"The Bane of Sirius' Existence"

By Shortshanks4

Disclaimer: All of these characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, not me.

Every non-Slytherin member of Hogwarts knows one thing: Professor Snape is wicked. It doesn't matter that Dumbledore trusts him or that he has never openly committed a crime in the presence of a student. It is an unwritten fact. He never really changed from his Death Eater's ways; he's just waiting for his chance to strike, to make his biggest impact for his old master.

Of course, Severus Snape has heard all the rumors that have ever circulated around Hogwarts at least once. He knows that none of the ungrateful miscreants who started and spread them could ever understand why he is the way that he is, why he would never again think or behave as a true Death Eater. None of them were there the day he cracked.

Even though he has been decidedly converted, Professor Snape has never allowed himself to care for his students in a more-than-primitive way. Such a thing would ruin the image he has developed throughout his life. He knows full well that his job is to teach the students Potions and to make some sort of effort to keep them alive during their stay at Hogwarts, but it is not his duty to make their lives pleasant. He is allowed the pleasure of seeing them squirm beneath his cold, piercing gaze, to flinch when he makes any sudden movements, to whine and whimper in pathetic little voices when he doles out their punishment. It sustains him and adds some spice to his uncomfortable cover-up job.

It was a particularly long Potions class on a dull, gloomy day at the beginning of April. Not that anyone could see that the day was dull and gloomy from their position; Snape liked the fact that his classes were conducted underground, in the dungeons. Instead of an annoying, burning sun, the room was lit with the eerie glow of floating candles. For some reason, the students did not appear to share his affinity for the dark. In fact, most of them seemed quite edgy about his cool, dank dungeon room. He caught many of them casting furtive glances toward the ceiling, as if wanting to see through the thick stone and out to a stray window.

Once Snape put the recipe for the rather difficult assigned potion on the blackboard, he took to pacing about the room, picking on students at random intervals before really insulting his least favorite students. After he had done that for a half an hour, he wandered back over to his desk and sat down. It was, overall, a fairly disappointing day for Snape. He had not provoked even one student to tears. He slumped down on the desk and twirled his wand around and around, settling himself in for a boring half hour, longing to banish all the students from his sight.

Before long, Snape started thinking about where he wished to be instead of here, teaching sniveling little monsters how to make a Fanged Pansy antidote and watching as they refused to take in a word of his advice or caution. Children, in Snape's experience, were extremely cocky. They always thought they had a better way to do things. Snape knew he could so easily impress upon them the error of their ways if he just tested their own potions on them from time to time. Then they would listen to his direction much more carefully and refrain from whispering to their neighbors during class. Unfortunately for Snape, Dumbledore did not allow this kind of punishment.

Snape knew he hadn't been such an ignorant fool when he was a child. He was a bright student who understood the delicate art of potion making. He followed the teacher's directions to a "t" and never missed a step of the formula, knowing that it would have disastrous consequences. That was why he was so talented, and that was why Voldemort later found him so useful.

Unbidden, the thoughts of his days as a true Death Eater entered Snape's mind. He had loved his job at first. He enjoyed being part of a secret society feared by all wizards, taking out his bitterness on the world that had betrayed him, and working for a master who was more powerful than almost anyone else on the planet. Some of his fellow Death Eaters complained about the Dark Lord's punishment, but Snape did not mind. The punishment was very frightening and severe, but after all, it was only delivered to those who did not do their job correctly.

And Snape always did his job correctly. He was young and strong and extremely cunning. Coupled with his skills in Legimency and hatred for all of mankind, Snape was one of the best at plotting and deceiving. Of course, he was not as courageous as some of his counterparts and did not like the big dueling between opposing armies that many Death Eaters lived for, but Voldemort found him quite useful nonetheless. Potion-making was one of Voldemort's weaknesses, but Snape's potions were unequaled by any wizard, living or dead. At Voldemort's command, Snape could create potions that would force a wizard to spill his darkest secrets, turn someone into a specific animal or person, shrink things, grow things, and kill things, and all of it instantly, if the need arose.

