Tricks of the Mind
A belated birthday present, SpencerReid, but just for you! This chapter has taken ten attempts to write, being Chapter Ten and all - and it will not behave. But.
As a side note. Excessively Perky, I bow and offer the ending of this chapter as homage.
Chapter Ten:
Severus stirred, head aching behind his temples. He raised his fingers to his warm skin and massaged gently, hissing slightly. His eyes flickered open and he stared up at the ceiling, too white and too bright for his liking. He turned his head slowly to one side, bringing his vision back into some sort of focus, and flinched at the colours. He was still in this house, then. He had hoped it had all been some terrible nightmare.
But no.
He closed his eyes again, wanting to kick the blanket away because he was too hot. His head was pounding, as if he had drunk too much alcohol and the intoxication was still poisoning his blood. Moaning, he clenched the blankets and attempted to pull himself together. That was harder - conjuring the thought was difficult - almost as if his nerve impulses were not working - or something was stopping things making sense -
He sat up, horror drowning his stomach before he wished he had not moved quite so quickly. He knew this feeling. He had seen it enough times - the dazed expression, the blank look - it was the power that Veritaserum had over a weak mind. Severus was practically immune to its effects - the Occlumency barriers he erected protecting much of his mind - but even he could be defeated if it was subtle.
If he hadn't known.
If someone had been feeding him a small amount of the potion, constantly, over a prolonged period -
Dumbledore had been giving him Veritaserum. Tiny amounts - but enough to build up in his system - to start chipping away at those barriers - Severus would hardly have noticed - it could have started at Hogwarts, that may have been why he had said such terrible things -
He had to get out of here. It was becoming a matter of urgency now. He could not stay here. He would end up saying something he regretted. A piece of information - whatever - not that he was sure what Dumbledore wanted. None of this made much sense. Was he under suspicion again? Did the Ministry think he was still serving the Dark Lord on his imminent return? He knew he played the game well - but - he had demonstrated enough times that he was loyal, had been through the trials, the interrogation, the humiliation…
He closed his eyes against the memories - the cold Azkaban cell, the cruelty of those who saw him as nothing more than a lying snake - the sting of the Veritaserum - no - he would not remember this -
He crossed the carpet in a hurry and headed for the stairs. Down them two at a time - across the hallway - to the door - where was he supposed to go - what was he supposed to do - where was he supposed to head - he did not care -
He rattled the door and found it locked. Reached for his wand - of course, he had no wand, Dumbledore had his wand - and he realised then, in that moment, this was Azkaban.
Again. He was back in Azkaban, the cold and the fear and the Dementors and the locked doors and the lack of magic, and the determination to escape and the hatred of his captors, his captive self, those who had put him there, those who would keep him there - Dumbledore -
It was always Dumbledore! He was there, always. Making Severus' life difficult and harder and keeping him trapped. He truly was the puppet on a string. Not allowed to leave Hogwarts, not allowed to leave here, frightened into submission by the threat of Azkaban, driven into reluctant adoration when the other rescued him from Azkaban, willing to serve - willing to sit around - willing to do as he was damn well told -
It was always Dumbledore.
He rattled the door again, louder this time, letting out a growl of frustration when it did not move, taunted him only - "I will not stay here!" Bellowing at the wood made no difference - he leant against the door and his arm hurt. He stared down at the bandage. He needed no bandage. The tiny cut nails of his hands - he tugged the bandage away and stared at the Mark on his arm. Dark and black and lined with dried blood and scratches. The reminder that he was nothing more than a servant.
He sank down against the door. Why did the arm have to hurt? Why did he have to be here? Why had he taken the Mark in the first place? Why could he have not just been normal? Why hadn't he followed his original dreams - to be a Potions Master - to discover potions that no one had dreamed - to live in an exotic country on a handsome wage - never to worry about food or captivity or loneliness or isolation - just - just him.
When had his life become so damned empty?
The moment Albus Dumbledore had decided he needed Severus. Offered him a lifeline, the lifeline a twenty one year old man was searching for to save his one best friend and her husband and their child - her child - and used it as -
"The key to your cage?"
Severus' head shot up. Dumbledore was leaning against the wall, fingers casually wrapped around Severus' wand. "You should not think so loudly. But you are correct. I keep you locked away, the bars are your own mistakes - and the key is Lily. That is the only way to use you."
Severus stared at him. "Give me…my wand."
"Why? What will you do with it? Apparate away from here? Where will you go? You forget, Severus, that I need you. And because I need you, I will not let you go." His voice turned cruelly mocking, "And you don't want to return to Azkaban, do you?"
Severus was staring at his wand - "Give it to me."
Albus held it out to him. Severus had forgotten how to stand.
"You are a coward, Severus Tobias Snape. That is your prison. Not me - not whoever else you wish to try to blame - just you. You and your cowardice."
Severus remembered how to stand. And move quickly. And snatch. And suddenly he was holding his wand, pointing it at Dumbledore, hand shaking. "I could kill you. I could kill you where you stand."
"You could. I am conveniently unarmed. You are conveniently armed. You could indeed kill me. But why?"
"Because of what you are."
"And what, am I, Severus? The great and the benevolent, offering Death-Eaters a chance for redemption and rehabilitation. What is so wrong with that?" Albus' tone was benign, gentle, teasing.
"If I kill you, I won't have to go back to him." His Dark Mark burned, aware of such treachery, and he wondered if the Dark Lord knew it too.
"That would be enough reasoning. Could you do it though? Are you capable of it, Severus? Are you capable?"
He gripped the wand tighter, his muscles tense. He could see his knuckles, turning white. His breathing was too sharp, too short. "You did this to me."
"No, Severus. You did this to you. I just help with the damage control…"
"I am only damaged because of you!" Severus spat, knowing that it was the Veritaserum talking rather than his own rational mind - but he was going to do this - he was going to kill him -
"Voldemort broke you, Severus. He turned you into this twisted monster. No one else is responsible. Besides you for being weak. And wanting it."
"Then watch me, Dumbledore. Watch me fulfil your own expectations." He raised his wand again, aiming for Dumbledore's chest -
"You need me, Severus. You will not admit it. But you need me. You need me to keep you locked away. Because what are you, if not locked away?"
He knew the words of the curse.
"Exactly what you accused Remus of being."
It would take no more than four seconds.
"A monster."
It was the flare of anger. It took no more than four seconds. Flash of green light, the snarl of a curse, and Albus Dumbledore hit the floor.
Still.
Severus stood where he was, wand still extended, not quite sure what he had just done. The evidence was before his eyes, ringing in his ears - but -
He stepped closer to Dumbledore, thinking this was another trick. This had to be a trick. But Dumbledore did not move. His eyes were open. The expression within them was glassy. He did not blink.
Severus stared at him. He had murdered Albus Dumbledore.
He knelt by the body. Placed his hand to the cooling throat. But there was nothing to feel. No pulse. No heartbeat. No life.
He threw the wand away, disgusted at its treachery.
What had he done?