This chapter was SOOOO hard to write. Which is probably why it took nearly a month to write. It's pretty long, though, so maybe that makes up for it. Please let me know what you think of it. Seriously. Cause I'm still not sure what I think of it.
Breakfast was a tense affair. Snape and Samantha, who took care to avoid eye contact, had already seated themselves at the head table before McGonagall arrived. The moment the woman appeared at the doors, Samantha saw the unbridled disgust on her face as soon as she set eyes on Snape. This in and of itself was nothing new. But there seemed to be some kind of new fervor behind it, and Samantha knew exactly why that was. McGonagall saw him as having sunk to even lower levels of degradation and, unfortunately, Samantha was sure that McGonagall thought she was going right along with him.
Samantha chanced a glance at Snape. The stoic mask, unsurprisingly, was firmly in place. In fact, he almost looked bored with McGonagall's glares.
McGonagall rounded the table and came to sit primly between them, her green tartan robes adding a touch of color to the black-clad professors flanking her. All three sat ramrod straight in their chairs, their movements tight, expressions stony.
Samantha knew that she had stepped onto the fine line along with Snape as soon as she'd spoken to McGonagall. Whatever Snape's loyalties were – Samantha was still fixated on the Veritaserum issue – she had placed herself out on a limb that there was no stepping back from.
With these thoughts running through her head, she was painfully aware of her deportment in public. For Snape's side of the story to hold up, she needed to make sure that the Carrows, along with the whole of Slytherin, could believe that her loyalties had changed, even as she preserved ties with the Order.
Snape, on the other hand, was all too accustomed to this game. If McGonagall's icy glare was anything to go by, Samantha had already spoken to her. He could well imagine what she thought of him. He was a murdering, depraved, conniving bastard. He didn't entirely disagree.
As Samantha leaned forward to reach for the coffee, Snape glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was stiff. Too stiff, perhaps. Her face was hard, but he could still see the anxiety. She would need to work on that if they had any hope of success.
And speaking of success, it seemed he needed to do a bit more to convince her of his loyalty to the Light. She had studiously avoided his eyes as she made her way to her seat at the head table and swept silently past him once she reached the dais. Given their arrangement, she would need to make sure that she was not seen treating him as did the rest of his staff. The Order knew her true motives and that would have to be good enough.
It was then that he noticed that McGonagall had caught him looking at Samantha. Disapproval did not even begin to cover what he saw in her face. She was positively disgusted with him and, despite his efforts to the contrary, it had an effect on him. He was used to distrust and suspicion and even hatred, but she looked practically ill at having to sit anywhere near him.
But he couldn't let that show. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at her and, though it sickened even himself to do it, he smirked. She looked positively scandalized at his response and turned resolutely back to her plate.
"I don't understand how you can do it, Samantha," McGonagall murmured to the woman sitting next to her.
Samantha didn't need to ask what she meant.
"It must be done. It is done and there's no going back," she responded, knowing how all too true those words were.
"But the way he was just looking at you," McGonagall protested. "It makes my skin crawl."
"I try not to think about it."
With that, Samantha placed her cup back in its saucer and rose to leave for the dungeons. As she passed Snape, he raised a hand to stop her. He motioned with a crooked finger for her to lean down toward him.
"Stop looking so bloody scared of me," he whispered. "If this is to work, they can't think you hate me."
Samantha leaned back just far enough to meet his eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, but said nothing. Finally, she gave him one, sharp nod and straightened before moving swiftly to the exit.
Snape watched her leave and, as he turned back to his cup of coffee, he saw that Amycus Carrow was looking at him with what was nothing short of a conspiratorial, borderline lascivious, grin. Well, that was that taken care of.
Though they were mere weeks into term, Snape was already restless with his duties as headmaster. He had honestly never wanted the job, even in the best of times, and now the tedious task of overseeing a school was made all the more onerous with a murderous, raving lunatic looking over his shoulder.
Just then, the Mark on his forearm flared to life. Well, speak of the devil.
"Albus," said Snape, waking the man in the portrait.
