Story notes/ disclaimer
This is a Snape story inspired by the Star Trek DS9 episode of the same name. An essentially good man doing what needs to be done, being corrupted by the situation he finds himself in and by the decisions that he has made. It's not essential to have seen this episode for this story but I would recommend watching as it is one of the best of all Star Trek episodes. I have used some sections of dialogue from the episode so anything you recognise is not mine. Needless to say all recognised settings, characters, dialogue etc belongs to the owners of Harry Potter and Star Trek.
In The Pale Moonlight
Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stepped into his private quarters and gently closed the door behind him. In his present mood he would rather have slammed it with all his might and then picked up the nearest breakable object to smash against a wall. As it was he lit a fire in the grate of his sitting room and paced in front of it. Eventually he came to a stop and tiredly sighed whilst running a hand through his hair.
"Yet another day of this fucking mess" he muttered to himself. Another day of his being the Headmaster, of having to face the not-so-subtle hostility of his former colleagues and the sullen fear and hatred of the students. Another day of the Carrows spouting their Pureblood, anti-Muggle venom and punishing those who disagreed or disobeyed.
"Hell, let's not be naive, what they're doing to the children is nothing less than torture".
He swallowed thickly, driving back down the upsurge of bile in his throat. Yes in the past he had shouted, he had humiliated, he had put the fear of God into most of the student body but he had never physically hurt anyone as their teacher and he had never terrified them with thinly veiled threats about their families for non-compliance. He sighed again and suddenly felt bone-weary and haggard. He was trying his best to protect the students in subtle ways, trying not to arouse the suspicions of the Carrows but he knew it was not enough. And yet he could do no more, if he fought them openly, if he laid out his true colours then he was dead, no question about it and he would not be the only one. His former colleagues would be liquidated, the school purged of all but the most pure and trustworthy, the Dark Lord would ensure that there were no more spies working against him. Severus rubbed his temples and then pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to prevent the headache that was starting to worm its way through his skull. Everything that was happening, everything that had happened in the last few months was getting to him, he knew himself well enough to know just how much all the intense pressure of his situation was getting to him. What could he do though?
"Nothing, bloody nothing at all" he said out loud this time, the intense mix of frustration, anger, guilt and self hatred threatening to bubble up and explode out of him at any moment. He could not allow that to happen of course, he had to keep a strict control over himself, now more than ever, his position was just too precarious to allow even a little slip of the façade that he rigorously maintained. And yet he needed some respite so he headed, as he had done a bit too frequently of late, to the bottle of Firewhiskey hidden in his bookshelf. He poured himself a generous measure of the golden brown liquid and resumed his pacing. His thoughts whirled around in his head like a maelstrom and the headache was becoming more persistent. He gulped down the whiskey and blinked furiously to prevent the tears that threatened to fall.
"Control, keep control, focus, come on man..."
The tears still swam in his eyes and he raged against the reasons for his current situation.
"Bloody Dumbledore and his bloody machinations, bloody-Harry-sodding-Potter, the Dark-bloody-Lord-fucking-Voldemort, fucking Deatheaters, fucking prophesy, bloody teachers and students, fucking wankers the lot of them".
"But no" he mentally told himself, "not just all of that lot... me as well, I'm the biggest fucking wanker of the lot".
He could feel the rage starting to burn through him, threatening to burst out of him in a violent explosion. He quickly poured himself another glass with his shaking hands and continued his pacing, suddenly stopping in front of his desk. Staring at it, seemingly looking through it, he eventually pulled out a long roll of blank parchment and a self writing quill. He set them carefully on the desk and spoke in a calmer, more controlled tone of voice.
"I...I need to talk about this. I have to justify what has happened... what I have done... at least to myself. I cannot talk to anyone else... not even to Dumbledore's bloody portrait. Maybe if I just lay it all out, it will finally make sense... and I will see where it all went wrong... where I went wrong".
The quill moved across the parchment, his words appearing exactly as he had spoken them. He walked over to the sofa, taking off his outer robes as he did so and laying them over the back of it.
"It ultimately goes back to the rise of the Dark Lord of course, but more immediately it started with Dumbledore. He asked me to, no, made me, be his spy. Well what choice did I have, after what happened to Li..., after what happened that night, I had to, I had to agree to that in order to make amends or at least try to. And so when the Dark Lord returned, so did I, I did what I had hoped I would never have to do again and rejoined him. If there is one thing I have learned over the years, it is that bad news invariably comes in the middle of the night. Dumbledore's accident, the return of the Dark Lord… Lily…"
Here he paused, unable for a moment to continue, thinking back to that devastating night when he learned that the only person he cared for in the world was gone. "No" he shook his head, "No, I do not want to replay that memory for the millionth time.. not tonight".