There was one family in particular that irked Voldemort. Two Death Eaters had already died trying to dispatch the four of them, one of which was just a small child. They were much too astute in tight situations, and Voldemort decided that a more indirect approach would be easier and less risky. He thought that Snape would be perfect for the job.

Snape carefully planned his attack. First, he surveyed them in their home for five days, trying to discover a routine. He found that every night they all drank at least a glass of pumpkin juice. He knew he would be able to slip a few drops of a potion into their pumpkin juice container before dinner. Then he selected his potion, one that was very potent but tasteless so he would not have to use too much of it and the family would not detect it, and one that was not too fast acting so that the other family members would not become suspicious and alarmed after the person who took the first sip dropped dead.

Once Snape had a small vial of his potion, he Apparated within twenty feet of the home and crept up to the kitchen window. Wand in hand, he used a Banishing Charm to guide the potion through the window, to the kitchen table, and made it hover over the open container of pumpkin juice. Or was it over the pumpkin juice? Snape couldn't tell from his angle; his depth perception was skewed. He could not risk missing the pumpkin juice container; every drop of potion was needed.

Grudgingly, Snape mumbled, "Accio potion!" and put plan B into effect. He crawled spider-like through the window and tiptoed to the table, potion in hand.

"There's a stranger here, Daddy!"

Snape jerked when he heard the small, tinny voice and his vial of carefully concocted potion fell to the ground and shattered. He whirled around to face the doorway so quickly that his greasy black hair slapped against the sides of his face, obscuring his vision for a frightful second.

"Petrificus totalus" -

"Protego!" Snape shouted the counterjinx just in time to avoid being disabled and leveled his wand at the stiff young man now lying on his back. "Avada" –

Before he could finish the Killing Curse, Snape flew into the air as if he had been hit with a truck and landed on the table, sliding across it and landing on the floor with a crash. The wind was knocked forcefully out of his lungs and he could not move or speak. As the father of the family closed in on him, he lay on his back struggling for breath. The tall, imposing man raised his wand –

"Expelliarmus!" Snape managed to croak at the last possible second. The wand slipped out of his opponent's hand and clattered to the floor. Snape took the moment to let fly a curse that sent the man hurtling across the room. Once he was good and flat out on the floor, Snape shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

Snape saw the flash of green light coming from his own wand, but was confused when he saw another flash of purple light right beside him, so close that he saw it, color and all, from behind his eyelids. An instant later, he was skidding across the room and into the wall. His memory of the event suddenly ended as if a video camera had shut off.

The next thing Snape heard was sobbing.

"Daddy, oh Daddy!"

"I'm sorry, honey, there's nothing we can do."

"Just let me kill this scumbag already, would ya, Ma? He's caused enough trouble already, the slimy beast!"

Snape realized with a twinge of anger that he was once again being taunted for his greasy hair. He used that anger to haul himself upright, point his wand at the first body he saw, and shout, "STUPEFY!!!"

A teenage boy skidded backward as the curse hit his chest and fell unconscious to the ground. The woman standing beside him jumped in alarm and grabbed her daughter's arm, tearing from the room like a rabbit. Snape scrambled to his feet and followed her. He didn't want to do any useless dueling. This job was going on too long already and he wanted to end it quickly. He raised his wand and caught his breath behind the corner of the door, waiting for the footsteps to stop.

"Run into the front room, dear. Jump out the window and go as fast as you can."

The woman was waiting for him. Snape would have to be quick. He conjured up all the hate within him, leaped into the doorway, and shouted his curse.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!!!"

In one swiftly passing moment, Snape brought his wand down and shot a beam of green light, but it did not hit the woman as intended. Snape's aim had gone askew in his haste so that his curse hit the small child running from the room. Instantly, she dropped in her tracks and went completely flaccid. A haunting silence followed which seemed to snuff the warmth right out of the air. For the first time in years, Snape sensed that he had done something dreadfully wrong.