"You've been called?" Dumbledore asked without preamble. Omniscient even in death, it seemed.
Snape gave a sharp nod and quickly strode to his office door. He had a feeling he was not the only one called. To prove his supposition correct, he found the Carrows waiting for him in the Entrance Hall. He swept past them with little more than a jerk of his head and they followed in his wake.
"Oi! Snape!" Amycus huffed from a few paces behind him as they crossed the grounds. "Why don't you just drop the wards and let us apparate out?"
"Because those wards are there for a reason," Snape answered simply and somewhat cryptically.
Neither brother nor sister pushed him on the matter and watched as Snape tapped the gates with his wand. The chains obligingly snaked back, permitting him to push the gate open.
The trio apparated to Malfoy Manor and silently made their way up the drive, pausing only to raise their arms for the gates to allow them access.
Once inside the formerly grand foyer, Snape saw that he and the Carrows were the only outsiders present. So it was Hogwarts business, then. Fantastic.
Narcissa quickly retrieved them and led them to parlor. Upon entering, they found Voldemort seated, with Nagini, as ever, in front of the fire. The Malfoy matriarch retreated as swiftly as she was able, but Bellatrix, who'd been lurking in a corner, made no move to leave.
"Severus," Voldemort hissed from his chair.
He motioned for Snape to approach him, but did not bid him to sit. Instead, Voldemort stood and took several measured steps toward him.
"I have heard, Severus," Voldemort started, circling Snape like a snake would its prey, "some troubling news regarding several students and their efforts to subvert your, and therefore my, authority. I think, perhaps, that we may need to revisit our decision regarding discipline at Hogwarts."
"Whatever you wish, my Lord," Snape answered, knowing full well what was coming. He'd suspected he wouldn't make it through an entire school year before this issue was raised.
"Starting now, the Carrows will deal with unruly students as they see fit."
Snape glanced over at the pair. Unsurprisingly, they looked positively orgasmic at the very idea of it.
"You will tell your staff that they must refer any and all troublemakers to Amycus, regardless of the infraction."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Make sure that the Longbottom brat gets his due," Bellatrix instructed Amycus, who nodded enthusiastically in response.
Snape knew he would have to try to get the boy to put a stop to his antics. Between Longbottom, the Weasley girl, and Lovegood, he'd had his hands full making sure the three didn't get themselves – or anyone else, for that matter – killed. Surprised though he'd been when he found that Neville Longbottom had grown a backbone, Snape also knew that it could not have come at a worse time.
"With pleasure," Amycus answered eagerly.
This would not end well.
"There is also to be a change to the syllabus," Voldemort continued. "Amycus."
"Yes, my Lord," the man responded, kneeling dutifully.
"Let us dispense with this nonsense about defense and teach our students practical things. The Unforgivables, perhaps. I am sure between you and Severus, you can come up with fitting lesson plans."
Snape was not pleased with this turn of events. Carrow's syllabus was bad enough as it was and Voldemort was now giving the idiot man free reign to teach the students how to torture. Perfect, just perfect.
"And Severus," Voldemort said, turning back to face Snape. "How is your little blood traitor?"
"She is uncertain that she wishes to remain a traitor," Snape answered carefully.
"Indeed?" Voldemort asked. His expression suggested he'd have raised an eyebrow if he had any. "And how did we come across this information?"
"She herself spoke with me shortly after the start of term."
"You played your part well, my servant," he said indulgently. "Is she so taken with you that she would betray the Order?"
Snape heard Bellatrix snort from her corner. Both Snape and Voldemort turned to face her.
"That woman taken with you, Snape?" She said with a pronounced sneer as she sauntered into the light of the fire. "What potion did you use?"
"Now, Bellatrix, play nice," said Voldemort lightly. "The woman appears to gravitate towards age, rather than looks. As I recall, her husband was nearly thirty years older than herself."
So now he was ugly and old? Honestly, Bellatrix was a decade his senior. As he glanced at the woman in question, however, he saw that Voldemort had hit a nerve with her as well. Well, all was not lost, then. He smirked triumphantly as she bristled at Voldemort's implication.
