the both of us.
And there's something else that's been bothering him, bothering him ever since the night that Dumbledore died - the words that Snape had shouted at him, No Unforgiveable Curses from you, Potter! You haven't got the nerve or the ability. He'd thought, how am I going to kill Voldemort? Why didn't Dumbledore teach me the Unforgiveables? Not crucio or imperio – but I need to know how to use the Killing Curse, how can I kill Voldemort without it? And Confronting the Faceless won't tell me how to use the curse, it's a Defence textbook, it hardly says anything about the Avada Kedavra because there's no counter-curse, I knew that.
He'd remembered what Barty Crouch, junior, had said about the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it – you could all get your wands out and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nose-bleed. But how do you practice it? On animals, urgh, no! And Mad-Eye didn't say anything about teaching it to me - but I have to know how to use it, I'm supposed to be Voldemort's executioner. It's Snape's job to lead Voldemort to the block, but I'm the one who has to swing the axe, and Snape will tell me, if I ask.
So he'd pulled out the enchanted parchment that Snape had sent him by Muggle post, and written on it, I need to see you again, as soon as possible. And then he'd thought, that looks bad, as if I'm summoning him as you'd summon a house-elf, so he'd hastily added, I mean, as soon as convenient.
And the next afternoon he'd Apparated to Grimmauld Place to meet Snape again, thinking, this is going to be really, really awkward, I don't know how I'm going to look Snape in the eye, it was so much easier when I hated him, but I can't hate him now, not now that I know he's Dumbledore's man - and if anyone has got less chance than me of getting through this alive, it's Severus Snape.
He'd found Snape waiting for him on the steps of Number 12 Grimmauld Place - wearing the same kind of Muggle clothes that he'd been wearing the last time that he saw him at Order Headquarters – scowling, smoking one of his stinking cigarettes, looking as sour and unpleasant as ever, and as ugly as the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. And Snape had made it easy for him, by being the self-same absolute son-of-a-bitch he'd always been at Hogwarts.
Snape had looked at him with his customary expression of loathing, the black eyes glittering malevolently through those curtains of greasy hair, and sneered, "Late to class, Potter, ten points from Gryffindor", and all his sympathy for Snape had melted away in an instant. He'd felt simmering rage as he followed Snape through the front door, thinking, I'm ready to try to be different, but even after all that's happened - even after what happened on the Astronomy Tower - the greasy git still has to be the same nasty bastard. And how dare he say that to me, he isn't my teacher now, he can't take points - it's not "sir" or "professor" any more, and I bet it was him who smashed the Gryffindor hour-glass in the Entrance Hall, the foul vindictive beast ...
But then he'd realised that Snape wasn't as calm as he was trying to appear, because when Mrs Black heard the door open and started her usual cursing and raving behind the black curtains, Snape had gone berserk, whipped out his wand, used some swear words he'd only heard before on one of Dudley's American videos that Aunt Petunia didn't know about - and the portrait had come off the wall with an almighty crash that had splintered the frame and torn the black velvet curtains to shreds.
So now he's sitting across the kitchen table from Snape, who's staring determinedly at a spot exactly one foot above and six inches to the left of his head, and he's wondering how to begin - but he can't take his eyes off Snape's bare forearms resting on the tabletop. It's another hot day and Snape has rolled the sleeves of his Muggle shirt up nearly to the elbow, he can see the thin wrists and the lean forearms, all knotted sinews and blue veins ... and he remembers when Snape showed the Dark Mark to Fudge, but there's no sign of it now.
He thinks, of course Voldemort wouldn't be so stupid as to brand his Death Eaters with a mark that would easily give them away, it must only show when their master summons them - and he remembers what Snape had said to him and Mad-Eye about the Dark Mark, the last time they were in the kitchen of Order Headquarters. It's not just a tattoo, if Snape were to try to curse Voldemort, if he were to raise hand or wand against Voldemort, it would kill him, because Voldemort runs no risk of disloyalty among his followers … but he can't drag his eyes away from Snape's left arm, and before he knows what he's doing, before he can stop himself, he leans forward and touches Snape's left forearm.
He feels the magical energy surging through every particle of his body, watches the Dark Mark blooming like a bruise under his fingers, senses that he's hurting Snape - and that some horrible, sick, twisted part of him is enjoying it, wants to really hurt Snape, to hurt him until he begs and grovels to his master ...
