To Break

Prequel to Breaking. An argument, a meeting, a note. A three chapter fic.

A/N: Another prop, to occupy my time. Another Fic to fill the gap between now and January 7th when I will post the first chapter of The Phoenix Guardian. This is the first in a three part series of angst, hurt and comfort, with a dash of Severus Snape to taste. The first chapter is quite dialogue intensive, designed to inject some emotion—so I hope it has been successful! The next chapter will be more similar to my useful writing style...but sometimes it is nice to give other things ago!

Hope you enjoy; and of course, reviews are greatly appreciated by this hungry and humble author! Thank you!

***

The anger in the room is as tangible as he himself. It is like a third participant in the conversation. It speaks for him, it chooses his tone, and it delivers his words. "You ask too much of me, Headmaster."

A stare, long and penetrating. "Severus, we agreed this role many years ago!"

"Well, maybe I tire of it? Maybe I tire of being your puppet, your pawn, your slave?" Poison fills the syllables and makes them burn.

The stare is now angry. "You have never been a slave, Severus. Everything you do—and have done—has been your own free will!"

"A slave to your promises of peace and relief, perhaps. When will that come, Headmaster?" The title is sarcastic; it no longer means anything.

"When we defeat Voldemort, Severus—you know that!"

"In this hopeless war?" The words echo the voice; the tone is hopeless.

"War is never hopeless, Severus."

"I grow weary of your fight." The emphasis falls on the possessive. "I no longer with to be your spy."

"This is our fight—not mine!"

"No, Headmaster! It is your fight; the fight of your precious Order. I will not be their servant as I will not be yours."

"The Order are worthy of your service, Severus."

"I see not one of them risking their lives."

"They are always at risk of being exposed."

"No! They are simply content to sit and watch and laugh as Snape kneels and crawls and begs before the Dark Lord. It is all he is worth—no more than a dog—while they reap all the benefits and the fame!"

"There is no fame in the Order of the Phoenix, Severus."

"Do not mock me, Headmaster. I see no scars on their skin; I see no cruel lesions on their hearts. What risk do they gamble their lives with?"

"They risk their own lives each day, Severus—to check that a wayward follower who switches between light and dark as easy as turning on a light...a follower of Voldemort...does not give away their identities in a fit of blind and selfish rage!"

A silence. It is long and punctuated with pain and grief and anger.

"There is the truth then. You believe I will break!"

"My opinion of you and your strength is swiftly plummeting Severus, as you continue this tirade and charade."

"So all the sacrifices I made—am making—mean so little? You are so unsure of my own loyalty?"

"I know you are loyal, Severus." The sentence does nothing to heal the wounds which will not stop leaking.

"And yet you doubt me, Dumbledore? Why is that? Because I wish to control my own destiny for once?"

"No, right now, I doubt you because you seem to be acting out of cowardice alone!"

"You think I am afraid?"

"To let the past rest? Yes!"

The final blow is struck; the words are like swords ripping his body apart. It shows as he seems to deflate—but nothing can repair the damage.

"I lie for you. I hurt for you. I bleed tears and weep blood for you! For you and your precious Order. When I bend my back before him, it is for you. When I kiss his robes, it is for you. When I lie at his feet, it is for you. And so help me, when I beg him for mercy, even though all my body wants to do is let go, it is for you. You will never understand the sacrifices and the pain and the nightmare I live every day for you! And because I suddenly feel the injustice of this...because I have finally seen how unfair you make my life...you seek to cast me aside, to degrade me even further. You dare to call me a coward?"

"You bring this upon yourself, Severus!" The compassion is gone; the weapons used from both sides have brought destruction—destroying the very relationship that held these two together. Neither can go back—and both seek to push even further. Emotions—raw and powerful and excruciating—flood the room and the words and the very soul. "Some would call you a coward because you refuse to take a side—you are happiest in the middle, where at any change in this war, you can go back to where you came from."

The heart is pierced. He is numb from shock.

"Now. I want you to leave my sight."

The swallow hurts his throat as his words choke him. Or is that the tears? But he turns, and walks away. He turns his back for he no longer has anything to say.

And he heads for the place where the torment can begin all over again; for that is his place.

But the argument has changed him; and he knew in that moment, with a terrible sense of foreboding, that nothing would ever be the same again.