"I do not think I shall have to put much effort into persuading her, my Lord," Snape continued.
"Good, good," said Voldemort, turning back to his chair. "Then you can put her to work making useful potions and leave the half-breeds be."
"Did she enjoy Greyback's little present?" Bellatrix asked in a playful voice. The woman really was unhinged. He could hear Alecto's unmistakable cackle behind him. Come to think of it, so was she.
"It is not something we have discussed," Snape answered darkly.
And it really wasn't. Apart from her brief mention of Lupin as they discussed their plan, he hadn't spoken to her about what had happened over the summer. They hadn't even really talked about how she felt about what he did. Though he was reasonably certain that she hadn't really come to terms with it yet. He had a feeling he knew who she needed to speak to in order to work through her feelings on the matter, but it was risky. Snape wasn't even sure that he could arrange some sort of contact between she and Father Matthews. It could potentially put all three of them in danger.
"And not something we need to discuss now," said Voldemort. "That is all I required of you this evening. Go inform your staff, Severus."
"I will, my Lord," Snape answered.
Snape and the Carrows bowed to Voldemort before turning to leave. As they made their way back toward the gates, Snape listened to the siblings babble excitedly over their new responsibilities. His stomach twisted the longer they spoke. He had promised Dumbledore to protect the children and now he had very little control over their discipline. It would be possible to warn Samantha against sending her students to the pair, but he couldn't be seen telling every other professor that they should try to avoid punishing students. The thought was disturbing, but perhaps after stories of the first or second detention made their way around the student body, the little dunderheads would have the sense to keep their heads down. He didn't hold out much hope for their common sense to kick in now, though.
The moment they returned to the castle, Snape sent out notice to the staff to let them know that he required their presence the following morning for an important staff meeting. He would have liked to put it off, but there was no way Amycus would be able to contain himself if Snape delayed in relating the news to the rest of the staff.
Sitting in her office that evening, Samantha read the note she had received from Snape through the floo. It was terse and to the point. Hardly surprising, that. Though it was merely an announcement of a staff meeting, Samantha had a sinking feeling about the reason for it. It seemed urgent in its own way and urgency in these times was never a good sign.
Well, at least it was only in the morning and she would not have to wait a day or two before learning the reason for the meeting.
Samantha walked into the staff room precisely five minutes before the meeting was due to start to find that Snape had not yet arrived. She took a seat near the head of the table, knowing that it would be expected of her. If she was supposed to be Snape's plaything, she would have to start acting like it.
Moments later, Snape burst into the room and swept to the head of the table. The professors who had been quietly chatting were quickly silenced and they turned expectantly toward Snape. They waited as he sat himself and glanced momentarily on Samantha, who was sitting directly to his right.
"I have called this staff meeting to inform you of a change in our disciplinary measures," said Snape in a low voice that somehow still commanded the attention of his listeners.
This could not be good.
"You will henceforth refer all students requiring detentions to Amycus."
The response was immediate. McGonagall was the loudest of all, but Samantha could also make out Flitwick's furious squeaks over the din. She could likewise hear the mirthless cackles of both Carrows.
It made her blood boil, but she knew she was not in the position to protest. Samantha eyed Snape warily and, as though feeling her eyes upon him, he turned to face her. They sat in silent contemplation of the other for a few moments as the battle amongst the staff raged. Finally, Snape looked away and stood.
"Silence," he said in a loud voice, though not quite shouting. "There will be serious consequences for anyone who wishes to ignore this change in policy."
"There will be serious consequences for the students of those who obey it!" McGonagall shouted boldly, her Scottish brogue made thicker in her anger. There was no mistaking what house she belonged to.
Snape glared at McGonagall, who, unsurprisingly, gave as good as she got (or at least tried to, there was really no beating Snape at this game).
"If you have any grievances, I suggest you take them up," he said, "with the Dark Lord."
Amycus laughed gruffly as McGonagall sat with an annoyed huff.