He took a sip of his drink and tried instead to remember the night of his return to the Dark Lord. He had been in an extremely dangerous situation, the Dark Lord mistrusting him and punishing him for having seemingly been on Dumbledore's side for sixteen years. However once the punishment was over, Severus had opened his mind to the Dark Lord, had let him see only that which Severus wanted him to see and he had got away with it.
"For a long time the Dark Lord just looked at me and said nothing. That was when I was truly frightened. I expected at any moment for him to say that he knew the memories I had shown him were fake, so when he eventually smiled and laughed I was incredibly relieved, although of course I did not dare show even a flicker of anxiety".
And so it had continued over the following months, playing both sides, being the double agent, convincing the Dark Lord of his worth and loyalty. Yet, of course, his ultimate loyalty was to Dumbledore, despite the old man's manipulation and obsessive secrecy.
"Perhaps they had more in common than they would have wished to admit" he muttered with a cynical snort before continuing.
"In the many months before that night I knew Dumbledore had been anticipating the Dark Lord's return and I had not wanted to believe that it would really happen. I think that a part of me just wanted to turn away in denial and pretend it was not going to happen. At the time I thought that I was off the hook, it was Dumbledore's plan to organise everything to mount the resistance. He was the one in charge, he was the one in direct conflict with the Dark Lord, everything was down to him or so I vainly hoped. But in the end, the night that I returned to him... I was the one who had to make it happen. I was the one who had to look the Dark Lord in the eye and convince him that a lie... was the truth".
He finished his glass and continued. "Then came that night, that god-awful bloody night". He paused again for a moment and then stood up before continuing, automatically unfastening the buttons of his frock coat as he spoke.
"Even though Dumbledore had asked me and even though I had agreed, I was still at heart undecided as I walked out onto the top of the Astronomy Tower. It was not until I was there, face to face with him and heard him say those words ""Severus…please""…. That was the moment I made the decision... It was like I had stepped through a door and locked it behind me. I was going to do as Dumbledore had asked, I was going to bring this war out into the open…. I killed him and no attempt at justifying it will change that fact. I can say to myself that he asked me to do it, that I was just following orders, that this was a sacrifice of one for the good of many, that I spared him a more painful death… None of those empty arguments changes the fact that I killed the one person who truly trusted me, who knew the truth about me… the first person who I'd even considered as a friend since Li…"
He stopped abruptly, again not wanting to say her name out loud this time. His shoulders slumping slightly as he sighed in resignation and then removed his coat, carefully folding it and putting it over the back of the sofa with his robes. He didn't move or speak for several minutes, then he went back to the table and poured out another glass of whiskey.
"As I said before, it all started with the Dark Lord and that's where I started as well, all those years ago, a stupid, callow child craving power and recognition". He shook his head sadly as he took another sip from his glass.
"I wanted to become a Deatheater, I yearned to be at the Dark Lord's side and learn all that I could from him. I yearned for the power that I was so certain he could give me. All the remaining goodness in my nature, all the lingering doubts, all were swept aside. Why I did not listen to the voice in the back of my mind telling me not to believe a word he said, I will never know. The night I was initiated, the night I took the Dark Mark, I was absolutely sure it was the right decision. That is the frightening part- how right it seemed at the time. And now... now all I can do is learn to live with that decision. And I will have to live with the consequences of it for the rest of my life... But it did not take long for me to come face to face with the fact that I had made a ghastly mistake".
"My mother used to say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions and she would know, that is how she ended up with my monster of a father in the first place. She was out on a secret trip to the Muggle world, 18 years old and lying to her parents about where she was going, just to escape the suffocating, claustrophobic world that they had caged her in. She saw my father get thrown out of a pub and then set upon by the men who had thrown him out. She used her powers to rescue him and he lied to her, from the second they met he lied to her, it came as naturally as breathing to him. He claimed to be the innocent victim of circumstance, and like a weak fool she believed him. She looked after him, cared for him and grew to love him, a young girl, starved of affection, she grabbed at him with both hands and he loved it. He loved the flattery, the sense of superiority that came from being adored by a girl ten years younger than himself. It was not until after the wedding that she realised she had swapped one version of imprisonment for another and all because she had a kind heart and 'good intentions'. She intended to be a kind, gentle wife, a loving mother, a good person. Over the years, all her good intentions were destroyed, He destroyed them, destroyed her, until all the good in her, everything sweet and innocent had been twisted, all her hopes turned to bitter disappointments".
