The Usual Disclaimer: Jo's lovely, lovely characters and setting; my plot messing around with it. No knuts... not a single knut... in my vault in Gringotts... So pay me in reviews, please? Thanks.

"Some things aren't worth it," Snape said softly.

He looked down at his plate, pushed some food around, and looked back up to see the boy watching him, hunched over his plate, hands clenched below the table. It was strange… his face kept flickering from boy to man and back – Potter, the boy in his memory, overlaid on Potter, the man in front of him, the man's face pushing aside the boy's. They were much the same in some ways, but different in ways that made Snape's heart ache – the same eyes, haunted now… the same face, but older, worn… How could that be? He's only twenty-five. The same scar, lighter now… the same smile, when he let it show, although… sadder… or something. The boy was still there, though, wasn't he? He hoped so. He looked away again. It hurt. Six years, five months, seventeen days... Damn, he had missed him… It had made him empty… had made his life empty… meaningless.

"I'm sorry… where was I?"

"Why did you stay – with the Death Eaters?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was just his wounds… and the chair was hard. That's all. "I don't know. I think it was just… somewhere to belong. I had no friends, no family. I just… I just wanted… something. And even though I had some misgivings about what they were doing, what they said, even though I winced every time Lucius used the word 'Mudblood' – I really wanted to punch his mouth – I didn't let that dissuade me. I tried to convince myself, I think, that I was right – that Lily wasn't worth it, that… some other… woman, maybe, would be… a Pure-blood would be… but… that was not going to be. I was fooling… I was lying to myself. I did that a lot. I did that a lot."

His voice trailed off. He knew damned well what he lied to himself about… but that was not what the man needed to know. He shook himself and got back on track.

"And then – I don't even remember what I was doing here, but I saw Dumbledore go up the stairs to talk to some woman… weirdest looking woman…" He laughed hollowly. "Gods, she was strange! Even then. I don't think she changed, actually, over time. I think she stayed exactly the same. She looked pretty much as she did when you were her student – same absurd, thick glasses, and all those talismans and charms hanging off of her… I thought he was consulting a seer about something, and I thought it might be interesting to know what he was up to, so I crept up the stairs when Aberforth's back was turned, and listened at the door."

Potter's eyes flicked to the staircase and back to him. Snape could feel it at his back… could practically smell it – the goats, the food, the sound of people talking in murmurs… Aberforth behind the counter, looking the other way for just a moment, long enough for Snape, at nineteen, to slip up the stairs in the dimness, dark cloak helping him to slip past unnoticed, to listen at the door.

"And she was just begging for a teaching position. That's all she was doing. I was about to turn away. I was disgusted – there was no point to being there… and then… her voice changed, and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end."

Potter rubbed the back of his own neck, as if he recognized that feeling.

"And I froze," Snape went on, "and I listened. And I heard… some of it. Thank God I didn't hear all of it. Though, maybe it would have been better if I had – I don't know. But I heard some of it and I, ah…" He sighed. "I must have made a noise. Dumbledore suddenly stopped talking and I heard him – I heard footsteps coming toward the door. And I turned away and I ran. Aberforth was coming up the stairs. I about knocked him over, but to tell you the truth, he was a big man, and… He probably would have flattened me, had he caught me, if he knew what I was doing. I didn't belong upstairs anyway. And … I fled." Like the coward I am.

Potter was frozen, watching him. He wondered what the man thought of that… hearing about the day it all began, the day it all changed, the day that led to… all of it. He felt sick, himself. He pushed his plate away before he continued.

"It took me a while to… first of all, to figure out that it was worthwhile to tell the Dark Lord, and then to get access. I was nineteen." Nineteen years, five months, twelve days. He'd figured that out sometime in the last six years. But what did that matter? He'd known better. Hadn't he?

"He was surrounded by older men and women in their thirties, and forties and fifties, and… there was no particular reason why he should have talked to me. He was… fifty-three at the time, I think." I should figure that out. "There was no reason for him to talk to me, a kid. I just wanted him to… see me. I just wanted someone to see me. I wanted to matter… to someone." He'd never said that before. Not aloud… not even to himself. "But… Gods, what was I thinking?" He put his hands to his forehead, elbows propped on the table, shaking his head repeatedly, shielding his eyes from the boy. Coward.

