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Circumstances Being What They Are
"If I am walking with two other men, each of them will serve as my teacher. I will pick out the good points of the one and imitate them, and the bad points of the other and correct them in myself."
- Confucius
"If you would have a faithful servant, and one that you like, serve yourself."
- Benjamin Franklin
:::
Dumbledore had asked him if was prepared, and Severus Snape had wanted so badly to reply flippantly, "Ready to endure the torture that's sure to come? Ready to face more than a passing chance of death? No, Headmaster, I've ignoredthe painful itch of the Dark Mark and Igor Karkaroff's frightened bleating for the past eight months." But since raving wouldn't change anything, he replied, "I am."
He was two hours late. At the height of his power, the Dark Lord might kill a follower for daring to be two minutes late.
He swept from the castle and moved purposefully towards the Forbidden Forest—an excursion easily explained to any nosy student who might be watching that would conceal his true destination. Appearances and impressions would be vital from this point forward. Snape fully understood the knife's edge he was balancing on. If he had his way, either way this new war ended, neither side would ever know the true extent of his involvement with the other. A foolish wish, perhaps, given the assembled cast of characters and the likely progression of events, but it existed nonetheless. For the moment, he could only focus on the immediate future. He may have few allies in the Order of the Phoenix, but he had fewer still among the Death Eaters. And the latter were far more disposed to seek a fellow's downfall if it meant their own advancement.
Having reached the boundaries of the Hogwarts wards, Severus grasped on to the weakened link of the Dark Mark's pull and Apparated. He wondered, for a moment, if this was indeed the right place. The shabby graveyard and the manor house on a near hill all felt too much a part of the Muggle world. And then he felt it; the unmistakable aura of powerful Dark magic, recently performed, erased any doubt he might have had. The air of the June night hung heavily about him. His progress towards the house was halted by two figures, hooded and masked, who appeared in front of him.
"Finally gathered enough courage to face the Dark Lord, Snape?" a voice asked that he couldn't place.
"Maybe we should prepare him for our Lord's displeasure. Our master wouldn't mind if we began with one or two rounds of the Cruciatus to loosen him up," said Avery, his pitchy whine unmistakable even behind a mask.
"The eagerness of a guilty conscience doesn't suit you, Avery. You would do better to search for Karkaroff. He has made it clear he will not return to our master," Snape retorted. Skillful employment of deflection and misdirection would be imperative until his position within the Death Eaters was vindicated. If it was vindicated.
"Watch your mouth, Snape. The Dark Lord has already forgiven us. You can't say the same, " snapped Avery, illuminating Snape's position in crudely simplistic terms.
Snape stalked up to Avery, using his height to his best advantage, vaguely noting the other Death Eater's wand firmly aimed at his chest, and said, "Are you really so arrogant to presume to know our Lord's mind? Until he passes his judgment you wouldn't dare do anything." He put on his most contemptuous grimace, not fabricating his disgust. Avery seemed to contemplate his original suggestion for a moment, and Snape pitied the man if he did act.
When no rejoinder or curse came, Snape stepped back satisfied. "Gentleman," he said, brushing past them. He continued toward the house and was not impeded again. It was a signal of confidence meant to inspire the followers of the Dark Lord that there was little other security. Inside the house was dank and dusty. From the second story came the sounds of hushed voices and the faint crackling of a fire. The ancient floorboards creaked under his weight as he climbed the stairs. Approaching the room at the end of the hall, the voices became more distinct.
"I imagine even the pitiful Muggles of this place have noticed something of my return. Although I very much doubt they know what it means," a cold, high voice said. Lord Voldemort's voice. It was like and unlike the voice that he remembered from more than a decade before. Potter had said the Dark Lord had regained a body, but would anything remain of the Dark Lord of Severus' memories? Or had this new incarnation lost even that last shred of the handsome, promising, inspiring man he had once been? If he could no longer gain and control followers through persuasion and charm, Severus dreaded the consequences of his capricious whims.
"My lord, should you wish it, Malfoy Manor will be at your disposal." Trust Malfoy to already be doing his utmost to ingratiate himself with the returned Dark Lord.
"An admirable start to returning to my good graces, Lucius. I may not even punish you for the impertinence." He could see the impatient wave of a pale hand to dismiss Malfoy in his mind's eye. He reached for the doorknob when the Dark Lord spoke again.
"Ah, the lost sheep of my flock has seen fit to return to us. Show him in, Wormtail." He remembered that name from his schoolboy days. Black's tale about Pettigrew the previous year must have had some merit then. Snape understood it was torture, casually done. A constant reminder to Pettigrew of exactly whom he had betrayed to receive this new position.