"NOOOO!!!!!!!" The woman screamed, running to the girl and dropping to her knees, "No, this can't be true. Not my daughter!" She turned and glared at Snape, tears running down her face. "What have you done?"

"I…I'm sorry," Snape stammered, his eyes as wide as saucers, "I didn't mean to, I" –

"Of course you meant to!" The woman sobbed, "All of you horrible Death Eaters are the same! You love to kill! Why didn't you kill me instead? Why'd you have to take my daughter and my husband? Why, oh why?"

The woman gave a cry of anguish and began to weep and wail in a most heartrending fashion over her dead daughter. Snape lifted his wand and tried to mutter a curse, but a lump had risen in his throat and his hand was shaking so badly that he could not have possibly aimed correctly. He gave a soft cry and tore from the room, Disapparating before he could see if the stunned teenager had revived.

But Snape did not appear at Voldemort's headquarters as he normally would have. Instead, he appeared on the dark street in front of his assigned family's house and walked quickly down the pavement. He was becoming increasingly alarmed and confused. He should have killed that woman and her son, but he had not. Was Severus Snape, one of the coldest hearted wizards to walk the earth, losing his nerve? If that was the case, Voldemort had plenty of punishment in store for him. If he could not work through hatred, he would be forced to work through fear. Snape had seen it happen to many softer Death Eaters and it certainly wasn't pretty. Unlike the others, he was still strong enough to fix the situation. He just needed a few moments to gather his wits about him. Then he would march right back to his master and let him know that his task was complete.

The minutes ticked by, and Snape did not feel any better. If possible, pacing down that long, quiet road only made him feel worse. There was a dead girl lying before her mother tonight, and only one person was running away from the scene of the crime holding a smoking wand. The guilt weighed upon his chest like a boulder.

A critical change in Snape occurred that lonely night. He never did regain the intense hatred toward humanity that all Death Eaters felt. He realized once and for all that he was not the victim anymore, but a terrible monster, and it made him feel filthy. He continued under Voldemort for a short while, but soon found himself sneaking back to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore, and that was when he had agreed to become a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.

"Professor, is something wrong?"

Snape snapped back to reality and realized with horror that a tear was running down his pale, sallow face. He hastily clawed it away and glared up at the small, spindly girl standing in front of his desk. Her name was Samara Sewell, and much to Snape's disgust, she seemed concerned.

"No," he growled, scowling at the girl and over-enunciating every word through gritted teeth, "It is moldy down here. I have allergies."

"Oh," she said, looking a little taken aback, "May I recommend Madam Pomfrey's Dragon Tears? They worked very well for my allergies."

Snape just stared, not saying a word.

"And also," Samara blurted, "I've just finished my potion. Here's a sample."

Snape snatched the small covered flask away from the girl and examined it. It was a very good formula, possessing the correct color and consistency.

"Go back to your seat and clean out your cauldron," Snape ordered her in a low, deep grumble, "Do not leave anything behind."

"Yes, Professor," Samara said, walking toward her desk. She was a Gryffindor and therefore automatically hated, but she was also a very good student, one of the few that had never once argued or talked back when her admittedly unfair grades and punishments were delivered. Snape could never remember a time when she had failed to address him properly, either.

"Miss Sewell," Snape said softly. Samara stopped in her tracks.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Good job on your potion. You show more skill and diligence than I would ever expect from a Gryffindor."

Samara seemed absolutely stunned to receive a compliment from Snape, even if it was laced with disdain and spoken in a growl. Finally she flashed a little grin and said, "Thank you, sir."

Snape quickly turned back to flicking his wand around his desk, moving it so sharply that it emitted a jet of blue sparks. He hated when the students made him feel compelled to be kind to them. Luckily, those sort of occurrences were rare, and most of the time Snape did a great job making their lives despondent. It was all he could have hoped for.