Life as a professor was as excruciating as he'd imagined it. There wasn't enough red ink to mark their idiocy, and the monotony of lecturing and grading grated at his nerves. At least potions allowed him the entertainment of trying to predict which cretin would cause the most dramatic mistake of the day, but even that was only mildly amusing.
He was more unpopular now than as a student, which he'd hardly thought possible. Suspicious eyes followed his every move, waiting for him to slip up. Or worse, stared through him as if he didn't exist. The staff didn't trust him, and the students despised him. Even his Slytherins slunk away at his approach, too clever to align themselves to a man of such questionable allegiance.
All that, he'd expected. He had not, however, expected Dumbledore's constant nagging.
"How are your lesson plans coming?" the Headmaster asked. He'd made himself at home in Severus' corner of the library, waving aside stacks of books and parchment to make room.
"When I'm left alone, just fine," Severus said, snatching his scroll back from the stack floating out of reach. He leveled his most intimidating scowl at the old man, wishing he'd go away.
"Excellent." Dumbledore countered with an addled smile, and Severus tried not to groan. "And you're keeping up with the grading? Head of house is time consuming; it's not usually given to a first year teacher. If it's too much, I can assign a teaching assistant."
"Will you please shut up?"
Dumbledore smiled serenely up at him, as if he'd won the argument. Severus realized he was leaning down over the old man, both hands braced on the desk. With an effort, he choked down his irritation and turned away. There was a window tucked into the end of the row here, and his reflection stared back at him, sour and intense.
"Pressure getting to you, Severus?"
He clung tightly to his control and said nothing. Dumbledore's chair scraped across the floor, and Severus felt his presence at his shoulder. He could see Dumbledore's reflection too: clear blue eyes showing a concern Severus couldn't fathom.
"You're tired."
The words were deceptively light, but they both knew what he wanted. Severus recoiled, as the blood pounded through his head. Why couldn't the man leave well enough alone?
Severus snapped open his bag and began to shove papers inside, refusing to look up. He sorted the books quickly, leaving the library's stacked on the table and shoving his own into the depths of the bag. Severus didn't need anything from this meddling old fool. He was fine.
Dumbledore grabbed the last book, and held it out to him. It hung there, in mid air, and all he had to do was reach out and take it.
"I can help, if you'll let me."
Their eyes met, and the question hung there between them, unanswered.
Dumbledore had been in his rooms, waiting, the first night he'd crept back from his master. A voice from the darkness, and terror had surged through him. He whipped around, grabbing for his wand. But cruciatus still jangled through his nerves, and his shuddering hands couldn't hold onto the wand.
"You're hurt."
"No." His voice was flat and lifeless. "I'm fine."
But Dumbledore saw everything. His eyes were the palest blue, so clear, and they reflected back everything. Severus shuddered at the vision he saw reflected in them. He was a wretch, broken inside, and still he crept back for more.
"Leave." He couldn't bear it. Then tremors seized him, crumpling him into a ball.
"Severus, please. I can ease your pain." Dumbledore reached out to touch his sleeve, and Severus jerked away, gasping. "Will you trust me?"
He'd seen it in his eyes that night. Pity.
He saw it still, as the Headmaster held out the thick library volume.
"I don't need your help," Severus snapped, and snatched the book out of his hands.
*/*
The next summons came during a Saturday morning staff meeting, when he was arguing a point of discipline with McGonagall. It was the faintest of touches, like the whisper of breath across the raised lines of his tattoo. The sensation made him sit bolt upright, as a sliver of ice slid down his spine.
"Professor?"
Dumbledore was watching him. The others stared with unapologetic suspicion, but the Headmaster's expression was blankly neutral.
Severus muttered a lame excuse and composed himself. When he picked up the discussion again, his focus didn't waver.
The tickling sensation never left him, crawling up and down the mark on his forearm no matter how tightly he clenched his sleeve against the skin. As a spy, he was allowed more time to return to his master. But the teasing, tormenting touch of light magic was harder to bear, and he could feel the Headmaster watching him squirm. Those owlish eyes never left him, and he could feel the concern behind them as clearly as the calculation.
