Disclaimer : not mine. It's JKR's work.

A/N: I know it's been a while, and I apologize but Real Life has been really tough these last two months.

This chapter is sadder than usual but, really, it had to be written. And honestly, I quite like how it turned out.

Chapter 21, October 1979

Weeks and months inexorably went by, monotonous and rather uneventful. Death-Eaters attacks became almost routine, the Dark Mark glowing ominously in the sky over the houses of their unsuspecting victims. Of Voldemort, there was no mention. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had begun his reign of terror and people went about their daily life, minding their own business, and never saying his name in case it sent attackers on them. The snatchers of my timeline were not far but the feeling of despair and loss wasn't there yet. He was strong and powerful, had allies and caused great casualties but it wasn't the hopelessness of my time. It wasn't as dark times yet. If they had been afraid then, what would they have felt when Dumbledore died and left us bereft of a strong leader to ward Him off? Ah, innocents, all of them. The mindless sheep allowing Voldemort to govern them with fear. The Order and its ridiculous notions of bravery and virtuous outrage, with its skirmishes bordering on nonsense. They should have cut the ground from under his feet, undermining his hold on Slytherins students. The Order should have foreseen his preying on weaker, fragile children easily turned away from the more arduous but righteous path by means of false praise and rewards. Instead, they had snubbed them, sneered on their motives and erroneous ways of survival. Where they should have been models, they had stood cloaked in disapproval and scorn. Now still, they erred, concentrating their efforts on Death-Eaters and preventing attacks. Defence has always been their objective— until Harry that is. We will, the children that we were, bring attack to this war. We will act— foolhardily I admit, but we will take matters into our hands and try to bring this war to an end. We will take action and not only react. It wasn't fair that this burden will befall us because our forefathers had not been willing to see the error of their ways and own prejudice, leading us astray and increasing the chasm between the two sides of this senseless conflict. They were blind. I wasn't. I had chosen to come to this timeline and walked with my eyes and ears wide open. I looked and witnessed and pondered. What I saw was terror-induced behaviour. What I saw was segregation. What I saw was foolish bravery from the Order, apathy from everyone else, untethered cruelty from a bloodthirsty traditionalist elite afraid to change. But most importantly what I saw was doubt crept in Severus. I saw his deep conviction waver after the elation of the beginnings ebbed away.

Months ago, when we went out for his birthday, he had been proud. Proud of his Mark because it had brought him what he had craved all his life— worth. He had felt worthy, praised upon by his fellow Death-Eaters and his Masters. He had felt recognized for his achievements and hard work. Finally he had managed to secure acknowledgment of his vast knowledge and abilities. He had been spotted as promising and had committed himself in passionate gratefulness for their interest in him. Years of neglect and disdain had left him starved for positive feedback. I have no doubt they welcomed him into their fold with open arms and a warm brotherly embrace, dotted upon him about his proficiency with the Dark Arts, commended his natural talents in potions, congratulated him on his new spells and creative mind. Most certainly, they had goaded him into his hatred towards everything that would remind him of previous hardships— his father, the Marauders. Things that later morphed into hatred for Muggles in general and the Order which was largely represented by Gryffindors. He had basked into their treacherous words and false friendship. He had been Apprenticed by a highly skilled Potion-Master and rose up in the ranks of Voldemort's army. He had been called upon in strategy meetings, asked to give insight on the Order's operatives. His words had been taken into account, valued and for Severus, the price to pay had been well worth it.

It all began to change when Lily got married to James. His success hadn't been to everyone's liking and some lower ranked Death-Eaters took notice of his swift promotion and resented him for it. A half-blood couldn't very well be more favoured than Pureblood offspring. Direct attack would have been met with harsh retribution from their Master but most of them were former Slytherins, trained in the art of trickery and deception. Killer phrases, jibes in passing— I imagined it was bullying all over again but with a serious advantage for Severus. This time around, he was valued and his Master protected him— somehow, as long as he did as he was told and met his deadlines. The first clue was the way he had been told about Lily's wedding. The hostility behind the platitude hadn't been lost to him and he went home bothered and in a huff. He hadn't known about their engagement or at least, hadn't been willing to hear about it. His fellow comrade had mentioned it in his vicinity, hoping to draw some response from Severus. I wish him much luck with his endeavour. He never talked to me about it but I knew. It had hurt him— the wedding and the disavowal from other Death-Eaters both. By the end of summer, he had been asked for a more hands-on participation in the war. I don't know what he had to do. Those were his secrets and I respected them, as much for my own good than his. But I saw him get snarkier. He would bite my head off at the slightest word and he carried himself differently. At school, he was unobtrusive, always trying to blend into the shadows, to be forgotten. He used to walk quickly, noiselessly, his arms loaded with books that protected his middle side, slightly stooped, his shoulders hunched. When he joined Voldemort, his back had straightened and he had walked purposefully, confidently, his chin high with pride and his eyes alight with satisfaction. Now, it was more subtle, more subdued. His back wasn't straight anymore but stiff. Most would not notice the difference but I did. His chin was still high but a sneer adorned his lips and it was more in disdain than pride. His eyes had dulled slightly, as if a veil had been cast on them, dimming the light that once made them glow. He had taken a leaf out of the Pureblood upbringing book; his face was even more blank, denoting no trace of emotion except the occasional condescending lift of an eyebrow to an especially asinine comment. His hands clasped in his back, his hair hanging limp framing his face. He always wore clean, perfectly ironed robes. Always dark; black, deep green or navy blue. He was a balanced mix between Lucius Malfoy, the old bat of the dungeons and the Severus Snape I had met years ago.