"I had good intentions, at least of a sort when I first joined the Dark Lord. Yes I wanted power and to know the darker secrets that lay hidden in the world of magic, yes I craved strength and recognition and approval. It wasn't just those things though, at least.. damn..." he trailed off and took another sip.
"I'm not explaining this well, so much for my usual eloquence...".
He sat on the sofa and loosened his cravat. "I wanted power yes, but mostly power over my own life rather than power over others. I wanted certain things to go in the ways I wanted them too and I wanted certain things to stop, I wanted to prevent...".
He paused again trying to organise his thoughts. "I thought it was what my mother wanted, I thought she wanted to be free of him and I think she did, at least a part of her did, but the majority was... too frightened? Too... indoctrinated perhaps? When I joined the Dark Lord's ranks I suddenly had power and 'friends', I also had confidence, self assuredness, I felt like I could do what I wanted and I wanted to do what I thought was right".
Severus stood up again, untying and removing his cravat with one hand and then taking a large gulp of his drink. He paused for a time, staring into space...
"I killed him, I killed my father and I thought that would make me happy and make Mother happy, but it did not. She hated me for it, she never forgave me, she died still unforgiving of me... it was that, that first taking of a life that made me see just how blind and foolish I had been, but by then it was too late of course. I had made my decision to take the Dark Mark and that was that. I could not leave, I could not say that I had made a mistake and wanted to change my mind. I know what would have happened to me... I know because I saw what happened to the few others who were brave enough to face the Dark Lord and say they wanted to leave. They did leave in the end, but only once he had finished making an example of them, although usually there wasn't actually much of them left in the end to exist as an example".
He toyed with the cravat still in his hand for a moment and then threw it onto the pile on the sofa. He walked to and fro for a while, deep in thought then continued.
"When Lily died, that was when I really changed, that was when I became brave. I suppose some might say that it was easy to brave when everyone thought that the Dark Lord was dead and they may well be correct. However, I had turned against him before that though, the seed of my dissent was planted early on when I first realised what a terrible mistake I had made, and all my subsequent feelings fed that dissent, eventually leading to my turning to Dumbledore and the deal I made with him... It was not his fault what happened to Lily, it was mine and I accept the full responsibility for that. That is why I have tried ever since to make amends, to atone for what happened by my actions, by returning to the Dark Lord, by doing everything I can to work against him. Those are my good intentions now and they are paving a road to Hell just the same as my previous 'good intentions' did. That night on the hill with Dumbledore when I pledged my life to him...I laid the first stone right there. I had committed myself. I would pay any price, go to any lengths, because my cause was righteous. My... intentions were good. In the beginning, that seemed like enough".
He stopped to refill his glass, took a few sips and carried on walking.
"Now though? Are my good intentions enough? Enough to justify what is happening here? What is being done to the students, to this school, helping to plunge our world into chaos, hatred, violence, bloodshed. Can I really keep doing this, playing this part, doing what needs to be done in order to achieve the ultimate goal. Sometimes I look in my shaving mirror in the mornings and I can not meet my own eyes... I am... ashamed".
He felt his face crumple slightly and the hot sting of tears forming in his eyes. He cleared his throat roughly and quickly gulped down the rest of the glass, almost grateful for the slight choke that this produced.
"Every Sunday evening I receive a new list of those 'Mudbloods' captured and imprisoned and of those ' rebellious traitors' killed. Every Monday morning, as per the Dark Lord's orders, I post that list up in the Great Hall. It has become something of a grim ritual around here. Not a week goes by that someone, student or teacher, does not find the name of a loved one, a friend or an acquaintance on that damned list... I have grown to hate Mondays...The list is ultimately supposed to act as a warning to those considering rebelling themselves, to lower their morale and prove the superiority of the 'New Order'". He shook his head in a world-weary manner at this.