He burned with shame, and when the meeting adjourned, Severus wasted no time in leaving. He was supposed to go to Diagon today, a biweekly trip to restock ingredients, and it was a simple thing to slip past the wards and go to his master instead. When he submitted to the mark's pull, the maddening sensation prickled over his skin, gaining in strength, and pulled him to the Dark Lord.
Strange cold light stabbed at him, bringing with it an instant sense of unease. He raised his arms in reflex, shielding his eyes, until his brain could catch up, processing the sensation. The light was constant and unchanging: the artificial coldness of a muggle light bulb, instead of the flicker of torchlight.
Severus lowered his hand uncertainly. He was in an unmistakably muggle room, done all in sickly yellow and rusty brown. Incandescent bulbs burned overhead and the faint buzz of electricity ran counterpoint to his master's humming.
"My lord?"
He was in the corner, bent over something Severus couldn't see. That side of the room was chaos. An armchair lay overturned, one leg broken, and hid whatever held his master's attention. Jagged shards stuck up everywhere. A shattered lamp? And the wallpaper was torn and spattered. But the Dark Lord was humming contentedly to himself, and that was the most alarming detail.
"My lord?" he said again, fear curling in the pit of his stomach.
"Ah." The Dark Lord wiped his hands on his robes, straightening. "At last."
"I'm sorry for the delay. I..." A drop of red, on the underside of his master's chin, the color of blood. His mouth went dry, and the planned excuse died in his throat.
"No matter." The Dark Lord smiled, showing bleached bone teeth. "I found answers while I waited."
He came closer, holding his robes up as he stepped gingerly over the broken glass. He was barefoot, and his feet were startlingly white against the hideous muggle carpet. The carpet was lurid orange, with an irregular pattern of darker brownish splotches. Severus forced his gaze away before he could notice whether the pattern matched the stains on the wall, or the splatter on the Dark Lord's face.
"How goes your progress?"
"Well, my lord." Severus focused, blocking out the chaos of the room. A lie would fail. "The Headmaster has compassion. He thinks he can reach me."
"And he would save you?"
"Perhaps."
No response, and Severus stood still. There was a fringed lamp on the side table, the mate of the one that had shattered. The Dark Lord flicked a finger along the edge, curious. He watched as it swung wildly, then did it again, violent, before it could settle back into place. The room's strangeness seemed to give him some perverse satisfaction.
Severus shifted uneasily, and sat on the plain coffee table, the most normal thing in the bizarre room. He was here for a progress report, nothing more. He would not let himself be rattled.
"Has your spy made progress?" Severus stared at his hands, not letting his keen interest show.
"They're beyond reach, for the moment. But fate plays into our hands."
"Fate?"
"Dumbledore suspects a traitor."
"How observant," Severus said drily, and his master grinned.
"Many have access to the Order. He fears its protections may not be enough."
Severus raised an eyebrow, but the Dark Lord didn't explain. Instead, he smiled like the snake that ate the rat, and waited for Severus to ask. Severus grimaced, but complied. "And this is a good thing?"
"Another fidelius, just for them. And our spy will be the secret keeper."
Severus found a speck of dirt beneath one fingernail, and removed it, flicking it away with studied disinterest. "He is certain?"
"He believes so."
He. A man then, and close enough to be trusted with such a task. Severus frowned, covering his excitement. "You don't sound convinced."
"I'm not." The Dark Lord looked back over his shoulder, to where he'd been crouched earlier. Severus couldn't help but follow his gaze. The stain on the wallpaper was an arc, he saw now. Elongated droplets, flying outward. A graceful upward arc, but his eyes were drawn down. The source of the spray was blocked by an overturned chair.
"My readings suggest you may be right." He turned back, and Severus snapped to attention. "Both my spies will have a role to play."
"Your readings?" The question squeaked out of him, before he could trap it inside.
"Augury, Severus."
His mind recoiled, and he didn't want to recall. "He will grow to trust me," Severus said quickly. "I swear it."
The Dark Lord rose, peering at him fondly. "So committed." His master patted him on the head, like a favored child. Or a pet. "I've seen a piece of your future, dear Severus. You will serve me well."
