Chapter 14 - Breathe

Spring 1980

He awoke in his kitchen in much the same position as his first trip, the dust and grime greeting him and immediately reminding him of what he had left behind. His older self had said he would need time to himself for this week, but for some reason, he hadn't been expecting that need to smack him in the face the second he arrived.

His eyes were watering and his nose running, probably due too the copious amounts of dust and dirt he was lying in. He was grateful for the dishrag he had stolen; it served quite well now as a handkerchief.

He did not know what he would do with himself. He could not leave the immediate area of his house—any whispers making it back to the Dark Lord that he had returned before he was supposed to would only cause someone he cared about harm. He was stuck in the End for a week. Like so much of his childhood, he was not optimistic for this vacation.

"Cope." That was what his portrait had told him to do. With a bag full of Muggle money, he would be able to cope rather well.

Hours later, he woke up on the floor of his living room, surrounded by takeaway containers and empty bottles. He had coped the way he knew best—greasy food, Irish whiskey, and bad telly. He had put off thinking about the last week as much as he could, but faced with exhaustion from his day, thoughts of Hermione Granger had swirled in his mind.

As he had drifted off to sleep, he knew this week would be very long indeed. He had only hoped his dreams would leave him in peace.

Now, awake again, he knew that he would not sleep well until he had confronted the Dark Lord. It was going to be a very long week.

The self-pity of the day before lifted with the dawn, and Snape found himself going slightly stir-crazy. He knew he could not change the house in any way, judging from the state of his museum, but he did find himself wishing to improve it. Having seen his home that clean and orderly made him realize just how bad he had let the house get. Not wishing to call attention to his magical signature, he decided to do it the Muggle way.

It took days, but the house had never looked better. There was something soothing about polishing old silver pieces and rubbing wax into bannisters until they gleamed. For the first time in his life, every window in the house was open, and the breeze took away the dank, depressing atmosphere of the house. He replaced every burned out and ancient light bulb in the house with newer bulbs, and the house almost felt cheery with their warm light.

He even took the rugs out into the back alley, hung them over a gate, and beat them within an inch of their life. Decades of dust and dirt flew in every direction as he vented out his anger and sadness. At times, the Dark Lord's face appeared in front of him, at other times, Hermione's. More often than not, it was his father or Lily—the two people who had betrayed him first. At night, he read the journals he had taken with him, and in its pages, he found that, eventually, he did seem to come to terms with all of this rage. He had a feeling that if he ever were to learn Legilimency as his older self had instructed him to do, all of these extra emotions had to go, so into the rugs they went.

He expelled all of his despair into the house, exorcizing demons and trying to remove Hermione from his mind. He knew the latter was in vain—he had spoken to his future self, and it was clear that whatever had happened between him and Hermione would never leave him, and it would only intensify throughout his life.

He saved the attic for last. He was not sure he could handle revisiting the site of their relationship. While so many things were indeed different, all it took was closing his eyes and he was right back there with her. He did not move a thing other than to dust, but as he worked, he focused on his memories, trying to imbue his few good memories of this house into the very matter surrounding him. The attic had been the place he hid as a child when his parents' rowing would get too much to handle. For once, the attic held good memories… too good and, by the same token as the bad, equally painful.

After wiping the last bits of dust from the baseboards, he stretched, working the kinks out of his back. For just a moment, he closed his eyes, envisioning the attic as it had been with Hermione… her bed just over against the far wall…

It was the last time he ever entered the room.

Once again, he prepared to go to the Dark Lord without summons, hoping that the news he brought would be enough to keep him from harm. Had it only been a week since he was here? On his way to the Malfoys' home, he quickly stopped by his mother's. He did not approach her—he just wanted to make sure she was safe. A rapid glance through her kitchen window proved she was just fine; in fact, she was, of course, preparing the same meal Hermione had fixed for him on their last night together. He would far rather have spent the evening eating with her than eating whatever five-course feast would be put before him tonight.

As he approached the front gates of Malfoy Manor, he realized how foolish this trip might have been. Had his mother not been home, he would not have been able to keep control of himself in his Master's presence. Showing up half-cocked ready to defend his mother would have only served to harm them both. He had a lot to learn about this spy business.

Having finally made it to the end of the walk, he raised his hand to knock on the door. Before his knuckles could make contact, the door swung open abruptly. As he looked down the hallway, he was surprised to see no one there.

"Sir is back! I is being so pleased!" Dobby looked up at him shyly, his unbandaged hands fidgeting with a drooped ear.

"Yes, Dobby, I have returned. I believe the Dark Lord is expecting me?"

"He and the Master and the Mistress is eating dinner. You is coming with me now."

And before he could respond, the little elf slipped his hand into his own and practically dragged him down the hallway. It was such a simple gesture, and yet it calmed him. As they approached the door to the main dining room, Dobby squeezed his hand once more and winked out of the room. He heard himself being announced and waited a few seconds before entering.