Potter made some sound, but did not turn it into words. It didn't matter. Snape could not bring himself to look at him. Merlin, Hecate, and all the gods in heaven! What am I doing, talking like this?

Finish it, Severus. Damn it. Tell the truth!

"I… I wanted to work my way up to him," he said, looking down at the table. "So I started attending meetings, and paying attention, and looking like a good little Death Eater… and… but… even though I had the Mark, you just don't get an audience with the Dark Lord – especially not alone. For one thing, Bellatrix Lestrange was always hanging on his arm. But I managed it in the end. I don't even remember how we happened to be in a room together alone. Ordinarily, I'd have been quaking. He was a frightening figure, even then."

The man across from him was staring at him. He could feel it. I wonder if he's reading me? He didn't bother to invoke Occlumancy. What's the point? If he reads me, I won't have to say it. What the it was, he was not sure.

"I should have known. I just wasn't paying attention." He stopped and shook his head, chiding himself. "I did know. I just wasn't… I just wasn't looking for… the right thing. And so I… I told him what I'd heard. And he swore me to secrecy, of course."

As if I'd have survived that! Gods, I was a fool! How could I have…?

"I said I would – keep it secret, I mean. But then he started some plans… The meetings of the Death Eaters became a little more organized, a little more focused, a little more intense, and… ah… Several weeks later, I realized what he intended to do… that he intended to… He'd done some research… had Mulcibur do some research with his contacts at St. Mungo's, find out who was being treated for prenatal care. There were only two – two babies due to be born at the end of July to couples who had defied him – the Longbottoms and the Potters."

He couldn't look at the boy, so he stared at his hands rather than Potter. You should hate me. Gods, you should still hate me! His hands shook. What am I doing here? What are you doing here?

"Neville's parents had… I don't know why he didn't choose them. I think it's because they were Pure-blood. I think Lily's Muggle origins offended him, reminded him of himself. The fact that you would have been, if not a half-blood, at least born to a Muggleborn – I think it enraged him."

"It's because he was half-blood himself, wasn't it?"

Snape nodded at his hands. "I think so. I didn't know that, then. None of us did, he was so focused on his Pure-blood mania. I think there was something about that – the fact that Lily had been a Muggle… I think it was left-over rage from his father or something – I don't know. But for some reason, he focused on Lily and James, instead of the Longbottoms. Focused on you, really, even though you weren't born yet. He started making plans… to murder them. Murder you."

He looked up at Potter for a moment. The man's eyes were studying him intently. "I think that… Of course, if you'd been born three days later, if Neville had been the only one born the end of July… if Lily had miscarried… if…"

Potter made a sound of protest.

"I know. I don't know. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. There's… it doesn't matter. It just… it came out to be you, and he spent… a long time planning, but he…"

Snape drew a shaky breath and glanced up at the man. His green eyes were nearly dull – fatigue, maybe… but they focused on Snape. He didn't even think about why he was telling Potter this. He just kept talking, as if he'd been saving it up all these years, wanted the man to know.

"I went to Dumbledore. As soon as I knew that he was planning to kill them – any of them." I was… what was it? Nineteen years, nine months, two days. "I told Dumbledore that it was because it was Lily, but I… I… I couldn't. I couldn't. I couldn't let it go. He was going to kill a baby! I don't think I really understood, until that moment, what a sick bastard he was. I'd have warned about the Longbottoms, too, but… he'd already focused on Lily and James. So I told Dumbledore… and I begged him to protect the three of you."

He shook his head. Tell the truth, Sev.

"I begged Dumbledore to protect Lily. And I begged the Dark Lord to spare Lily. He told me I could have any woman I wanted, that it didn't have to be a Muggleborn, that it… I was intent on that – that he would spare her. But I knew even then that he wasn't a trustworthy man, and…"

He looked up at Potter and searched his face. For what? He was begging. He knew it. "I'm sorry." His stomach twisted. "I'm… I'm sorry. I…" He stopped. Potter just frowned at him as if he was trying to figure something out.