Severus blocked the words out of his mind. Whatever the Dark Lord had seen, it was a lie. He was done being a slave.
"I should go, my Lord. Before I'm discovered."
"Just as well. I've learned all I needed." His master went to the door, and leaned one hand against the threshold for balance. His shoes were there, and he slipped his pale white feet into them. "Return to your task," he said, and vanished.
The room was quiet without his master's dark presence, and Severus could feel the bloody corner behind him. He went to look, and regretted it. Augury, he recalled, visions in the entrails of animals.
He turned away, sickened. Or muggles, the Dark Lord had decided. Revulsion shuddered through him, and he narrowed his thoughts to the object in front of him.
The remaining lamp, avocado green and mustard yellow. The only intact thing in a room touched by the Dark Lord's madness. Severus moved to straighten the lampshade, and his shoes crunched on broken glass. The lamp was hideously ugly, but it had been part of a matched set once. He reached out, touched the shade, and pushed the lamp off the table.
Let it fall, broken, with its mate.
*/*
Outside Knockturn Alley, a shop had been newly torched. Smoke still curled from the ruins, burning the back of his throat.
A Death Eater attack?
Severus had come to clear his head. He couldn't go back to Hogwarts with his master's deeds so fresh in his mind. Simple errands would force the world back into order, he'd thought, and he'd fallen back on his scheduled task with a sense of relief. But he was wrong. The world had come unstuck, and the natural order could not be restored.
Severus stared at the building blankly. He looked instinctively for evidence of his friends, needing something familiar to hang onto. But the charred timbers told him nothing. Aurors were as likely, cracking down on sympathizers. He'd seen the flames burning in the Prophet as they led away the accused.
Inside Knockturn itself, the shops were closed. Severus knew better. He could hear the rustle of movement behind the blacked out windows. Voices pled in hushed tones behind the boarded up windows. Business was brisk here. Upstanding citizens turning to those they'd once feared, in desperation.
At the potions shop, Severus ignored the closed sign and rapped sharply at the door. A watery grey eye showed through a gap between boards, watching him, and he stared blithely back. Then the deadbolt scraped back and the door opened.
With the door relocked, the old witch retreated behind the counter, watching him with slow, sullen eyes. He smiled and held out a piece of paper, letting it hang between them over the knife-scarred countertop.
"The last batch spoiled, inferior grade I'm sure. So you'll halve the price this time to make it right."
The stained fingers convulsed in her apron, but she had no choice. He had the power now.
"Of course, Sir." She snatched the list from him, and grinned, leering at him. "You'll get what you deserve."
Severus ignored the thinly veiled threat. Whatever fate he deserved, it wouldn't be delivered by a vindictive shopkeep.
A display caught his attention, and he bent to touch it. Brass apothecary scales, with a variety of weights. The worn metal discs were small in his palm. Brass, iron and copper, pulling at his hand. He piled them into the left tray, and the scales shifted, thunking onto the base. Severus touched the right tray, trying to balance them, but it was impossible.
"Sir?"
"Hmmm?"
Silence, with tension prickling the edges of it. Severus turned back, senses alert.
"Delivery's come for you." Deliberate casualness, as the old woman's gaze edged sideways.
"Excellent," he said, equally casual. A message. His regular stops in Knockturn served a dual purpose, as information sometimes filtered to him through his master's network of allies.
The witch pushed open the door for him, letting Severus into the dusty corridor. "Storage room, end of the hall," she muttered, clearing her throat. "Order will be done when you are." She went back to her list, leaving Severus alone in the cramped space.
Not a message then. A messenger.
Severus called for light. The spell trembled into existence, and the darkness retreated a bit, settling into the recesses of the small space. The hall was lined with cauldrons. They were stacked on both sides, towers of dim pewter and heavy cast iron piled to the ceiling. They huddled closer, their squat bulbous shapes strange in the wavering wandlight. He passed through them, uneasy, and tried to ignore the dull gleam of light off their humped bodies. His mind couldn't process the distorted image he saw in them out of the corner of his eye. He pressed by them, into the room at the end of the hall.