When he saw Pettigrew's beady eyes and twitchy demeanor, his animangus form made perfect sense. Pettigrew ushered Snape into the room and returned, cowering, to the side of a wing-backed chair angled to face the fireplace. Lucius stood off to one side, uneasy next to the curled form of Nagini who regarded Snape with a gaze far too intelligent for a snake. He moved to kneel in front of the chair, his eyes downcast the entire time. He did not dare speak until the Dark Lord gave him permission. But no welcome, no reproach, even no curse came. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the hiss and crack of the logs in the fire. The Dark Lord was a cat, toying with his meal. It must be amusing him to draw this out. Severus was unsettled by not being thrown immediately into an exquisitely executed Cruciatus Curse. The Dark Lord had always used it to great effect. But this anticipation, this waiting on tenterhooks for the blow to come, was horrible in its own way. He was certain his erstwhile master was aware of it.
"Why, do you think, did I not include you in my plan to use the Sorcerer's Stone in my rebirth?"
A dangerous question, and certainly not the one he was expecting.
"I was not worthy to receive in confidence the knowledge of your planned return."
"As tactful as ever, Severus."
And then his existence was nothing but pure, agonizing torture. A wordless Unforgivable. If not for the pain of ten thousand burning needles probing into his skin, Severus could almost marvel at the blithe display of power. Though his words may have veiled it, this was the true measure of the Dark Lord's displeasure with Severus Snape.
Just as suddenly as it began, it was over, leaving Severus lying on the floor, panting, gulping in the musty air. He moved to resume his kneeling position, eyes still downcast, contemplating the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, as if nothing would please him more to be forgiven and permitted to kiss those very hems.
"Four years now, Harry Potter has been a student at Hogwarts. Not once have you tried to dispose of him. Nor did you search for me and deliver him to me," the Dark Lord said. It was a statement of fact. There was no question hidden there. The meaning was clear—Snape had failed the Dark Lord. He had failed his master. The silence did not last very long this time.
"Have you been struck dumb, Severus? Was that first taste of the punishment you deserve too much? Should I end your suffering now?" the Dark Lord asked.
"My Lord, to kill Harry Potter, even just to kidnap the boy under the nose of Dumbledore would certainly do more to harm your eventual rise to power than to aid it," he said quickly, proud that there was only a slight quaver to his voice. It was a brazen gambit, but as he was still alive, it was worth it to see it through to the end.
The Dark Lord gestured to right and Nagini unfurled her coiled body and slithered next to her master. He stroked her diamond-shaped head as if he were contemplating Snape's words.
"An intriguing conclusion. Elaborate," came the demand in that unnerving, cold voice.
"Had I acted to bring about Potter's death before now, my Lord, your rebirth would not have given you the same protection that thwarted you in the past. Which of my fellow Death Eaters is positioned not only within Dumbledore's protection but his confidences, my Lord? He believes me a spy for his Order of the Phoenix, which reformed not an hour ago. Are you to rely on the reports of movements from Malfoy's offspring? Or Nott's? My Lord, the sons of Crabbe and Goyle are about as discreet as their fathers—" a sharp gesture stopped his argument. This version of the truth was both the most dangerous and most likely to convince the Dark Lord of his continued loyalty.
"You know of the ritual that was performed?"
"Dumbledore questioned the boy after he returned to Hogwarts. He explained the purpose in taking Potter's blood. The boy confirmed that you can now touch his skin without pain," he said, a note of wonder creeping into his voice. It was easy to remember what had attracted him as a young, ambitious student to the Dark Lord. Where else might one encounter wizards confident enough to perform such Dark rituals? If he could just as easily fall back into his old mind-set of devoted follower, he might yet survive this encounter. His master continued to stroke the head of Nagini. But his hand soon paused, and he began to twirl his wand instead.
"A spy you said?"
"That is his belief, my Lord."
If a snake could be said to have emotions, Snape would swear Nagini looked eager for her master to find him unworthy so that she might have dinner. Snape raised his eyes only enough to watch the progress of the Dark Lord's wand. He held it casually, but any wizard who underestimated the Dark Lord was surely too stupid to deserve his life.
"You are certain that your loyalties lie with me?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Crucio."
There was no defense against the pain. Every inch of Severus' skin felt as though it were being slowly pulled away from his body. It was impossible to tell if time had stopped or if it stretched on interminably.
And then nothing; the lingering after-effects of the curse, though achingly painful, were a relief after the full strength of the Cruciatus. He was slower to regain his place, kneeling at the feet of his master. What a fool he was for thinking he could fail the Dark Lord and remain unpunished.
"Where do your true loyalties lie?" The Dark Lord's voice was as even as ever.