He needed to say this, at least once… to be honest about it. "She loved James. And I was sure she would love her child… and I couldn't do that to her. So – for Lily, not for James, not for you, because you weren't even there, of course, and I didn't care. You were going to be James' son, so I didn't care," he said honestly. The boy's eyes filled with… hurt, maybe. Of course.

Do you understand, Potter? I didn't care… there was a time when I didn't care.

No. Don't go there.

"But for Lily – I asked Dumbledore to protect all three of you. To warn Lily and James, to put all of you in protective custody and… he did, but he… exacted a price. I'd have done anything. I'd have done anything," he said quietly, intently, almost to himself. "And… he asked me to spy… for the Order… So I did."

He blew out a long breath. "Holy crap," he said softly, looking down and shutting his eyes on the memory. Even now, he couldn't believe it – even now, looking back on it. Dear Merlin, he was a dead man. From that moment, he was dead.

Potter held still, barely breathing, as if he, too, was stunned at the memory.

"I told Voldemort… No – we got word to Voldemort that I couldn't be at the meetings for a while because I'd come down with Spattergroit. He sent Lucius to check on me. We fixed it up so that I looked ill. I was ill. Dumbledore gave me something, and it… it made me ill, made it look like I was seriously ill. And Lucius… Spattergroit is highly contagious, so he didn't come close enough to tell that wasn't quite it. And… given that it's a long illness, it gave me and Dumbledore months to work on setting up the protections around your home in Godric's Hollow…"

Potter grunted in surprise at that.

"… and to… for me to learn Occlumancy. Dumbledore, of course, knew Occlumancy and Legilimency. And he drilled me. Mercilessly. He was angry at me. He was disgusted with me. He hated me. And I didn't blame him, because I hated myself, and he…" He sighed heavily again, his eyes looking past Potter, into the distant past, remembering it, how it almost overcame him, how he had let Dumbledore hurt him, because – he deserved it, didn't he? "He… attacked me – over and over and over. And at first, I just let him. And he kept hollering at me, 'What good is that to anybody? What good is that going to be to anybody? You promised. You said you'd do anything.' He called me names. Made Snivellus look like child's play – which of course it was."

Potter made some wordless sound and Snape looked up. The boy looked sickened, almost angry. Snape shook his head and his lips twisted.

"I finally – finally – fought back, which of course was not what was necessary. And then, I finally learned it. Because it was getting closer to when Lily's child was going to be born, and… I needed to know… I needed to know what Voldemort was going to be doing. I needed to know if he knew, know if he… I needed to know. I needed to do it to protect Lily. So I learned it, learned Occlumancy. And I practiced it, and I practiced it, until even Dumbledore couldn't get through."

As if on command, he felt that wall come up. No! He fought it down. Not anymore. I'm done with hiding, damn it! No, Severus! He looked across at Potter and forced his mind open, willing himself to let the man read him, if he wanted… even that… even the way he felt. It was far too late to hide it from himself… and… Be honest, Sev. Tell the truth. He did not want to hide it from the Auror across from him. Potter did not penetrate his mind, but he left that option open, made himself maintain contact with those green eyes, despite that it hurt to do so, willed the man to read him, if he wished.

"And then I practiced pulling out everything I thought and felt, and dumping it into vials, and his Pensieve, and… whatever… so that, on the chance that Voldemort could get through, or could sense the Occlumancy, that…" He shook his head, and looked up at the ceiling as if some memory of it was plastered there. "… that there'd be nothing left in my mind for him to find."

"It hurt, the first time… ripping those memories out… I felt… empty, confused… I remember asking Dumbledore 'Who am I?' Not that I didn't know my name… I just didn't know… why I was… why I lived."

