Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everything in this story. It would not exist without the
publishing phenomenon that is Harry Potter.
* * * *
Lullaby and goodnight
My darling goodnight,
Bright angels beside
My darling abide.
Lay thee down, now to sleep
May your dreams be so
sweet…
* * * *
It is the year
2006, and Severus Snape is sitting on a kitchen chair. He cannot see or move for there is duct
tape over his mouth and eyes. His
hands and feet are also bound to the chair with a thin greasy rope. The rope is light blue. The only other blue thing in the room, are
the lips of the man who used to live in the house. The man, who came home six hours ago to the dark mark,
rushed horror-struck into his home, and found his wife and two sons dead.
Snape
has no idea he's seated four feet away from this man, who was strangled
by the same rope now binding his arms and legs. Nor has he any idea of where he is. He has been sitting here for a long
time, however, and would be puking his
head off from disorientation –if his mouth hadn't been taped shut.
The
last thing Snape glimpsed, before he was blindfolded, was a patch of cloudy
night sky…framed with the tips of black trees, he will never forget the
chilly stillness of the hour. Or how
the clouds and trees rose up silently and refused him a last glance at the
infinite.
That was a long
time ago, more than seventy-two hours at least. Snape sighs through his nose. He knew from the very beginning, that
there was something wrong when he apperated at that Deatheater meeting. They were there already, all of them,
waiting. Quiet, with flickering
eyes behind masks, like venomous snake tongues. It was Lord Voldermort who approached him, and struck first.
"Severus,
you are late you know, and more wretched looking than usual too.
Wretched," he repeated, screwing his wand into Snape's Dark Mark
like a cigarette. "Nothing
gets under my skin more than traitors…"
Don't say
anything. Just don't say
anything, they will want you to beg.
Do not beg.
"You
haven't heard a word I just said, have you, Severus?"
After that it was like
a nightmare of the worst sort: where nothing surprises you. And Snape of course, could not wake
up.
Now there are
people in the house. Well,
Deatheaters anyway. They slam
doors and walk around. After a
while, Snape hears some footsteps coming towards him over the linoleum
floor.
"Stupid
bastards, can't even clean up," an irritated voice mutters. Snape hears the Deatheater dragging
something nearby him away, and moments later, the Deatheater returns. Snape feels the rope being vigorously
tugged back and forth; within seconds it falls away. Then the chair is jerked out from under him, and he falls to
the floor, which has a cold, sickly sweet smell.
The Deatheater
grabs Snape by the shoulders. He
throws him against a wall with pinned up pictures of crayon dogs, trees, and
sunshine. Then he knees Snape in
the stomach and hits him in the nose.
Hard, so there is only a sharp tingle before the hot itch of bleeding
starts.
He's going to kill me. I'm going to die right here. In a
room I can't even imagine… with a goddamn thumbtack in my ass, thinks Snape as the Deatheater bangs his head against
a wall. Or maybe it's the
ceiling…
The Deatheater
grabs Snape by the shoulders again and starts to push him in some
direction. It's only then
that he realizes the Deatheater has been talking to him almost the entire
time. "…You're
going to the basement to wait for Malfoy and Macnair. Once they get here you're going bye-bye, pal,"
says the Deatheater, slightly out of breath, his very voice smirks.
A door opens and
Snape feels a blast of cold moist air hit him. After tripping down three or four steep steps his hands find
smooth cement and a grubby rug.
The door bangs shut, and the lock rattles several times, shooting out
blue sparks.
Feeling
his stomach twist again, Snape deftly rips the tape off his mouth and vomits
blindly on the floor in front of him.
Then, more gingerly, he removes his blindfold and looks around. Above to his left, there is a
window, letting a shaft of milky light spill across the barren floor. To his right: the heater and water
tank. Other than that, there is a
fridge, and pink fiberglass walls.
Wiping
his nose with the cuff of his sleeve, Snape struggles to his feet and walks on
shaky legs to the window. He props
his hands up on the windowsill and looks across the yard. Tree shadows dance over the lawn, like
someone wearing an invisibility cloak, and leaving nothing but footsteps in the
dew. He cannot see the stars.
Blinking,
Snape turns back to the darkness of the basement. In the room, deep in the
shadows, it looks as if there is a person kneeling below the window. Maybe there is.
"Do
you think I'll go to Hell?"
He asks out loud.
Yes, answers a voice in the back of his mind.
"How
can you be sure?"
You
asked the question.
"I
saved Harry Potter, didn't I?"
He
hates you.
"Everyone
hates me," mutters Snape, not quite out loud.
Yes,
everyone. And with good reason
too.
"Shut up."
James
didn't go to Hell, nor did Lily.
"Shut up."
James
didn't hate you when he died.
"Shut up," repeats Snape.
Are
you hurting? Do you feel pain
right now?
"Shut up.
No, shut up."
Forgive
yourself, it's the only hope you have.
"Oh
god, I wish it would just be over."
It
will be, soon.
The moon sunk; there was now no
light in the room, except that from the crack under the door. The shadows from the tree have
long since retreated to the back fence, yet Snape can still see them, faintly
cast by dimming starlight.
Blue sparks
suddenly shower down from the lock, scorching the back of his neck. He doesn't notice them at all; he
is deep in conversation. The door
opens.
"I
need some sleep, I can't sleep…Yes, well; but all I have is
nightmares…"
Macnair
and Malfoy exchange looks with raised eyebrows. "What the hell?" Macnair echoes the confusion of the Deatheaters' minds.
Then a smirk
appears on Malfoy's face.
"He's lost it, Macnair. Stay here, I'll go see if the Lord is in the mood for
a good laugh."
Macnair shrugs
indifferently.
"No
James, don't you see?
I'm not like you. I
can't be…what—Would you?
Who are you to judge me?"
"Would
you stop that crying, pussy?" Macnair says from the doorframe.
Snape looks over
at him, and gives him a half comprehending look. "God have mercy on your soul," he murmurs, and
turns away.
"What was
that, Severus?" Laughs a
voice behind Macnair.
"Getting religious are we?" Both Snape and Macnair jump at the voice. It is, of course, Lord Voldermort.
"Don't waste your breath, Severus," he says. "You know where you're headed."
"I'm
so tired, the room is spinning around me, has that ever happened to you,
James?"
"He's
talking to James Potter?" Malfoy
asks; looking as if it is taking all the control he possesses to not laugh. Macnair nods, and Malfoy doubles over,
covering his silent laughter with a hand.
Suddenly Snape leaps up and slams Malfoy
against the wall in front of the basement steps. "I hate you! I can't stand you, just shut up and leave me
alone!" He then catches
Malfoy by the collar and throws him at the ground.
Taken by surprise,
Malfoy is sent sprawling, half stunned across the floor.
"I said be
silent! Stop it, that wasn't
my fault! SILENCE!"
He isn't looking at Malfoy when he speaks.
Snape grabs
Malfoy's wand, points it at Voldermort, and yells: "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Green light flies out of his wand, but
nothing more happens.
"Avada…K-k…"
He drops the wand,
and doesn't move otherwise.
"My Lord,
what happened?" Malfoy gasps.
"It
didn't work, that's what Malfoy. He's lost too much of his mind to keep his
powers," Voldermort replies, sounding reasonably calm. "Put your arm down,
Severus."
Snape's arm
falls dead at his side. Then his
legs give out under him and he falls to his knees, leaning against the
wall. "Master?" He whispers, a single tear running down
his cheek.
"What?"
"I'm
in a bad dream, aren't I?"
"Yes,
Severus."
"Wake me up,
Master. Please."
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