Coward. Coward. Coward.
The incessant word kept running through Snape's head. Potter had really struck a nerve with that one word, but Snape would never admit why. The bitter truth was he believed it was true, at least on some level. He had done many cowardly things in his life, the worst having been being responsible for Lily's death.
No one knew the reason Dumbledore had trusted him so fervently, so tightly. That secret had been taken to the grave when Snape had murdered the only man who thought him worth something... since Lily. Now, Snape lived his days with the knowledge that he had killed the two people who had ever shown him some kindness.
It hardly mattered that Dumbledore had told Snape all along that, if it was necessary, he, Snape, would need to do the dastardly deed of killing him. Long before the Unbreakable Vow, Dumbledore and Snape had kept that thought in the back of their minds, and Dumbledore's adament, forceful retort at Snape's near begging of him to relieve him of this burden had always been the same. Those words from the old man's mouth had been especially harsh this past year. Dumbledore had been living on borrowed time, perhaps, but still...
Taken to drinking away much of his pathetic excuse for a life, Snape's resentment toward Dumbledore had only increased in the past couple of months. Years ago, when he had come to Dumbledore with remorse on his lips, Dumbledore had given him mercy, but at a severe price, and while Snape would agree to turn spy for the greater good, he and Dumbledore had failed to agree on many levels.
Dumbledore's firm insistence in the Potter boy being the one to defeat the Dark Lord, in the mediocre boy having such power as 'the Dark Lord knows not,' well, that was utter rubbish to Snape. From the moment he had lain eyes on Potter, he had been horribly reminded of James Potter. He had hated the boy before even meeting him, simply because of who he was - not only that insufferable James Potter's son, but Lily's... oh, sweet Lily! The resentment was a stronger case against the boy, but Snape would never admit that.
With Dumbledore gone, with Lily long gone, what did he have to live for? Had Dumbledore honestly expected him to carry on with his work? Snape snorted, for he knew the answer to this inane question, but he felt betrayed by Dumbledore. In his growing resentment, he found his hatred naturally taking hold.
Hatred was easy.
Hatred was the coward's way out.
If Potter dared step in front of Snape in that moment and challenge him to a duel, Snape couldn't promise he wouldn't do him serious harm. Kill him? He wouldn't go quite so far, for after all, if Potter ever proved useful, he would vanquish the Dark Lord. Snape smiled evilly to himself.
And then I would have no master to serve. For all Dumbledore's claim to care about my welfare, I find that hard to believe.
"Look at me now, old man," Snape muttered, slurring his words. "Are you proud of me? Have I come so far in your twinkling blue eyes?"
Snape threw the bottle he'd been nursing across the room, and it shattered against the wall of the sitting room in Spinner's End. The shards of glass joined the numerous others littering the floor there.
"I hate you, Albus; I hate you. At least the Dark Lord is honest about dealing out his punishments. Your empty promises mean nothing now. Worthy, indeed. I was worthy enough to have the honor of killing you, and now that I have done what you claimed to be heroic in an oddly twisted way, you are, thank Merlin, out of my life for good!"
Just then, the hidden door among the bookshelves slid open, and Wormtail stepped into the room. He slunk across the room, eyeing Snape warily with his watery eyes.
"Who're you talking to, Snape?" the short man asked. He noticed yet another bottle smashed and smirked. "Ah, talking to yourself again, eh?" he teased. "Poor Snivellus. The Dark Lord didn't quite reward you the way you thought he would for offing the old man, did he? You've lost a lot of rank with this nasty habit you've developed. Are you jealous?"
Snape spat on the floor and glared at Wormtail. "Shut your mouth, you rat, and don't natter on about things you don't understand."
Wormtail grinned. "Right you are, Snape. I don't understand mindless prattle. You really have lost your touch, haven't you? Used to always be so smooth-tongued and slithering out of action..."
Normally, had Snape been his usual formidable self, Wormtail wouldn't have taunted him. Usually the weak one, Wormtail was accustomed to being teased, but he took every opportunity he had to exert his power over this shattered, intoxicated Snape.