"With you, my Lord," said Snape, willing his voice not to betray the pain he felt. His master would not wish him to display such weakness.
"Crucio."
He had earned this pain. Severus could not imagine his existence without this pain. And for a moment he welcomed the pain if it meant his master's pleasure.
It was though the Dark Lord had heard that admission, because Severus came back to himself, as he lay prostrate in front of his seated master. The battle to resume his kneeling position was won only through sheer force of will. The Dark Lord was again massaging the top of Nagini's scaled head.
When the Dark Lord spoke it was with an appraising air. "I would not blame you for having been taken in by Albus Dumbledore."
"I only seek his favor so that I may serve as your spy. I am ever your loyal servant," Severus replied, bracing for another Cruciatus curse, but it did not come. Another silence stretched between them. The sounds of his ragged breathing joined the crackling fire as the only noise in the room.
"The extent of your loyalty has yet to be determined. But for now, you are forgiven your misdeeds in my absence. You may show your appreciation."
Honestly relieved to be welcomed back into the fold, Severus kissed the dirty hems of the Dark Lord's robes with sincere gratitude. Never one to be cloyingly devoted, he moved back to his kneeling position before he was kicked away. For the first time that evening, Snape looked up into the face of the reborn Lord Voldemort. He held eye contact with the reptilian, red eyes for a beat. Two. Three. Hopefully it would be enough to convince the skilled Legilimens he had been truthful enough not to fear any invasion into his memories. His second risk of the night paid dividends—no violation came, the proffered opportunity apparently a strong enough display of his own confidence.
"You are dismissed, Severus."
With a bow, Severus said, "My Lord." He nodded to Lucius and made to leave the dilapidated house. Before he reached the door, however, his master's cold, hard voice reached him.
"You will do well to be prompt the next time you are summoned. I will not always be in such a forgiving mood."
Severus turned, bowed once more, and said, "Your graciousness is always remembered by those who receive it, my Lord."
"Leave before I decide to punish you for cheek. Although I'm sure Lucius would enjoy the company."
Severus did not need to be told twice and walked with more assurance than he felt down the stairs. In the parlor, Severus saw the unknown Death Eater resting on a moth-bitten chair. He assumed the man was asleep until a deep voice said, "I see you survived your interview."
Without knowing who was behind the mask he couldn't be sure of the intention behind the remark. Snape straightened his robes and replied, "The Dark Lord has always been aware of his assets."
The first step had been taken, with apparent success. Or, without apparent failure was perhaps a more apt description. Severus left the old manor worse than he arrived, but in better condition than he had originally hoped to leave. He wished the June night had cooled somewhat, but the air continued to hang, heavy and hot, around him. The sudden, unnatural chill of the Forbidden Forest prickled his skin. It helped ease the lingering pain of the Cruciatus, but Severus knew its effects couldn't be remedied so easily. His progress back to the castle was slow. If there was no immediate danger, the stillness of the Forest was nearly as calming as a gently simmering potion.
The ending of the third task of the Triwizard Tournament seemed a lifetime ago. Even the usually excitable students seemed to be asleep, the castle's windows darkened. The front doors opened at his touch and even the torches that lit the hallways seemed dimmed. Severus rubbed his left forearm absentmindedly as he made his way to the dungeons. He hoped his night was over, that he might be able to take a draught of Dreamless Sleep and ignore his morning classes, but the sight of the Bloody Baron floating in front of his private chambers vanished that hope. The ghost caught sight of him and approached with the eerie grace only the dead can manage.
"The Headmaster—"
"Would like to see me in his office, no doubt?"
The Baron inclined his head. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to head off the headache building behind his eyes. He began climbing the stairs out of the dungeons and made his way to the Headmaster's tower, however slowly. If Dumbledore was going to summon him after an audience with the Dark Lord, he would just have to be patient. At least one of his masters didn't punish tardiness with torture. Severus was glad no students were inclined to be out of bed tonight; although, taking a satisfyingly large amount of points this late in the year might brighten his mood. The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office must have been expecting him as it sprung to life and clambered out of the way even without the use of a password. Severus let the moving staircase carry him upwards, rather than hurry the process along by taking the stairs by two. The portraits of the deceased Headmasters still feigned sleep. Covering nearly every available surface, various magical objects whirred and buzzed gently creating a steady hum of background noise.
Albus Dumbledore sat at the Headmaster's desk, his fingers steepled. He didn't meet Severus' eyes, until he sat across from the Headmaster. Thankfully, he did not offer Severus whatever Muggle sweet he was peddling this week.
Tired of interminable silences, Snape said, "I am still alive. So at least it wasn't a complete failure."