"A few weeks after I became Headmaster was the first night that the Carrows told me about their 'disciplinary' methods, the first time that I found out what they are doing to the children of this school, the children that I had told Dumbledore I would protect. And I did nothing… I can do nothing to stop them, I can only try to limit their excesses, shield the students as secretly as possible. That is what I am doing now but that first night…That was my first moment of real, paralysing doubt since I killed Dumbledore. I started to believe that this whole thing was a ghastly mistake. Then I got back to my office and there was a new list of the dead and missing waiting for me. People are dying out there. Every day. People are struggling for their freedom and here I am still worrying about the finer points of morality…. I have to keep my eye on the ultimate goal. Winning the war, stopping the bloodshed - those are the priorities. So I push on. And every time another doubt appears before me, I just find another way to shove it aside. At least that is what I have been able to do, up until now". He paused, this time unfastening the top button of his shirt that felt like it was strangling him.
"Tonight…. I do not know" he murmured. "Now it feels like I have been merely piling up all those doubts and worries into a huge mountain and I am living under the threat of a catastrophic rock fall at any moment".
He sighed, rubbing his temples tiredly again. His headache was still there, a dull throb in his skull. He knew the whiskey hadn't helped the ache particularly but he knew he had needed it, even as a little voice in the back of his mind was warning him of the danger of relying on the whiskey too much. He knew he was in constant danger, being so close to the Dark Lord, one of the few in his inner circle, he knew he had to be wary, to be constantly alert, but he also knew just how exhausting that was. He hoped that he could carry on, that he could achieve what he had set out to do before he cracked up and gave himself away. Already he knew that he had had a few close brushes with danger.
He remembered a gathering of the Dark Lord and the Deatheaters not long ago...
"They were talking about the school, asking how I liked being Headmaster in Dumbledore's place. I made my usual sort of dry reply...They made a joke about Dumbledore, some stupid crack about how he died. I laughed a little out of 'politeness', then a bit more... and then some more... It wasn't that funny, but I could not stop laughing. Afterwards I thought that maybe I was under more pressure than I realised. Maybe it really was starting to get to me. As a double agent I have always had to deal with constant pressure but maybe now it is too much, maybe I am starting to crack up, lose my mind".
He pressed his fingers against his temples again and closed his eyes for a long time. He then walked back to the sofa and sat down. He poured a glass of water this time.
"I am not losing my mind, but I am under pressure, that is why I am doing this after all. I just need to get all these thoughts out of my head. I cannot keep them in here all the time and if the Dark Lord ever got a hint of my true feelings and memories rather than the fake ones I let him see...". He trailed off again, all too aware of the consequences.
"There was a celebration, a 'party' the night of Dumbledore's death. They all congratulated me, even the Dark Lord was happy, relaxed, enjoying himself". A shudder ran through Severus at the memory.
"They were all so happy at this turn of events, it was a godamn carnival for fuck's sake. They all believe themselves to be on the right side, on the 'pure' side. They think they're the 'good guys' for Christ's sake, protecting the Wizarding world from the contamination of Muggles and Half-bloods".
His voice was heavy with world-weary irony as he spoke on.
"So...Dumbledore's death... it was a huge victory for the good guys... perhaps the turning point of the entire war".
He suppressed the sob that threatened to escape from him with a juddering sigh and leaned back against the sofa, taking off his boots and dropping them onto the floor. He took another sip of water and then a deep breath.
"I got myself into this of course, right from the very start and Dumbledore, well, he used me from the time when I turned to him. At that time I thought he was a good man, a powerful wizard yes, but also good. And now? Well, I think there was goodness in him, but there was so much more to him and not a lot of it was good or pleasant. He was an arch manipulator. When he was dying, when that curse got him, he blackmailed me into agreeing to his request. He knew that, in the end, I could not refuse what he had asked of me".
He shook his head again.
"A good man, a truly good man would never ask to be killed or helped to die or whatever you want to call it, a good man would never put such an awful burden on anyone, but especially not on someone that could be considered a friend"... "Dumbledore said that it would be alright, that my soul, my conscience, would not be affected if I did not want them to be, but that anyway, a guilty conscience is a small price to pay. I would have loved to know exactly what was on his guilty conscience that made him such an expert..."