The first time I saw him falter in his beliefs came after an unexpectedly vicious attack against a Muggle family. He never called me neither by Floo nor through the necklace but it warmed and I had the strange impression it pulsed which was completely ridiculous. Still, it alerted me something was wrong. I dared not Floo and I debated for several minutes the notion of Apparition. I finally opted in its favour and settled for a dark street near his house. I had chosen a set of heavy robes with a large hood that completely covered my face. I cast a spell which only revealed one presence, peeked into the house through the window and let myself in. I found him heaving the contents of his stomach in the toilets, his grip on the earthenware so tight his knuckles were as white as his face. A sigh escaped me as I whispered his name in sympathy. I gathered his hair to hold it back and felt him flinch. So here we were. From now on, he would only build stronger higher walls behind which he would retreat and push everyone away. I allowed myself a minute to grieve then strengthened my resolve. I tied his hair with an elastic band, Conjured a wet cloth to wash his face and cool his forehead then snuggled against him, his back to me. I couldn't offer much more comfort. I knew Severus. I knew he would lash out at me and try to chase me away with harsh words to cover his embarrassment and shame. I had searched him out and found him at his lowest and weakest. It would be weeks before he could look me in the eyes again. No, that's not even true. He would look at me, defiance and anger in his eyes, daring me to bring it up. But deep down, he would quiver in humiliation. And that feeling would stay and gnaw at him for weeks. When the sickness had subsided and he was calmer, I released him slightly and inquired softly about the situation. He had wondered, in a strangely broken attitude if there was any way he might manage to Obliviate and throw me out. Knowing he'd lost, he had rubbed his eyes tiredly and asked me for a cup of tea. It was the first time he told me about a raid.

With a hoarse voice and deaden tone that worried me, he told me the horror of his night. It came with difficulty, his sentences were often broken as if the words were reluctant to come. I believe he couldn't find appropriate words for what had happened. His mind reeling from its harsh reality, his heart inconsolable over the deaths he witnessed. He told me he had been asked to accompany another group in their mission and they had Apparated into a Muggle neighbourhood. He had known the Mark would glow that night but he had never witnessed murder before and he hadn't expected the gore that accompanied it either. Death had only been a vague distant read in the newspaper or an allusion during meetings. Nothing real. Until then, he had only done indirect damage. Ministry operations he had sabotaged, some Order's safe houses he had compromised, missions against his Master he had short-circuited, eavesdropping. Nothing that had resulted in cold-blooded murder. But tonight, he had accompanied some of the most favoured by the Dark Lord and felt honoured about it. But there had been nothing honourable. Nothing to be proud of. They had broken into the house, put up an anti-Apparition ward. He had been tasked with vandalizing the house without really understanding the point of it. The noise brought the inhabitants out of sleep and downstairs, fear in their eyes. His brothers in arms had tortured them— without any reason, only out of cruelty and perverted pleasure. It had unsettled him. I could only manage a small "I'm sorry" which didn't cut it in the least. It was testament of his troubled state that he didn't even pick up on it. But the worse was not yet told and it was slow coming. The family they had attacked had a child. One of the Death-Eaters had found him and dragged him down. Severus confessed he had pleaded for the child. Had tried to shield him from the gruesome murder of his parents, had tried to save his life. The only outcome had been hard punishment on their return because of his hesitation— the child had only been Muggle after all and did not deserve any thought. But he could not forget the look of pure innocence and terrified helplessness of the kid. His heart was breaking a little more each time he closed his eyes and saw the light fade away from the child's eyes again— and again and again. His voice low and broken, there was an undercurrent of despair he had never conveyed before.

And while I grieved for him, he had brought this woeful situation upon himself. I had tried to steer him away. Lily too. But he had refused to listen. And now he would have to bear the consequences of his actions. His soul acknowledged the truth; nothing could justify the murder of a child. And nothing that approved of it could be worth fighting for. Yet here he was, bonded to a child-killer and unable to do anything about it. His conscience might have awakened and prickle at his mind but the harsh reality was that he could do nothing about it. Worse still, if he were assigned to a raid, he had no way to refuse the order. Stuck in an impasse, horrified and tormented as he was, there was still nothing I could do or say to alleviate his pain. I stayed by his side and took his cold hand in mine, offering the little comfort I could. He would have to come to terms with it on his own. I knew he would since he obviously still had a lot to contribute to in this war. But for this sleepless night, the first of many without a doubt, I remained close to him and let him mourn the loss of his own innocence as he shed delusions and recognized the true nature of his Master's maneuvers. My heart ache for him while his own broke into thousand shards that pierced his soul. This child would forever be imprinted into his mind and spirit. Deep down I knew his death would also have started the chain of events that will eventually lead to Severus becoming a turncoat.