And then he knows, and the knowledge is sickening, nauseating, unbearable. He looks across the table and he knows that Snape knows, too, because Snape is staring at his curse scar as if he's never seen it before, and Snape is whispering, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal ...
He wrenches his hand away from Snape's arm, and he thinks, Dumbledore was wrong, Voldemort made a Horcrux at Goldric's Hollow the night that he gave me my scar, but not in the way that he intended, and now I know what the Horcruxes are - the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the snake, and me. Dumbledore knew that I could see into Voldemort's thoughts and ambitions, he knew that I was a Parselmouth, but he didn't realise why. Dumbledore didn't realise, he didn't think of it of it for a minute because it's too awful, it's too horrible. He thought my soul was untarnished and whole, and it's not, I'm like Quirrell ... what did Dumbledore say about Quirrell? Full of hatred, greed and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort.
And then he thinks of something worse - Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, Tom Riddle draining the life out of Ginny, Tom Riddle escaping from the pages of the diary, becoming real – and he remembers the Muggle movie he'd sneaked a peek at on Dudley's VCR, Dudley said it was boring, not enough explosions, and the sequel, Aliens, was much better – but he'd been scared witless when the hideous reptilian monster burst out of the man's chest.
And now he's vomiting up his lunch, vomiting again and again, splattering his shirt, vomiting even though there's nothing left in his stomach, vomiting until he feels dizzy, he's bent double, heaving and gasping until it's over and he can't vomit any more because no matter how much he heaves, he'll never be able to expel this filth from his body.
Then he realizes that Snape is offering him a glass of water and muttering Scourgify to clean his face and clothes ... Snape is telling him to get a grip, but for once there's no malice in the silky voice.
He drinks the water, and Snape flicks his wand and says the charm to refill the glass, Aguamenti ... and he remembers how he tried to get water for Dumbledore in the cave, how Dumbledore died for nothing, for a false Horcrux and for a senseless prophecy - because how can he kill Voldemort?
He thinks, how can I kill Voldemort, while a piece of his soul survives in me? Voldemort can kill me, but I can't kill him, I can't kill him if I'm a Horcrux.
He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and looks up, Snape's face is expressionless and he's lighting another one of those vile Muggle cigarettes, looking cool and unconcerned, but he knows that it's an act, Snape is as rattled as he is by the discovery that he's a Horcrux. He realises, with yet another thrill of horror, Snape is afraid of me now, and I don't blame him – after what happened when I touched him, urgh, that was horrible ... and why was I surprised that the Dark Mark hurts? I know Voldemort, better than anyone, and the only thing he enjoys, the only thing he really gets a kick out of, is hurting people. And he thrashes all of his followers, they must have all got a flogging after the fiasco in the Department of Mysteries last year – and why have I never thought of it before, Snape would have been punished, too, favourite or no favourite.
"Well," he says, dredging up the words from the deep well of despair inside him, "What do you think of Trelawney's stupid prophecy now? It's rubbish, isn't it - either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives, what crap!"
"No," says Snape softly. "It's not crap. When you kill him, your soul will be torn - the fragment of the Dark Lord's soul will be torn away, he will die, the prophecy will be fulfilled, and it will be over. You will be free of him."
He looks down at his clenched hands resting on the tabletop, digests what Snape is saying, and thinks, Dumbledore said that I could turn my back on the prophecy, that I could walk away from it – but I can't, I've got to do it, and I will do it. I don't know how, but I will do it. I'll never be free of Voldemort if I don't ... and Snape will never be free of him either, he'll die with that horrible brand still burned into his arm.
And then he remembers the fake locket, and wordlessly he pulls it from his pocket, opens it, and passes it to Snape. He won't have to tell Snape the whole story, Snape is smart enough to work it out for himself.
Snape turns the locket around in his hands, pulls out the fragment of parchment – stares at it for a long, long moment without speaking, and then looks at him, a terrible grin twisting his face. "Regulus Alphard Black," he says, simply. "I recognise his handwriting."
Regulus! Sirius' younger brother, he'd joined the Death Eaters and then he'd tried to leave them – and according to the extracts from Snape's Ministry file that had been printed in the Daily Prophet, Snape had executed Regulus on Voldemort's orders. He thinks, of course Snape would have known Regulus, they were both in Slytherin! And maybe they were friends ... did Voldemort make Snape kill his friend? As a punishment for being friendly with a traitor? But there's no time to feel sorry for Snape, the Horcruxes are too important - and how did Regulus find out about them? Did his cousin Bellatrix tell him?