"He said that he had a plan, that he had a way to turn his accident to our advantage beyond elevating me in the Dark Lord's ranks. I tried to get it out of him but he kept deflecting my queries, there was nothing I could do to get him to reveal his private plans to me. So I waited. At first I paced round this room, oh, so many times. Then I tried to catch up on my paperwork, but I could not focus on student essays or detention reports or ingredients lists...so I went back to pacing my quarters or staring into the fire. He said it would all work out, he said that Potter would be able to do what needed to be done and would be able to finally defeat the Dark Lord once and for all. The way things have been going the last few months however, that looks to be a distinct impossibility. Despite Dumbledore's plans and assurances, I find it difficult to see how on earth Potter is ever going to win. If he loses then we all lose, and many of us will die.. including myself".
He paused again before continuing in a deadened voice. "I am under no illusions, I know that it is very likely that I will not survive this war. I can only hope..." and here his voice cracked slightly and he continued only after a small struggle. "I can only hope that when I die it will be quick, that it will not be a long drawn out torture at the Dark Lord's hands or..." and he trailed off again, the hideous memory of the end of Charity Burbage appearing all too clearly in his mind.
"Please God spare me that death" he muttered with his eyes closed.
It was a while before he opened his eyes again. He had spent the time doing nothing more than listening to the crackle and occasional snap of the burning wood in the fireplace and steadying his breathing. He thought back to the night about a week ago when Dumbledore's portrait had given him a task to perform.
"I do not understand why, he did not tell me why really, just said that Potter needed the Sword in order to complete his mission". He softly snorted in tired exasperation but he realised it was more than that.
"I... I have difficulty saying this but..." he sighed again. "It hurts... even now it hurts that he still does not trust me, even after everything I have done for him, I am still not worthy of his confidence, I..." he trailed off again, hating himself for the overwhelming sense of despair and loneliness that he was experiencing. All he wanted in that moment was someone to talk to, someone who was real flesh and blood as opposed to canvas, ink and pigment. A tear ran down his cheek and he wiped it roughly away, angry at himself for being so weak.
"The Sword of Gryffindor". He scoffed at the name and everything it represented to him. "The bloody pointy stick that those idiotic children tried to steal from under my very nose in their noble mission to help Potter and fight the forces of evil". He scoffed again, at their foolhardiness this time. "They didn't even have to right one, the real one was hidden away and they'd tried to steal themselves a fake". He stopped for a moment and then genuinely laughed "and now dear Bellatrix has it safely locked in her vault, thinking it's the real one!" he laughed again, a sudden up-swelling of mirth flowing through him. At that moment he had a crazy impulse to go to her, to shout in her face "It's a fake, it's a fake" and watch her face fill with fear and rage as he laughed at her. But of course Severus didn't, he squashed that mad feeling down and settled for a few more chuckles at her expense. When he felt in control of himself again he continued.
"I took the sword to the forest, I did exactly as he asked. I watched Potter retrieve it, half killing himself in the process, the bloody fool. Having to be saved by that bigger fool Weasley. But... even so, as I watched him diving into that pond, he seemed... different somehow and I... What did I feel? Perhaps... hope? It sounds insane given the circumstances but... for a moment... I had the distinct feeling that victory or defeat would be decided in the next few minutes..."
He finished his glass of water and got up to walk around the room again, occasionally running a hand absent-mindedly across the part of the sofa back unencumbered with his clothing, deep in thought. The warm feeling of mirth that had flowed through him mere minutes before had vanished completely, leaving a curiously empty feeling in its wake.
"It is not about Potter though, at this moment. I needed to unburden myself and I have, for the most part. I can see a bit clearer now, I know what I am and what I have done". He stopped and turned to face the fire, straightened his spine and rested both hands on the back of the sofa.
"I have lied. I have cheated... I am an accessory to the torture of innocent children. I am an accessory to murder. I am a murderer. But, most damning of all... I think I can live with it. And if I had to do it all over again... I would. Dumbledore was right about one thing - a guilty conscience is a small price to pay for the safety of our world…. So I will learn to live with it. Because I can live with it"
In a barely heard whisper the words "I can live with it" sounded again in the room as he tried to convince himself of something that he didn't have a hope of truly believing.
Severus remained where he was and looked into the distance with unseeing eyes, more than twenty years worth of memories and emotions washing over him. For a long time he just stood, still and unmoving. He eventually came back to himself and walked over to the desk, the end of the long roll of parchment trailing down to the floor. Without a word he rolled it up and walked over to the fireplace. His eyes flicked from the flames to the parchment then back again as he threw the roll into the fire. He stood there watching it burn, until there was nothing left, ensuring that no trace of his words remained in existence. He stood there for an extra moment or two and then silently turned away and walked into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.