In the Foe Glass

by Audrey

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"...this dilemma...that man should have to act in such moral ambiguity.
There is no Way in this; all is muddled.
All chaos of light and dark, shadow and substance."
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Severus Snape knew a time when Voldemort was the light. The hand brave enough to save them all from a muggled, muddled doom. Severus Snape knew how to speak the name of He-who-shall-not-be-mentioned with pride upon his lips, his Lord Voldemort, and he, little Severus, an Eater of the Dead. And jubilant within that title. They, the Eaters, were not aimless pranksters as the press depicted them; he knew better; they had cause. They had love and hate in their hearts. They would rescue their world from the tainted, grubby fingers of the muggles, they would wrap materialism in magic, add fantasy to a cold and logical world.

Young Severus Snape, with his black robes cut crisp about him, had purpose in his life. He knew Voldemort was righteous and when he walked at his heels, he knew he was as well. Worthy, he would whisper, and Voldemort's indulgent smiles seemed to agree.

---

The mundane nature of a potions job soothed Snape, though he barely knew it. Dumbledore was well aware of the tumultuous storm brooding within the man. The wizard had made it a promise to himself and all who asked that Severus Snape would never teach Defense of the Dark Arts. To let him near that subject was to resurface age old scars and questions with no answers. Dumbledore didn't fancy trying to answer them.

So now Snape sat at a table measuring inarguable numbers. Formulas that never changed and portions that were exact and precise. There was nothing in these measuring glasses and droplets that could ever turn its back and reveal a new face. Potions soothed Snape. Sitting here alone in the classroom counting out Bejebu root soothed him. He didn't know why, but he knew it.

---

Even under the light of Voldemort, day still turned to night. When the witching hours struck, the philosophy of the Death Eaters faded away to be replaced by mischievous rustling in bushes and flashing wands. Mere anarchy swept the neighborhoods of places like London and Bristol. Screams echoing 'round cul-de-sacs. Children deposited in bags and levitated in spinning heaps. The dry pasty feel of his mouth told Severus that the light had turned blind but half-blind himself he did not protest. The arm of Voldemort embraced them all into quiet complicity. They fired their allegiance to him in bright-green skulls into the sky. A dare to all who hazarded to argue their righteousness: It was muggle-lover against trueblood, and the lines as clear cut to him as those between life and death.

It was easy to believe this for a while. Before life and death were put into his lone hands and suddenly, everything wasn't so clear.
That night, the man (their victim?) (the enemy.) tried to resist. Samuel Prewett pointed his wand and was about to fire at Lord Voldemort. Either reflex or mental conditioning lifted Snape's hand and wand and sent the man hurtling into a nearby tree. Prewett's head hit the ungiving wood with a resounding crack.
The Death Eaters closed in on Severus with gaping grins, their congratulating hands patted at him from all sides. Further inside the house, he could hear the sound of the Mrs. Prewett. Further inside the house, he could hear the sound of the Cruciatus Curse.
And they praised him for saving their Lord, for upholding their ideals, for acting as a just and good warlock would do- for preserving life.

Preserving life, they said.

He felt sick.

He could ignore ideology. He could ignore rhetoric.

A hero, they said.

But he could not ignore the man lying on the floor, now cold and still. He whispered to himself quietly, too quietly: "He was in my divination class at Hogwarts..."

A hero.
Turmoil. Could he really give up Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the beliefs he had held so firmly to, merely because he didn't have the courage to carry them out? He railed at himself for not knowing if it was his mind or his stomach that turned so violently away from the scene at his feet. What sort of coward could not take responsibility for what he held as true? Convictions, Severus Snape had, convictions!

Tossed to naught at the sight of blue skin.

A hero.

Or an impressionable boy?

A man, a spy, walking down a hall with Dumbledore's hand upon his shoulder- "You will help us, won't you Severus?"

(A traitor.)

"Yes."

---



For perhaps the first time in his life, Ron Weasley arrived early to class, leaving him alone in the otherwise empty classroom with Professor Snape.
The boy was aware of the awkwardness of the situation as he took his seat next to the window and set his books down. Sheepishly, he tried to break through the unsettling silence with a few innocuous words. "Rather nasty day out, isn't it? All foggy and whatnot."

The gray clouds rumbled.

---

Snape had long known evil. He had felt it running up behind him to step on his robes, could feel its long foot trip him just to watch him fall flat on his face. He could feel it coil serpent-like in the red locks of Lily Evans, in the dark glances of Sirius Black. Snape saw pure ugliness take the form of handsome James Potter. Not a Lucius Malfoy, Severus had no expensive robes or airy wit to defend himself with. He cast about him a fog of gloom in the hopes of deterring their passerby teasing.
The lone one amongst them with any kindness to spare, the hand offered after the trip, the embarrassed smile following the laughter: Remus Lupin. Shy-boy ways that soothed a daily ache. His gray, tired eyes held something pure. Like his features, they were marred but beautiful. A humble and complete state of imperfection. When he was around, the air seemed easier to breathe.

