31st of October, 1981

With a stumble, Severus Snape apparated into the dark living room of Spinners End. Dishevelled and tear stained, he collapsed to the floor. He gasped for breath in between incoherent sobs, clasping the Dark Mark that was engraved into his left forearm, cursing the day he took it.

Cursing the day he first heard of the Dark Lord, and his Death Eaters.

Cursing the day he didn't listen to Lily about the likes of Lucius Malfoy.

Cursing the day he ever used that disgusting word.

Cursing this day, the day he lost her forever.

His fingers dug in around the grotesque tattoo, drawing blood. He let out an inhuman cry, stemming from more than just physical pain.

He screamed until his throat was hoarse and blood was starting to slick the hard wood floors on which he sat. The pain and blood loss suddenly hit with a dizzying force as he collapsed unconscious to the floor.

In the darkness, Severus drifted. The pain drummed a dull beat as images flickered behind his eyes.

Images of a scruffy black haired boy, a young boy. He was dressed in hand me down clothes, far too large for his skinny frame. His face was hidden by his hair, as he hung his head. The boy was being beaten, chased and thrown into unseen things by unknown assailants.

Severus felt a strand of shame wrap around his consciousness. The images were both foreign and familiar. Something he had experienced, but never seen. He could almost feel the blows, as he once had at the hands of his own father,

The images changed, the boy taking on the jointed appearance of a marionette. The strings were held by a pair of old, gnarled hands. Hands that were overseen by a pair of bright blue, sparkling eyes. A pair of eyes that were so familiar, a strand of horror joined that of his shame.

As the hands started moving the strings, his attention was drawn back to the marionette of a boy. The boy now danced, his actions mainly controlled by the strings, but still hit and swung by unseen forces. Severus wanted to look away as the wooden limbs started to fracture, but the image held. The boy splintered more and more, until the hands finally dropped the strings. As he hit the floor, he shattered, limbs disconnecting from the body, splinters flying. The head also rolled from the body, finally displaying the face of the unknown child.

The horror overwhelmed Severus as he was met with the light fading from the startling green eyes, which once had been so familiar in the face of another.

He could hear himself screaming now. Begging. Anything to save the boy, anything for her. He was sorry, he hadn't understood. So, so sorry.

The painful drum beat reached a crescendo as he sunk back into the numbness. The noise was so deafening he barely heard a sweet voice whisper.

'A soul can be healed with remorse. So can you. The truth will set you free'

He woke, stiff and sore, as the first rays of sunlight hit his face. Staring at the ceiling, he suddenly felt much older than his 21 years. He gingerly pushed himself into a sitting, position; gently stretching his limbs as he tried to banish the images of what he hoped was only a nightmare from his mind. He looked down and froze.

His left arm was bare. No marks remained, not even from the self-inflicted injuries of his fingers gouging into his own flesh.

Suddenly he was all movement. Fumbling for his wand in the deep pockets of his robe, he began casting every relevant spell that he knew in quick succession. Everything from a simple 'finite' to more complex spells that checked the presences of magical signatures.

No matter what he did, his arm held no taint of the evil that he had submitted to.

He was free.

The Dark Lord no longer had any hold over him. He was no longer a pawn of Dumbledore's; there was no need for his protection from the law.

He was once again his own man. It made him want to laugh and cry, and Severus Snape was not generally a man prone to either of those actions.

His celebration was cut short by the tapping of an owl at his window. Quickly letting it in, it dropped a Ministry Missive on his table, and left. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he opened the envelope.

Mr. Severus Snape,

In light of the events of Halloween 1981, and the demise of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, you are required to submit yourself for questioning in regards to being a suspected member of his terrorist group 'The Death Eaters'.

You have 24 hours to present yourself to the DMLE, before you will be brought in to custody by force.

Regards,

Bartimus Crouch Sr.

Head of the DMLE

Severus gave a derisive snort at the absence of the Dark Lord's real name. He was comforted by the fact he had been sent a missive. Those deemed a real threat, would not have received one, and would have been apprehended as soon as may be. His mind scrambled into gear as he tried decide what the best course of action would be.

He could run. It was very easy to make himself disappear. Or he could stay and proclaim his innocence. Or he could tell the truth. He did have a wealth of knowledge, more than most, and he had be used by the Dark Lord for nothing else but his potion skills.

Lost in thought, he barely heard the knock on his front door. Shaking himself from his thoughts, he disillusioned himself to check who would call so early, especially in the circumstances that existed.

The figure of Albus Dumbledore darkened his doorstep. Remembering with a shudder the puppet master from his dream last night, Severus drew back. His gut told him that Dumbledore could not be trusted, not under any circumstances. He had his freedom now he was not going to lose it again.

He did not answer the door.

Instead, he cast a silencing charm, and made his way to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror he ran a hand over his gaunt face, black smudges obvious beneath his eyes. Shedding his robes he made a plan.

Shower.

Invigoration draught.

Ministry.

Currently the whispered words of 'the truth will set you free', was the best idea he had, no matter how cliché it was. And freedom sounded good.

There would be no strings on him.