Snape glared at Wormtail and walked away, not wishing to further incriminate himself. He knew what his comrades were muttering about him. True, they had never trusted him, but he knew he was showing a weakness greater than ever before since killing Dumbledore. Snape withdrew to his bedroom upstairs, locking himself in. He didn't need reminders from the likes of that traitor Wormtail how treacherous he was and what a failure he had become.
Overcome with inebriation and emptiness, Snape slumped into his bed, fully clothed, and fell asleep. When he woke, it was the middle of the night, and he sat up, sobered and with a horrible headache. Groaning at his stupidity, Snape stood and left the bedroom, going down to the kitchen to prepare some strong coffee.
A few minutes later, he sat at the kitchen table, thinking about any number of things. Thankfully, he didn't need to worry about being interrupted by Wormtail, as the small man slept through the night.
What am I doing with myself? If Albus were here, he'd be ashamed of me; there's no doubt about that.
Snape sighed heavily and rubbed at his aching temples. For the first time in weeks, the smallest glimmer of hope returned to him. He had always been a good spy, and to play to his strengths would be to his advantage if he cared enough about his meagre life to keep it.
After finishing the coffee, Snape went back upstairs and quickly showered and changed his clothes. In the pre-dawn morning, he left the house, the darkness shrouding him in his equally black clothes. When he reached the end of the street, Snape glanced around, ensuring no one was watching and ducked into the shadow of a tree and Disapparated.
Apparating to the edge of Hogsmeade, Snape decided to first spend several hours staking out the dogdy areas of the village. There was daily activity among Dark wizards and Death Eaters there. After that, he figured he would just as soon pay Knockturn Alley a visit.
Slowly, the sun rose, and the temperature warmed. The late summer day was comfortable, and Snape could feel the chill of autumn in the early morning air. He entered the Hog's Head, but not before transfiguring his facial features enough so as not to be recognized by the owner. Snape knew Aberforth Dumbledore was the surly old man behind the bar, and it wouldn't do to be recognized by a member of the Order.
Most of the morning passed uneventfully, but Snape did overhear some interesting bit of news from the owner as he murmured to a costumer who was seated at the counter. Apparently, Potter and his friends had been in the shady pub the previous evening, inquiring after a certain locket. Snape frowned, wondering what this meant.
His mind drifted back to the previous year when Dumbledore had come to him with great need of his assistance in healing from Dark magic. Dumbledore's blackened, withered hand had raised many questions, but Dumbledore wouldn't elaborate. Snape was no fool, though. He recognized the ring almost immediately: It had been Slytherin's ring. Dumbledore had mentioned something about visiting the abandoned house of the Gaunts. Some quick research into Hogwarts' old school records, and Snape quickly discovered that Merope Gaunt had been Tom Riddle's mother. There had always been a strong suspicion among the Dark Lord's followers as to how he kept himself alive even when without a corporeal form for so many years, and although the knowledge was rare, Snape knew more than a few things about the Dark Arts.
The Dark Lord must have created a Horcrux. More than one, surely, and only a Horcrux could have done that amount of damage to Dumbledore's hand. Now, hearing of this locket, Snape's suspicions were confirmed: There had to be more than one Horcrux, and Dumbledore must have told Potter about them.
Returning to what was going on around him in the pub, Snape realized noon had come and gone, and so, he stood and left. As he walked down a deserted alley, he cursed Dumbledore yet again.
You left Potter alone to destroy objects containing the Dark Lord's soul, and you didn't think to tell anyone else, Albus? Why am I not surprised? You always were annoyingly mysterious and vague in your explanations. No doubt you only told people what you thought they needed to know.
His demeanor growing more sour by the minute, Snape Apparated to Knockturn Alley.
After their bad luck at Grimmauld Place, Harry recalled his encounter with Mundungus Fletcher as he caught him nicking items from Sirius's old house. Mundungus had been talking with the owner of the Hog's Head that day right before Harry verbally attacked him for stealing. Although he couldn't be sure, Harry knew it was a lead, so he took it, figuring his trip to Godric's Hollow could wait a couple more days.