His voice shook and he struggled to gain mastery of it. Potter did not interrupt, and he was grateful. "And every damned time I went to a meeting… I'd pull almost everything I ever knew or felt about your mother, about James, about Dumbledore and what we'd been doing…" He inhaled deeply, still remembering how frightening that was, how it left him empty. "…out of my head, and give it to Dumbledore… for safe keeping… in that damned Pensieve of his. And every time I came back, I let him in – Dumbledore – let him read me, let him pull everything I heard, did, thought, felt…" He snorted softly. "… every pee I took… out of my brain so that he'd know that I was telling the truth. Because of course, he didn't trust me. No reason why he should have. Hell, I didn't trust myself."

He could not look up, did not want to see the look on Potter's face. Coward.

"Do you know what that's like? No secrets. Not how often you fart or whether you pick your nose or what fantasies you masturbate to… not what you wish had happened, not your hates and loves and the things that make your soul curdle in shame… He demanded all of it… and I let him."

Why am I telling him this? Why am I telling him this? He doesn't need to know…

"And then I had to trust him…to pour everything back in. And I felt everything all over again. Every time he poured it back into me, I felt it. Like it had just happened. And every time I went to a meeting of the Death Eaters, Voldemort, he'd…" He inhaled sharply.

Potter made a sound of protest, but Snape ignored it.

"Unpredictably, he'd turn his own powers of Legilimency on… any of us. And he took delight in it. It was like raping people. It is raping people. And I was no more, no less susceptible to that at that point than anyone else. He didn't want to make me look different, so the others wouldn't come asking questions. It wasn't until he came back that it increased. Because by then I was his right hand man…"

He sneered at that. He still hated himself for it. He did still hate himself for it.

"I had information on Dumbledore and the great Harry Potter to share with him. So every time I went to a meeting, once again, I'd dump some things into the Pensieve, into vials, use Occlumancy to tighten a small part, tuck it down until it was so tiny and so lost in everything else that I knew and thought and felt that he would have a hard time finding it, let alone opening it up. When Dumbledore… After Dumbledore died, I had to find a different way, so I dumped it into vials, and left myself a note – Vial number 80… Vial number 81… Take it back. The year you were born... the year you became an orphan, because…"

No! Don't go there!

He stopped, gathering his courage.

"And then I'd let him rape me again. But it was no more than what I deserved." He stopped, swallowed, mastered himself and realized he'd been rambling. He looked up to find Potter staring at him, frozen, and he suddenly remembered that he had penetrated Potter's mind that way. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely, and turned his eyes to his plate so that the man wouldn't see his tears. "I'm sorry." He sat frozen in misery and guilt for a while. Gods, I'm no better than Voldemort. His stomach twisted with it.

"Professor…"

"I'm sorry." He drew a breath through clenched teeth. It hurt. "What was your question?" His voice was tight with the need to hold back his tears and his self-hatred. "Your mother. That has nothing to do with your mother. I apologize."

Potter was pale, his food gone cold, his hands clasped tightly over his uneaten food. "No. It's… it's what I came for, I think, Professor. I… I think that's… I think I needed to know about that."

Snape looked at him a while and shook his head, disoriented. "What are you doing here, Potter?"

The man hesitated for a long while. "I'm not sure."

"There's something else you should know, Potter."

He wasn't sure how to say this. He had never said it aloud before, never put it into words, even though he knew it.

"One of the reasons that I was so hard on you, in addition to…" He gritted his teeth. "…all the rest of it – wishing I'd… been the one to marry Lily…"

Was that true? Why say that? Don't say that. That's not true… not anymore, if it was ever true. Tell the truth, Severus.

"… wishing your father had… drowned in the Black Lake on his way over to school… wishing that I'd never said that word… wishing I'd died before I ever heard that damned prophecy – in addition to that, Potter, one of the reasons that I was so hard on you is that…" And his voice shook. "…you reminded me of… myself. And… I don't think I could stand that. I didn't want to stand that. I just thought you ought to know." That was not all of it, but… it was enough… close enough. He laughed weakly. "That's an insult. I apologize for that, too."

"No. Professor… it's not an insult. I… don't… think it's accurate… but it's not an insult."

"If you say so."