"One day, Severus, your pessimism will fail you, and you'll be forced to see the brighter side of things."
"I dread that day, sir."
Dumbledore waited for Severus, who certainly wasn't in an obliging mood, to broach the subject at hand. He titled his head back and slumped down into his chair, completely ambivalent to respect and propriety.
"What is the state of the Death Eaters' organization?" The Headmaster's voice floated softly across the space between them.
Without moving from his position, he said, "Do you mean how many have returned to the side of the Dark Lord?"
"Yes. And how well provisioned they seem."
"I only met three—four if you count Pettigrew. Avery, Malfoy, and another whose voice I couldn't place. I'd imagine those that heeded the summons are those whom you'd expect. Nott, MacNair, Crabbe, Goyle, anyone that escaped a sentence in Azkaban." Severus paused in his report. He needed to remind himself that here, speculation would be welcomed.
"I imagine the Dark Lord is most anxious to free those loyal followers who did not escape a sentence in Azkaban. Recruiting for new followers and allies will begin immediately. The Dark Lord will wish to operate in secrecy until he is sure of his position. It will begin much the same as it did before—strange disappearances, unexplainable Muggle murders, and the like."
Dumbledore took this information in stride. None of it was new, or couldn't be inferred. Another silence, but Severus was too tired to be bothered by it.
"And Voldemort accepts your return to the Death Eaters?"
Snape couldn't tell if his voice lent more to mockery or sincerity when he said, "The Dark Lord accepted my humblest apologies for my past mistakes, and is allowing me an opportunity to show my true loyalty."
"So then, he does not fully trust you," the Headmaster said succinctly. Severus snapped his head forward and met the hard gaze of the Headmaster. There was no reproach, no condemnation for failure, it was a statement delivered without inflection. He did not like thinking of one master while trying to please the other. Like and unlike as they were, it was part of what made them formidable opponents for each other.
"He trusts me as much as I've given him reason him to. He is very tempted by the thought of a spy in the Order of the Phoenix, however. If I prove my loyalty, the Dark Lord will reward me by entrusting me with this plans," he said tersely, now sitting stiff-backed on the edge of his seat.
"That has been the plan."
"Then the rest of your Order recognizes this opportunity?" Snape held himself apart from the Order purposefully; Dumbledore knew his reasons.
"They certainly recognize the personal risk you're taking," the Headmaster's voice was again soft, reassuring.
His short, barked laugh sounded harsh and too loud in the quiet office. "Thinking the Order will ever trust me is foolhardy, sir."
"I continue to hope," Dumbledore said with a glimmer of a twinkle in his eye.
"I would like, Professor, to prove my loyalty to the Dark Lord sooner rather than later. Given Fudge's likely obstinacy on the subject of his return, this will probably mean information on the Order's operations."
"I will manufacture information that will appear significant for you to give to Voldemort, but not put any of the Order in danger," Dumbledore said distractedly. Fingers still steepled, he seemed to be only half present.
"I doubt many such possibilities exist. It is almost certain you will eventually need to give me information that will put lives at risk."
"Ah, but it is my responsibility to delay such a time as long as possible." A quiet settled over the office again. Severus resumed his slumped position. Dumbledore sighed and said quietly, "I fear your path will only become more treacherous from here on."
He did not want to tread these paths again tonight. Severus stood up and straightened his robes. Before he turned to leave, he said, "I am a spy, crossing the most powerful Dark wizard this world has ever seen. If I survive this war, it would be more than miracle. I've had more than a decade to make my peace with this reality."
"The bright side, Severus. Look for the bright side," Dumbledore insisted. For the first time in a long while, the Headmaster seemed to be showing his age.
"I do not have that luxury, Headmaster," he replied plainly. It was another version of the truth. Severus could not afford to hope he will survive this war. Reality was a cruel mistress.
"I won't keep you from your bed any longer. Given tonight's events, I have canceled tomorrow's classes, well, I suppose that would be last night's events and today's classes. No need to worry about Mr. Longbottom melting a cauldron."
"Small mercies, Headmaster. One more year until O.W.L.s."
The Headmaster chuckled and Severus left the office before the conversation could be extended again. Hogwarts was still; he didn't even meet Mrs. Norris on his return to the dungeons. His personal rooms were blissfully quiet, deserted, and unchanged from when he had left them this morning. Alone with his thoughts, Severus Snape contemplated the facts of the day. He was again beholden to two masters, one piece in the larger struggle between Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore. How to serve both equally and himself best would be the difficult part.
A/N: Honestly can say I never thought I'd write fic for HP. But then I reread the series and this happened. Thanks and hugs and a massive debt to TheOneCalledEli for her grammar nitpicks and dealing with my nagging.