When he went to the Hog's Head, he hadn't been expecting anything informative to happen. Because of the failure so far in his quest, and with his bitter attitude, Harry was pleasantly surprised to learn that the owner was Dumbledore's own brother. While Dumbledore hadn't told Aberforth much, he had told him about certain objects that may be on the black market and to keep an eye out for them: a locket and a cup in particular.
Now, Harry wondered why Dumbledore had gone to the cave in search of the locket if he thought it might not even be there. Adding that to so many questions he already had, Harry swore he would have bombarded the old wizard with a thousand questions and demands before welcoming him back to the world of the living had it been possible to resurrect the dead.
Today, however, Harry felt a little closer to defeating Voldemort once and for all. The true locket Horcrux was in his pocket, and although he still needed to find a way to destroy it, at least he had located the real one.
At Hermione's suggestion of visiting places that were significant to Voldemort, Harry decided to go to Borgin and Burke's in Knockturn Alley. The cave and the Gaunt house had both been important in Voldemort's past, so with a shred of hope in his heart, Harry entered the shifty shop that early afternoon. He kept his hood up, as to not raise suspicion, for hiding one's true identity in a place like this was the norm.
Harry wasn't sure how he would get the information he wanted, but as he pretended to casually peruse the items in the shop, he suddenly heard a voice that instantly made his insides boil.
Snape.
Harry ducked behind a shelf full of pickled animals in jars. Sure enough, standing not more than fifteen feet away, his back to Harry, was the dark, tall, and menacing figure of Severus Snape. Harry's hand went for his wand. Ron and Hermione were outside, leaving Harry alone to deal with the traitor.
Good, thought Harry savagely. It'll be just us, one on one.
He didn't want to endanger his friends, so Harry surreptitiously warded the shop from intruders. He aimed a careful stunner at the owner, glad to be of age and to have finally mastered non-verbal spells. In his determination and resolve since leaving Hogwarts, Harry would be damned if he was going to be unprepared for battle.
Shocked to see Borgin topple over right in front of his eyes, Snape turned around, and his black eyes met green ones. A well-mastered sneer graced his thin lips, and he reached for his wand.
"Potter," he growled, walking toward the boy.
"Snape," Harry said just as threateningly.
"Fancy seeing you here," Snape said sarcastically. "Have you finally embraced your dark side, Potter? I seem to remember you showing an aptitude for it a few months ago when you cursed Draco Malfoy."
"Shut up!" Harry snarled. He tried to cast the very spell, Sectumsempra, he'd used on Malfoy. However, Snape was still too learned and quick for him.
Snape laughed humorlessly. "Do you really think you can beat me in a duel, Potter? I see you've learned non-verbal spells, especially ones you've stolen from me, but as I told you, you won't dare use my spell against me!"
"I said to shut it!" Harry bellowed. "You've got a lot of nerve, Snape, showing your ugly face in public after murdering Dumbledore! I swore I'd get my revenge, and that's what I intend to do-"
Before Harry could finish speaking, however, Snape blasted Harry with a weakened version of Sectumsempra. Like the adolescent Snape had done to James in the Pensieve memory, a nasty cut formed on Harry's cheek, and then Snape slashed his wand again, causing Harry's other cheek to bleed. Harry felt dizzy as the blood drained, and he stumbled to the floor.
"Fight fairly, you coward!" Harry yelled furiously.
Snape stalked over to Harry and stood over him. Harry was sickeningly reminded of his last encounter with Snape.
"I should have your neck for calling me a coward again," Snape hissed. He kicked Harry in the side and slashed his wand a third time, cutting Harry's forehead.
Harry struggled to keep his eyes on Snape, but with the loss of blood, he was becoming increasingly lightheaded and losing his ability to concentrate.
"You're nothing," Harry said in a deadly whisper, glaring daggers at Snape. "Dumbledore should've seen right through you the way I do. You'll see, Snape. You'll meet your own sticky end."
Snape kicked him again. "Stop wasting my time, Potter. You're pathetic. And don't you dare talk about things your little mind can't understand. I'll see you again soon, I daresay."
With that, Snape Disapparated, and Harry sat up, dropping his wand, and trying to stop the bleeding with his hands over his face. His fury was beyond words. Disgraced, Harry yelled at the air, "You coward! You coward! You coward!"