---

Painstakingly slow, Snape set aside the mirror he'd been staring at and lifted his head to stare fiercely at his student.
"...Who're you, Mr. Weasley," he hissed to Ron, enunciating each word as if speaking to an imbecile, "to judge the fog?"
The boy turned a bright enough red to match his hair, shrugged and mouthed a near-silent "sheesh."
Snape turned the mirror facedown on the table and returned to his potions.

---

If there was anything Snape now knew for certain, it was that he didn't trust beauty. It was a liar- it breathed deceit. In the days of his youth, though, he was susceptible to its charms. Hope made him gullible.
Perhaps it was hope, or perhaps it was beauty that had tricked him that late spring evening of his last year at Hogwarts. Someone (that dunce Pettigrew), had been going on about the coming of a new line of mysterious Dark Wizards. He was rambling about how the Ministry was destined to win, that it was an obvious good vs. evil fight and that it was going to be a noble and epic battle.

"And our usage of Dementors in that rothole called Azkaban separates our polished ranks from theirs so well," Snape'd sneered from an adjoining table. He hadn't even meant to be that loud. He wasn't expecting to be heard. He was.

"What do you know?" Peter had immediately snapped at him. "After all, you're just a lousy Slytherin, and the bottom of the heap too, I bet you're one of those-"
"Ho, now, Severus," Sirius broke in abruptly, shouldering aside Peter's cruelties with a winning, if rather devious, grin. "I think what Peter means to say is, if you had any idea what real Dark Arts were, you'd change your mind in a jiffy."
Behind him, Lily bent her slim, shapely form over her chair and broke into noisy titters.
"I... I..." Snape grappled for words, palming his greasy chin nervously. "I do know about the Dark Arts though... I've studied... I..."
"But you haven't seen anything truly Dark, have you? Haven't experienced it?" Sirius looked around exaggeratedly with his thickly lashed brown eyes, leaned in and whispered in Snape's face, "We're all heading out through the woods after curfew tonight. You should join us. We'll show you something really Dark there."
Snape swallowed. Sirius' smile was a coy pull, Lily's giggles no longer mocking, but accepting.. He imagined himself, short, undersized, pale Severus, bedraggled and sometimes rather smelly Severus, walking amongst the confident and upright figures of the group around him, brown figures toned by quidditch and exercise and rolicking youthful activities he knew nothing of. James Potter was staring intently at him from the other side of the table. "Maybe I will," he said.
Sirius chuckled. "Right. You will, just like-"
"-That's enough," James surprisingly interrupted, tugging lightly at his friend's arm. He cast a quick look back at Remus. "It's time for dinner anyways, and I'm starving."
And just as quickly as the dream had appeared, it dissolved. Sirius and Peter exited, Lily squinted her brilliant green eyes at him and said smoothly (if a bit coldly), "Goodbye, Severus."
"...Full moon," Remus said softly, not realizing anyone was watching him, then pulled his scrawny body to his feet and followed his friends out without acknowledging Severus' presence.
Severus was alone again. And all because Peter, wonderful Peter was hungry. That confounded, insensitive Potter was obviously jealous of the attention the others had been paying him. Big Smart Beautiful Seeker James Potter, always having to be the center of attention, always having to be the star...
Severus turned his head to watch Remus walk through the doorway. Potter or no Potter, he would show up in the woods that night. He would show them that he was just as capable of light-hearted fun as the rest, and if they wanted to see Dark, he'd show them that too.

---

The students filed in to join Ron in taking their seats. By the time the clock had struck one, the entire class was present. But Snape still persevered at his potions, counting individual seeds one by one as the students sat in silence. A feeling of apprehension shuddered through the classroom. Most everyone was aware this was one of Professor Snape's bad days. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Snape spoke. "5 points from Hufflepuff Ms. Wallace, for that insufferable pencil-tapping. I trust you have all done your assignments. Ms. Granger, since you're nodding so insipidly, why don't you summarize."
"We read about clarity root, the uses of beetlenut, and the formula for the warning potion for last night, sir."
"And what does the warning potion do, Ms. Granger?"
"Well, after you drink it, it's serves as a warning for 3 hours before it wears off," she said confidently. "It sends a sort of tingle through your body whenever evil's nearby. "
"And this?" Snape raised the mirror from his desk. A hand shot in the air and wiggled its fingers eagerly. He rolled his eyes. "Yes, enlighten us, Ms. Granger."
"It's a foe glass!" she cried with delight. "It reveals the face of enemies and malicious beasts nearby."
He stood wrapped in his dark cloak like a bat for a while, nodding, then said calmly, "A load of superstitious poppycock."
"Which part?" Neville inquired meekly, scribbling notes.
"All of it," Snape rumbled. His voice lowered perilously. "It's all senseless. You could mean to hurt someone, for example, to make sure that they wouldn't venture further into somewhere unsafe. Yet would that count as a malicious act? And what if you were to kill a troll? Everyone knows that murderers are evil, but you would be removing a threat to those around you. Would you register as evil to your friends?" He swept in front of his desk swiftly, unsettling dust from the floor and making it take flight. When the light from the window lit the airborne particles, it looked like smoke. "The truth of the matter is that the warning potion is oversimplified and the foe glass nothing but subjective." He spoke quickly, biting down hard on his consonants. "There's nothing in the universe that could differentiate between good and evil. Any action, any set of sentiments can be both justified and condemned with the right context."
"B...but what about You-know-Who?" one Ravenclaw girl with widened eyes asked.
"Seen in the right light," Snape said, "He's is no more evil than any one of you."