He quickly glanced up to confirm the members of the room before deciding upon a chair. He could not believe it, but Narcissa somehow managed to look markedly more pregnant than the week before. He took the seat next to her. His nerves got the best of him, and he found himself unable to make eye contact with anything but his teacup.

As he seated himself, this time a house-elf strangely absent, his Lord began to speak.

"I see you have returned, Severus. I do hope your journey was… successful. I would hate to think of the consequences should you have returned with nothing."

"Yes, my Lord, aside from a few inconveniences, my trip to the future was indeed successful."

"Inconveniences?"

"Yes. I suffered from a fairly severe nasal hemorrhage the night of my arrival."

"Ah. Noted. And the boy?"

"Already dead, my Lord. By your own hand." He hoped his words sounded convincing. They must have, judging by the predatory gleam in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"When?" The Dark Lord leaned forward in anticipation.

"In 1998."

"Must I wait so long, Severus? Who is the child. If we know now, why can we not just act at this moment?"

"Potter, my Lord. A boy named Harry Potter."

"Potter? The child will be the son of that boy who married your childhood Mudblood?"

Lucius snorted, his best pureblood look of disdain crossing his face.

Snape desperately tried not flinching at that, thoughts of both Lily and Hermione flooding his mind. "Yes, my Lord."

"So why not kill the boy when he is born?"

Snape took a deep breath. This was the moment that changed everything.

"Because, my Lord, through this boy, you will create the means for your own immortality."

Narcissa gasped. In all of his years of association with the Dark Lord, Snape had never seen such a look of shock cross his face.

"And what could you possibly mean by that, Severus."

"Horcruxes."

The Dark Lord actually dropped his fork. "Lucius and Narcissa, leave us."

Lucius glared at him, affronted. "But my Lord—"

"Now!" The Dark Lord bellowed.

Narcissa scurried to the exit with an irritated Lucius at her heels; that was as close as any Malfoy would get to stomping out of a room.

The Dark Lord pinned him with a stare nearly lethal. "Nobody knows about my Horcruxes, Severus. Nobody!"

It took everything he had in him to remember to breathe. "I do, my Lord." Breathe in, breathe out. "And your killing the Potter boy will create your strongest Horcrux. It is the Horcrux that assures your ultimate immortality."

"Why? Why is it the strongest?"

"It will begin in October, my Lord, when you will attempt to kill the child."

The Dark Lord did not look pleased. "Attempt? Severus, I never fail to kill those I have marked for death."

In spite of his obvious annoyance, the Dark Lord did look curious. It was then that Severus knew he had him exactly he wanted him.

"On October 31 of next year, you will attack the home of James and Lily Potter. James you will kill instantly. Lily will be guarding her son and will give her life to save him. When you cast the Killing Curse upon the child, the spell will backfire, damaging you for many years. Then, when you come back to full power, you will truly kill her son. You see, the magic Lily will use to save Harry is an old magic. Blood magic, governed by love. When you ultimately kill Harry, you will become truly unstoppable."

It was clear that his Lord was tempted by this information. "When you say damaged, what do you mean?"

This was the catch, and Severus knew it. "You will live a half-life… moving from host to host until you are able to regenerate. It will take some time—"

"How long?" the Dark Lord demanded.

"Fourteen years."

Severus braced himself, expecting to be tortured. He was completely shocked by his Lord's response.

"Fourteen years seems a simple price to pay for everlasting life."

His Lord smiled, and Severus let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. Shit, forgot to breathe, again.

"And all this comes about by the killing of Lily and James Potter. Tell me, Severus. Does it bring you joy to know that those who have hurt you so deeply will die?"

Don't falter now. Do not falter now. "Yes, my Lord."

His Master paused at this, taking a few bites of food. Not knowing what to do, Snape fixed himself a plate as well. As he attempted to savor the first bite, the interrogation began again.

"And how did you come by all of this information?" It was the one question Snape had wished he would not be asked. He hoped the speech didn't sound too rehearsed.

"When I arrived in my future, I found that my house had been purchased by a woman, a Mudblood, one not sympathetic to your cause. I immediately found myself held captive by—"

"Held captive? I expect better from you. How did you escape this Mudblood?"

"In just a few days, I managed to gain her trust. After a few more, I fucked her. The last night, I overpowered her, regained my wand, forced her to take Veritaserum, and she divulged everything I needed." He had to find a cold place in his brain he never knew existed to be able to deliver that lie. He supposed it would be the first of many such deceptions.

The Dark Lord looked amused. "Well done," the Dark Lord responded, "exceedingly well done. And in this future of ours, do you gain the Potions position at Hogwarts?"

Snape swallowed hard, preparing himself for yet another accursed string of lies. "Yes, my Lord. I will obtain the position for next fall. I will gain the old man's trust by telling him of my betrayal of the Potters, using the love I had for Lily Evans as a child as my trump card. You know how the man is with love. He soaks it up like a sponge, thinking me loyal to him. The information I gain from Dumbledore helps you take over the entirety of the wizarding world."