"No," says Snape, reading his thoughts in his eyes. "Bella would never willingly tell anyone of the Horcruxes, she would never willingly betray the Dark Lord – but she can't resist boasting that the Dark Lord has entrusted her with his most precious secrets. She may have dropped a few hints, and Regulus was a bright kid, clearly brighter than I ever gave him credit for."
He asks, "Do you think Regulus managed to destroy the locket?"
Snape shakes his head. "No. A Horcrux is not easily destroyed. You saw what the ring did to Dumbledore's hand – and the Headmaster was an extremely powerful wizard."
He thinks, damn, we're back to square one, Regulus could have hidden Slytherin's locket anywhere ... but then he remembers the heavy locket that they'd found in the drawing room and hadn't been able to open - he hadn't looked at it too closely, but it had been made of gold and there'd been some sort of decorative mark, an S or a snake or something like that.
"We found a locket here, a gold locket - we couldn't open it - I don't know what happened to it," he says, and then he remembers how Kreacher had hoarded small objects and coins that he'd saved, magpie-like, from Sirius' purge of the house, in his smelly little den under the boiler in the cupboard off the kitchen, and he hurries on. "Kreacher might have kept it, he hated chucking stuff out and he used to collect little bits and pieces and hide them in his bed."
Snape looks keenly interested, asks where Kreacher sleeps – and he points to the dingy little door in the corner opposite the pantry. Snape stands up, strolls over to the cupboard door and taps it with his wand, the door swings open - and Voldemort steps out into the kitchen.
The shock is terrific, he's frozen, unable to move, unable even to reach for his wand – Voldemort is raising his wand, those pitiless red eyes are fixed on him but now Voldemort is turning his head, speaking to Snape ...
"Truly, Severus, you are my most loyal, my most faithful servant – and you have led me to the boy."
He remembers when he faced Voldemort in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, he remembers how Dumbledore enchanted the statute to protect him – and then he thinks, it's all over, Dumbledore isn't here to save me now, I'm going to die and Voldemort is going to win ... and I was an idiot to trust Snape, he's never stopped working for Voldemort ...
But Snape is stepping in front of him, standing between him and Voldemort, Snape is telling him to Apparate, but he can't, his mind is a blank, he can't remember the three Ds - Snape is raising his wand, pushing him back with his free hand and snarling at him, "Harry - get - out - of - it!"
And then he realises that Snape can't use his wand against Voldemort, it's just a defiant gesture, Snape is defenceless, Snape is a dead man – if Voldemort will be satisfied with merely killing a traitor – and he thinks, No!
He looks over Snape's shoulder and raises his own wand - there's a noise like a whip-crack, and where Voldemort was standing is a Dementor; its hooded face is turned towards him, one glistening, scabbed hand is gripping its cloak ... and he laughs with relief, it's only a bloody Boggart! He waves his wand, shouts Riddikulus, and the Boggart explodes, bursts into a thousand wisps of smoke, and is gone.
He turns to Snape, knowing that he's grinning like a maniac – his heart is still pounding and his legs are still shaking because while his brain knows that they're out of danger, his body hasn't kept up with the news - and he expects Snape to congratulate him, but Snape is swearing at him - abusing him, "Fucking idiot Gryffindor, what the fuck do you think you were doing, your fucking hero complex is going to get you killed, the next time I tell you to run, you'll do as you're fucking well told ... "
He's angry, he opens his mouth to protest, hell, when is anyone ever going to tell him, well done! - and then he sees that Snape is trembling, Snape is very white in the face, and Snape's wand is shaking in his hand as badly as Draco's did on the Astronomy Tower. He chokes back what he was going to say, listens to the torrent of furious words, and then he realises - Snape's worst fear, his greatest nightmare, is of betraying me, and the poor devil thought that he was going to die, here, in this kitchen, trying to save me ...
He'd like to say something calming, something reassuring, but some instinct tells him that if he says anything, anything at all, he'll only make the situation worse - and then he thinks, Hagrid always makes a pot of tea when people are upset, and that's what Molly Weasley would do. After a shock like this, we need a cup of tea, and there might be some of Molly's Ever-Fresh Fruitcake in the pantry - we'll have a cup of tea and when Snape has calmed down we can look through Kreacher's smelly little den for the locket.