The silence in the room was so loud. Narcissa and Bellatrix barely breathed.
Behind Snape's façade of blank eyes and expressionless face lay a roiling storm. He almost shivered. Almost. But he was better than that.
"Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes?" asked the pale blonde woman before him.
If he said no, his chances to help the Order were over. The Death Eaters would know who he was, and he would be a dead man by morning, no more use to anyone—
"I will."
"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"
But on the other hand, he had to think what he was saying, what he was promising—
"I will."
"And…"
They both took a deep breath. Narcissa was crying, but her voice came out steady.
"…should it prove necessary…if it seems Draco will fail…will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"
Here it was, the decision. They had discussed this, the course of action, and he already knew what he must do.
There was a pause.
"I will."
A death sentence.
Some say that love is the most powerful force that exists in the world. But even with love, there were problems. Snape had driven away the one person in the world who loved him with hatred; and then she had hated him while he looked on in sick, distant, unrequited devotion.
Since then, two things had haunted him: she was married to his enemy, and she had died by his words.
Her ghost at his shoulder was what led him to a second chance. But just because he had another shot at doing what was right, that didn't mean his ghosts went away. Nobody ever mentioned that. How they dogged your footsteps even when you'd done everything in your power to make things right.
Second chances weren't for redemption. They were a chance for all the people you'd hurt to torture you with memory of your failures, choke you with your own remorse, and one day kill you as a result of working so hard to undo things that cannot be undone.
Dumbledore, the man who had given him a second chance, now wanted a repetition of events. He wanted Snape to have another ghost. They both knew Snape deserved it.
He couldn't do it again: he could not harm the ones he cared for. But he would have to. Or the beautiful ghost who tortured him day after day would never love him again.
Loud banging on the door assaulted the last shred of peace Snape would ever have.
For a moment, he stood frozen by the hearth, firelight digging into the lines of his face.
"Come in."
Flitwick burst in, his robes were on backwards, his glasses askew. "…So many, and Dumbledore's away! Dressed in black, all in black: Death Eaters, Severus, so many of them, we are trying to keep them back…but Dumbledore's gone, we just can't hold them back, they keep attacking, there's just too many of them. We need your help…"
Snape held his wand under his cloak. He already knew everything.
"Stupify."
The small professor slumped to the floor. Snape hesitated a moment—but only a moment. A moment for a silent thought to burrow into him: This is the end.
In several long strides, he was out the door.
The first surprise: two girls waited outside his door. Friends of Potter. The boy must have known somehow. But it didn't matter now.
"Professor Flitwick passed out from shock. Go sit with him and stay out of the halls," he heard his own voice say. It was a stupid warning, considering what he was to do. He would bring about the death of them all. "Hide. I must go help the other teachers."
His footsteps echoed cruelly down the hallway.
He was at the fray within minutes, but he barely cared what went on here. He dodged a few curses, but passed through unscathed. No one was trying to jinx him, for none of them knew which side he was on. They never would.
Not that their opinions mattered. Snape had always been alone.
What she thought of him was all-important.
He dashed through the invisible barrier to the winding staircase. His left forearm burned where the Dark Mark scored his flesh. He hated it. He hated himself.
He wrapped that self-loathing around his heart like chainmail.
What met his eyes at the top of the stairwell was no more a surprise for him than the rest, but the sight still hit him like a bludger. Five Death Eaters stood around a wand-less and clearly suffering old man. Dumbledore was not standing tall or strong like he always did. He had done it: he had found another Horcrux. And here he was, about to die.
The wand in Snape's hand dangled uselessly at his side—and then Amycus was speaking and Snape had regained his composure. Suddenly, the words of the other Death Eater were drowned out as a horrible, choked voice spoke.
"Severus…"
Dumbledore's whisper was weak, frightening beyond anything Snape had ever heard. Ice ran through Snape's veins.
Albus Dumbledore was pleading.
Snape found himself walking forward in a trance, shoving the Malfoy boy out of the way. Hatred and fear twisted his face, and for the first time since becoming an Occlumens, his eyes spoke his sentiment. I am too weak.
Did two wrongs make a right? Would this really enable him to defeat the dark lord so his beloved ghost could rest in peace? Or would this risky plan go terribly wrong, just like the last one? He was always, always too weak.
Behind Snape, the other Death Eaters cowered away. His rage was etched in every line and crevice of his sharp features.
The message that Dumbledore's blue eyes were sending went into his brain and sat there, numb like the rest of him. Harry Potter was here, on this parapet, and needed to be kept safe.
"Severus…please…"
There was no other choice.
He summoned all his rage, all his brokenness, all his weeping, and all his desperate desire for something he could never, ever have. He raised his wand and pointed it at Dumbledore's heart.
Severus Snape yelled, "Avada Kedavra!"
The impact of the curse knocked the old man backward off the side of the parapet. Snape stared at empty space. At the nothingness before him.
He'd found within himself more strength than he'd ever had in his entire life. He felt weaker than air. His ghosts were sated, they were screaming in rage.
The end, Lily whispered to him. You're almost at the end.