The Dark Lord began to laugh, a slow pealing melody that was far removed from a normal sound of joy as one could possibly imagine. "Dumbledore, taken down with his own emotions. What a fitting death for my former professor."

Another interminable pause. Another set of bites, each of which threatened to cause his stomach to expel its contents.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Severus, if Lucius were here, he would probably ask why we should believe you. After all, could you not just be saying these things to gain my favor and a position of honor within my ranks?"

Shit. He has a fair point.

The Dark Lord paused, then continued, "And I would have to respond to Lucius that I have complete faith in you. Why, you might ask? Because should you be lying to me, you will have created your own death. Any betrayal, any slight deviation in your story or any information you bring me from this day forth, for the rest of your life, and you will be punished. Your very. Short. Life. You see, Severus, you have now become my font of knowledge. Should history play out as you have described, I will know the veracity of your statements. Should it not, well, then I suppose your life will indeed be truly mine."

Snape had never had so much difficulty keeping his breathing even in his life. He wondered if this, too, like the lying, would ever become easier.

"My Lord, I assure you, my death will never come in response to my betrayal of you and our your cause." Another lie.

"We shall see, Severus. We shall see. And the Time-Turner? I assume it is still in working order?"

"I suppose so. I have not attempted a second trip, but everything seems to be intact." As he slipped a hand in his pocket and retrieved the bauble and chain, his stomach clenched in sadness. By giving the prototype back, he was giving back any hope of seeing Hermione again—any hope of escape from his future. He handed the Time-Turner to his Master, and as their fingers grazed each others, a cold feeling washed over him, akin to descriptions he had read of the physical effect of Dementors on humans. His future self was correct on at least one point: there was something molecularly evil within this man.

The Dark Lord pocketed the device, and as quickly as their conversation had begun, it ended. With a snap of his fingers, Dobby reappeared.

"Elf, summon the Malfoys back. It is now quite past time for their dinner."

Dobby only managed a terrified squeak before leaving the room. Soon, the Malfoys entered. As Narcissa made to take the seat next to him, Snape rose, pulling the chair out for her. He searched for any conversation piece…

"Narcissa, you are looking positively radiant tonight! How long until the baby arrives?"

She smiled and placed a hand over her stomach. "Only a few more months now, and our darling Draco will be born. The Healers believe he will come in early June."

Snape attempted not to let his disdain at the name show on his face. "I'm sure you cannot wait."

Lucius, whose look of insatiable curiosity had been obvious the second he had entered the room, finally spoke up. "We were so abruptly interrupted before, Severus. Do tell us about your tri—"

"The information Severus provided me was for my ears alone, Lucius. Should I find a need for the details to be shared with you, I will inform you." The Dark Lord's tone indicated that no further questions should be asked. Lucius seemed to do his best to keep a look of irritation from his face. Snape did not blame him—how unfortunate to be so emasculated within one's own home.

Other than that brief moment of tension, as the night progressed, the atmosphere became decidedly happier. For a few blessed moments, he almost forgot that he was a sheep in wolf's clothing—a pariah amongst those who had, just a week prior, been his friends. A liar. A double agent. Now he had one master—soon, he would have two. Three if he included his memories of Hermione. He counted the moments before he could easily make his exit.

As he left the Malfoys' that night, all he could think about was how alone he would be from this night forward. Having to carry this burden… knowing his death was coming, and how unfair it would be to any other person to ever enter into a relationship. Understanding he would simply exist, living for one goal alone: keep Hermione Granger safe. He spun, Apparating back to his street, not yet wishing to return to his home, itself full of too recent memories. A shop on the corner sold stationary, and he entered, looking for a journal markedly different from those he had returned with. Purchasing it and a box of biros, he made the journey home.

The house was dark by now, and he preferred it that way. No longer kept from using his magic, he quickly spelled all of the windows shut. Crossing to his father's roll-top desk, he opened it and sagged into the chair. Clicking on the lone light in the room, which illuminated just the desk, he opened the new journal and began to write.

My Hermione,

If tonight is any indication of how hard this life I've chosen to return to will be, then I will probably be making use of this journal quite often. What you have had before now, I suppose, are my official journals, with additions for your eyes only to make the chronology of the story relevant. I will leave you clues to find this journal at some point (or I suppose I already have, given I have my own journals—even now, discussing my two lives and time travel is difficult), I'm sure.

I called you unspeakable things tonight, Hermione. I stared into the Dark Lord's face and called you a Mudblood. I impugned your honor. From what I gather from our future relationship as teacher and student, tonight was the first of many times I will have to say horrific things about you.

I'm sorry.

Until the next time I am Summoned, I suppose I will become an expert of my own future, as sad and damned to end as it is. I do not completely understand how portraits work, but if even a small part of me lives on in mine, I cannot wait until I once again am able to speak with you as I know you and… love you.

–S .

AN: And we're back in 1980. We've got a two more chapters and an epilogue at this point. Thank you all for your support thus far, even if it does sting. And thanks to clairvoyant, dragonhideboot, and linlawless for the use of their editing eyes!