For her part, Samantha could simply not believe what she was hearing. They would all have to turn their students over to Death Eaters every time they earned a detention. There really was no telling what they would do to them, but she was sure that the Cruciatus would be used liberally. They would be forced to send their own students to certain torture. She knew they would all do their best to fight against it, but she knew without a doubt that there would be those students who fell through the cracks and would end up under the wand of Amycus Carrow.
At the same time, Samantha couldn't pretend she didn't see it coming. There were pockets of rebellion amongst the students and it was only a matter of time before someone made the decision to raise the stakes. But had it been Snape? If it was, why hadn't he just enforced it at the start of term rather than waiting for students to act up? Was he simply acting on Voldemort's orders or had this been a collaborative effort?
In spite of her attempts to rationalize the situation, however, she still found herself becoming infuriated with the dark man sitting next to her. He looked so calm, so collected, as though his announcement that they would henceforth be torturing twelve-year-olds for speaking out of turn was par for the course.
"Tell 'em what else, Snape," she suddenly heard Carrow say from beside her. She didn't like sitting so close to the vile man, but she had a cover to keep.
"Yes, Snape, what else?" McGonagall asked mockingly.
Snape didn't look pleased by either comment, but drew a breath to speak.
"There will also be a change in the Dark Arts syllabus," he began, but was interrupted by the murmurs about his choice of wording. Dark Arts?
"Yeah, that's right," Amycus broke in. "We'll be teaching those kids somethin' useful."
Samantha longed to voice her opposition, but knew she had to keep her mouth shut. Her irritation grew as she listened to Amycus wax lyrical (or as lyrical as the imbecile could get) about his new syllabus, while Snape remained silent and motionless.
After what must have been ten minutes of Amycus rambling on, McGonagall stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly on the floor.
"I will not listen to another word of this rubbish!" She shouted.
"Sit. Down."
Snape had finally spoken. His voice was cold and harsh. It was the voice of the man everyone thought him to be. The Death Eater, the Dark Lord's faithful servant, the murderer.
It chilled Samantha to the bone, but McGonagall did not appear cowed by his tone. She wasn't all that surprised. McGonagall had, after all, known Snape since he was a small boy. So, rather than heeding the warning in his tone, she stepped around her chair and made her way for the door. Snape, however, had other ideas, and stood swiftly to block her path.
"Out of my way, Severus, I won't hear another word!"
But Snape would not move an inch.
"You will do as I say, professor," he answered in a dangerous tone.
"I most certainly will not send my students to those…those…animals!" McGonagall shouted back at him, gesturing to the Carrows.
Snape slowly extracted his wand from his sleeve and pointed it at McGonagall.
"Do you need to be made an example of?"
The room was absolutely silent as they waited for McGonagall to react. Finally, she stepped away from Snape and the room's occupants deflated as she returned to her seat, but the tension returned the moment Snape began speaking.
"If anyone else wants to test me, I will gladly give you a taste of what your students will endure in their detentions," Snape said, his eyes roaming over the faces of his staff. "Just give me a reason."
Samantha was horrified by what she was witnessing. Could this possibly be the same man who had only just days ago told her of his devotion to Lily Potter? Who had spoken of his desperation? Had told her that he needed her? It wasn't possible. No, this was the man who had killed Dumbledore, the man who had spent two decades bullying and insulting students and colleagues alike.
Snape, thankfully, ended the meeting there and the staff fled from the room as fast and orderly as was possible. Samantha was among those fleeing Snape's presence. She rather thought this was what his students felt like at the end of his class.
"Minerva," Samantha called, trying to catch up with her colleague. The woman may have been decades older than she, but she could certainly move when she wanted to.
"Samantha, I don't want you anywhere near that man," said McGonagall the moment Samantha caught up to her. "He's dangerous."
"We all knew that," Samantha responded, though she thought she might have underestimated what Snape was capable of.
"I would have never thought he'd threaten a teacher. And now the students!" McGonagall lamented, almost as if she'd just remembered the change in policy. She slowed down her pace and finally stopped in front of a window.
