Pacing in the dungeons, sweat poured down his face. He tugged angrily at his collar and loosened the buttons directly below his chin. His hands were shaking. He looked around frantically. Slender and calloused fingers found their way around a narrow-necked flask, squeezed tight, and launched it into the fireplace. The flask was followed by others - beakers, test tubes, jars, bottles. When he ran out of empty glass containers to throw, he leaned his hands on the mantelpiece and stared at the broken shards in all of their blues and browns and greens.
I can't do this anymore. He was losing it and he couldn't. Not now. Not with what Dumbledore had demanded of him. I can't do this anymore. The last shreds of his sanity hung dangerously in the balance. I don't want to do this anymore. It's never mattered what he wanted. Never. I can't do this alone anymore. His mind wouldn't last. He wouldn't make it through another war alone. After this, after this unspeakable crime, he would be engrained in wizard history as the epitome of the word pariah. He asks too much. Too much. Too much burden. Too much pain. Too much torture. Too much stress. Too much suffering. Too much lying. I can't.
He would never be able to convince Dumbledore to find another way. If he were going to see his debt paid, he would have to do it and doing it would require bringing someone in. He had started fraying at the ends and tearing at the seams. I can't do this alone. As there was no way for him to stay the path without one single ally in the whole world, his mind began clamoring for a solution.
To bring someone into this Hell was an incredible risk. To put over 15 years of secrets onto another human being would be a burden no person should, or maybe even could, bear. The amount of trust a man like Severus Snape, a man who had survived almost solely because of his independent nature, would have to give another person seemed unthinkable. Yet here I am - thinking about it.
Who? What did this person need to be? Trustworthy. Brave. Empathetic. Understanding. Loyal. Fierce. Forgiving. Strong. Intelligent. This person would have to see beyond the appearance of things. This person would have to see the things.
Granger.
Fuck. She's a child. She's 16. She's Potter's best friend. She is not a safe choice. She would sacrifice anything for Harry Potter. I can't do this to her.
And yet, as he attempted to talk himself out of it, he became more certain of his choice. She would be more empathetic than anyone else he could possibly think of. Her loyalty has never been in question. She has showcased her Gryffindor bravery many a times, many times much to his dismay. The brightest witch of her age would certainly be able to look beyond the mask to see the man.
Granger.
"Screech!" The owl flew to him and waited patiently as he scribbled on a small piece of parchment. After folding the note, he put it up near the tawny bird's beak and said, "Take this to her. Wake her."
The bird blinked at him almost as if he were questioning his master. It lasted probably less than a second and he flew out the window.
In the meantime, Snape sat on his couch in his quarters. Even with the drafts in the dungeons and the cool stone that surrounded him constantly, he continued to sweat. How am I going to do this to her? To a child? She is no older than I was when I went down this path. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he assumed the note had been successfully delivered when Screech had returned to his post and tucked his head to sleep. The fire crackled and the clock ticked.
There was a faint and uncertain knock at the door to the Potions classroom. Fuck. He strode over to the door, gathering as much confidence as possible, and flung the door open hoping to make the same intimidating impression as usual.
"Miss Granger," his eyes narrowed. She was in plaid pajama pants that fit loosely, a grey tshirt, and her Gryffindor robe pulled tightly around her shoulders. She wore a pair of trainers on her feet, but her heels were crushing down the back of the shoe as she must have slipped them on. Her hair was messy and neat at the same time and pulled back into a bun.
"Professor? What did you need, sir? It's quite late and I have exams in the morning," she shifted uneasily and her weight went back and forth between each foot.
"Ah," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the time. He pushed the door open and gestured for her to come inside.
She hesitated, and his eyes raked over her face and body language. He swallowed hard. He said, "I assure you that I have no intention of killing you."
She did her best to smile and walked into the room. Rubbing her shoulders, she turned back to him. Avoiding eye contact, she questioned again: "Professor?"
How do I start?
"Miss Granger... Hermione..." he faltered when her eyes went huge.
"It's my parents, isn't it? Something has happened to them?" His use of her first name had scared her.
He held up a trembling hand, "No."
Her eyes flitted between his face and his shaking hand, "Professor, what's wrong?"
He sucked in a massive amount of air and her eyes searched his face. He ran the shaky fingers through his hair and then wiped his palm down his sweaty face. Swallowing hard and wiping his hand on his pants, he gestured to the couch. She sat. Slowly. How do I do this? Her eyes didn't leave his person.
"What's wrong?" She repeated.
"Everything," he choked. No. You can't lose it now. Not yet. You'll never get through it.
"Professor?" Her body turned more toward his and he shivered despite how warm he felt.
"Every single thing in my life is wrong," he said, "You know of my position in this upcoming war?"
"You're... a spy? I'm sorry. I'm not sure how to say it best," she said and glanced away.
"Yes. I am. Do you trust where my true loyalties lie?" He grimaced.
"Yes. You are with us."
He was quiet for a long time. Then, his mouth opened just barely, "I have not asked a favor in a very long time," he said so softly she barely heard him.
"What do you need, sir?" The genuine sensitivity in her voice was undoing.
"There is something that has been asked of me. No. It has been demanded of me. This... it's a monstrous act I must commit," his voice trailed off.
"Who demanded it? Dumbledore or Voldemort?"
"Don't say his name, girl!" He hissed and then quieted, "Dumbledore."
She sighed, "How did I know it would be him and not the other?"
Snape looked at her briefly. She caught his eyes. They were red-rimmed. This man had been crying. I can't. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, "It's late, Miss Granger. You should go back to your dormitory. I should not have woken you."
"Professor Snape," she said quietly yet firmly, "what do you need me to do for you?"
He broke. 15 years of stress and hurt and guilt came pouring out of him. He would later reflect that it must have been absolutely horrifying to see her least favorite and most inhuman professor reduced to tears.
"I... Professor," she whispered.
"I have to do it," he gritted through his teeth, "I do not want to do this anymore. I have to do it. There is no other way. My soul. It. I..."
As he suffocated in his own sobs again, she moved closer to him. She raised a hand as if to reach out and touch his shoulder, but paused and thought better of it and dropped her hand to her lap. She stared at her fingers.
"I can't do this anymore. I can't be in this by myself," his voice was unrecognizable.
"Is that why you need me?"
"Please. Please. Can I trust you? I can't do this alone anymore. I just need one person to know. I need one person to know I'm not the devil incarnate. I need one person to talk to. Only one. Please," he begged, "Oh, God, I am sorry to even ask. My burdens are so heavy. To put them on you.." he faltered. Please.
"Professor, please," her voice shook, "you're scaring me. Please, just tell me what you have to do. Tell me what you need from me. If I cannot handle it, you can just obliviate me."
Never. He physically recoiled at the thought. He turned to face her directly. The tears were still fresh on his face but they had, for now, halted. The coal eyes settled on the honey. She waited. Fuck.
"I have to kill Albus Dumbledore."