---


As Severus stumbled through the woods, he clutched his cloak tight around his frail body and tried to reason with himself. What was wrong with the shadows, anyways? It was only an absence of sunlight, and he, paper-white he, was no fan of sunlight to begin with. Besides, this would all be worth it, once he got to the rest of them. They'd see that he was capable and then-
"Oh Jesus Christ, Severus, you actually showed." James was suddenly standing in front of him, staring in shock.
Severus' eyes narrowed. "Did you expect me not to?"
"Well...no," James admitted, looking behind him over each shoulder. His words were rushed. "But listen, Severus, you have to go back NOW, you can't stay here. It's not safe-"
"I know what this is," Severus sneered. "You just don't want me to be here when the others get here."
"It's not that, it's..."
A howl. Bonechilling. Eerie.
And then the soft whimper of a boy in pain. Severus furrowed his brow. "Remus?"
The anguished little cries continued. He followed the sound slowly, then broke into a run. "Severus, wait!" Potter hollered after him, but the small Slytherin had already reached the shack that Remus was in front of by the time James had caught up with him.
Remus Lupin lay on the ground in a half-crouched position. He gasped violently for breath and periodically, his body seized up with trembling contractions. He clawed at the ground desperately with his slim, delicate fingers. Slowly, Severus grew closer, then halted abruptly. A line of coarse hair, or fur, like a great obscene hand crept up Remus' side and exploded in gray bristles. Claws burst cruelly through tender white flesh, a snout, teeth, ears... Severus recoiled and shouted in horror. The beast that was once Remus turned and examined him with its soulless yellow eyes. Leaped.
In the blur that occurred next, Severus saw a large black dog flash before his vision, then saw James Potter shoving him out of the way. He tumbled to the floor, knocking his hip and shoulder roughly against the dirt. When he ventured to look up, the wolf was gone.
His mind feverishly tried to sort out what he had seen. Remus, his Remus... a debase and dirty creature of evil? He tried to imagine the bestial nature of the wolf spreading like a plague within the boy, and against his will he started to retch. If Remus could be so duplicitously wicked, so pure yet so sullied...
Humiliation and hatred flushed his sallow cheeks in blossoms of red. Saved by James Potter, of all people. Just another mark on the list of things to love Potter for, just another way to be indebted to his great and otherworldly kindness. He pulled his robe over his head and tried to inhale mud.
James ran over to the small dark figure crumpled on the ground. "Severus?"
Muffled words.
"What?"
"Let me die."
"What?!"
"Just let me die."
James chuckled. "Well, glad to see you're still your old miserable self." He offered a hand, but Severus just glared at it. The other boy's eyes grew cold and he shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, then started walking back towards Hogwarts.
Severus stayed on the ground. There was no point in getting up. There was no use. He was a broken boy. His idol was a werewolf, and his enemy his savior. He hated them both so passionately it hurt.
Good had failed him. Even evil had failed him.

---

"Are you saying there's no difference between right and wrong?" a familiar voice piped up indignantly.
Snape sneered, black curtains of hair a shield. "What do you think, Mr. Potter?"
"I don't think you really believe that."

"Shut up, Potter." That Malfoy child.

Snape met Potter's sharp green eyes and locked. The boy would not break his gaze but stared boldly back at the teacher with all the confidence of the naive and beautifully idealistic child. Snape wanted to shatter his world apart with a sledgehammer, destroy all the fairy tales and bullshit that had accompanied him into Hogwarts. He wanted to tell Harry why so many Death Eaters tattooed their hatred of his father onto their chests, he wanted to tell him of a not-so-noble death and the many imperfections of parents he'd never meet. He wanted to tell him the whole story with no lines at all, not even blurry ones, and watch the foundation of his life crumble. I do believe that, he said silently to the boy. I do believe there is no difference between good and evil.

But looking into that unwavering green, he was, for a moment, unsure even in that.

Snape opened his mouth. The classroom hushed, waiting.

"Yes, do restrain yourself from those childish outbursts, Mr. Potter. 10 points from Gryffindor. Now, who can tell me the ingredients for a removal potion...?"

As a classroom of hesitant hands raised into the air in response, the teacher looked down at the mirror that now lay in his lap.
In the cloudy mirror of the foe glass, Severus Snape saw only the puddled image of himself.


--

quote by Philip K. Dick, "the man in the high castle"
props to camus and nietzsche
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