"No light."
He let the spell die. For a second, as the light faded, Severus saw him clearly.
"Rabastan."
Darkness closed over them both, but Severus had seen enough. He was thinner, the lines of his face etched deeper now.
"Wait," Rabastan said. "Your eyes will adjust."
Severus could feel him, there in the dark, but the distance between them was too wide to cross. An iron fist squeezed his heart, but he could do nothing. He'd caused this.
"I miss her too," he said, and meant it. She was there between them, a scent on the air. Her eyes haunted him, pale blue and trusting. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Don't." Rabastan growled out the word, his voice rasping over sandpaper. "Don't speak of her."
Severus waited, silent. Narrow windows slitted along under the eaves, and after a moment, he could make out shapes. The storeroom was littered with huge casks like humped beasts. Rabastan stood among them. He'd turned away, but he was leaning on one of the barrels, breathing heavily.
"Why are you here?" Severus asked, gently.
"Can't I come to see an old friend?"
Severus stiffened. "You shouldn't have come."
"Why not? They know what you are." Rabastan snorted, amused. "A Death Eater and a war criminal, like the rest of us. I won't exactly tarnish your image."
"Nevertheless." He shrugged, helpless. "I'm supposed to have changed sides."
"And did you?"
The accusation stunned Severus into silence. His jaw fell open, as he scrounged for a defense and found nothing. For of course, he had. He'd chosen Lily and the prophecy, over his friends. Chosen to put his promise to Regulus first.
Guilt settled deep into his heart, easing the ache of emptiness a little. He'd killed Senara, and now he would die for it. Severus let his hand fall slack at his side, empty. If it would ease the pain.
"What do you want?" Severus croaked, when Rabastan didn't at once draw his wand.
"Vengeance."
"Then take it."
But still, he did not. Instead, Rabastan began to speak.
"When Regulus vanished, I would have hunted them down. For his sake; for yours. I would have ridden them to the ground. But I couldn't. He was gone, and there was no one to blame. But Senara-" His voice broke on her name, and he felt blindly for the wall, reaching for something solid. "This time, I know who to blame."
Severus stood straight, waiting. He would not resist.
"I need your help."
"What?"
"You're close," Rabastan said. His eyes were wide, and Severus could not look away from them. "You have to tell me where they are."
Severus couldn't follow. The whole conversation felt unreal, as if the room had shifted while he wasn't looking. He knew what he'd done and would gladly pay for it, but everything had shifted onto another track.
"Who?"
"The Aurors. Tell me where they are, and I'll kill them."
"What? I don't have any idea-"
"Tell me!"
"Think, Rabastan," he said, pleading. "You don't even know which-"
"I don't care. I'll kill them all."
"Please. There's been enough killing."
"No," Rabastan growled, "not nearly enough."
He'd done this. Whether Rabastan succeeded, killed the wrong man, or was killed in the attempt, it didn't matter. His fault.
Severus turned to leave, but Rabastan's voice stopped him. "You're a traitor," he said, matter of fact. "To her. To Evan."
Sweat prickled along his scalp, but Severus denied nothing.
"You watched them die. And you do nothing to avenge them."
"I can't help you." He went to the door without looking back. "Do what you must." And Severus went out, leaving behind the last of his friends, forever.
Severus went out through the shop and into the street, in a daze. His feet beat against the cobblestones, as listless as his heartbeat. A hooded figure loomed up in front of him and he pulled up, ready. He gaped, but justice did not come. His reflection opened its mouth, gasping, and suffocated in the warped surface of the burned shop window.
He saw it now, as the window gave him back his reflection. A grim man twisted and warped by the darkness that surrounded him. The image was distorted, as the heat of the fire had warped the glass, but it showed truth. Severus was a monster.
He'd betrayed his friends, but his sins ran deeper than that. He'd given orders, with no thought for the victims. He'd witnessed torture, and felt nothing for them. He'd felt the weight of his master's insanity, and done nothing to stop him. Each failure was a weight against his soul, and nothing he did now could ever balance the scales.