"So this wasn't something he thought worth mentioning to you?" McGonagall asked as she placed her hands on the sill. She sounded almost accusatory, as if this was something Samantha should have known.
"I didn't know to ask," answered Samantha honestly. "He won't just tell me everything. I have to know what I want before I ask him. This is a quid pro quo arrangement."
McGonagall turned and just looked at Samantha, as though she were working through a particularly difficult puzzle.
"I don't want to ask this–"
"Then don't," Samantha said immediately. She knew exactly what McGonagall was going to ask and she wasn't about to explain her "technique."
The woman stood silently for a moment, lips pursed, her eyes still glued to Samantha's face.
"Be careful," was all she said before turning on her heel and walking up the stairs to her office.
"Yeah, great," Samantha muttered to herself.
She leaned against the wall and thought over the meeting. It was all so surreal. The man in that room was not the man she'd fallen in love with. But which was the real one? Everything seemed to stack up against him. All she had was his word that it was all a rouse. Just his word and no way to verify that it was the truth.
The truth. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Veritaserum was her only way to get the truth. There was no way she could simply walk up to him and tell him to stick out his tongue, though. And there was definitely no chance she'd be able to dose him with it without his knowledge. No, she'd have to live up to the expectations of her house and come up with a plan.
Samantha spent that evening and much of the following day, thanking God it was the weekend all along, working through a plan that could have any hope of success. She decided, in the end, that it would be best to kill two birds with one stone. After all, she still wanted to know if he'd willfully neglected the possibility that she would be subjected to questioning under Veritaserum to verify her story.
On Sunday evening, she made her way up the stairs, allowing her anger to build with each step – and there were quite a few. Upon reaching the gargoyle guarding his office, she snarled the password and stomped up the spiral staircase.
"Veritaserum," Samantha hissed the moment the door to the headmaster's office banged open.
"I beg your pardon?" Snape asked, only just hiding his confusion.
"You seemed to have forgotten one little catch in your brilliant plan, headmaster," said Samantha angrily.
Snape's eyes narrowed at her choice of title, as well as her meaning. Quickly realizing that Dumbledore's portrait – which was thankfully empty at that moment – would learn of his betrayal in letting Samantha in on their secret, he promptly stood from his desk and roughly grabbed her upper arm.
"In here, professor," he hissed back, pulling her along into his sitting room. She struggled against him, but she was no match.
"I knew I was a fool for trusting you," she said through gritted teeth.
Samantha furiously paced back and forth as he cast the strongest silencing charm he could. He knew how loud she could get when she was angry, and she was far more than merely angry at this point. Barely restrained rage would probably better describe what she was feeling.
"What on earth are you going on about?" He asked, his voice loud but not quite a shout. Snape grasped her shoulders to bring her movements to a halt. She quickly wrenched herself out of his grip and backed away from him. She rounded the couch in the middle of the room, presumably to create a barrier between them.
"I should have thought of it before getting in this deep," she said in a quiet, but intense, voice.
"Thought of what!" Snape shouted at last. He was getting a little tired of her ramblings.
"Veritaserum!" She screamed at him. "You sent me to Minerva knowing full well that there was a very good chance they would require me to verify my story under Veritaserum. You had the luxury of Dumbledore's misplaced trust to shield you from their suspicions. Not me, though, I haven't got a leg to stand on."
"Samantha, did Minerva actually say that you would need to take Veritaserum?" Snape asked quietly, trying to calm the frantic woman.
"No," said Samantha, though there was no hint of embarrassment in her admission. "But she did say that Kingsley Shacklebolt will likely need to be read in."
"What?" He asked, becoming more irritated by the minute.
"Minerva. Kingsley. Veritaserum," Samantha said in a staccato tempo, her voice becoming more strained – and louder – with each word.
Snape dropped onto his couch with a huff. That was it; he had too much on his plate. How could he have missed such an obvious weakness? And it was true; he had been protected against the need to explain himself by Dumbledore's trust. Well, he knew the easiest answer. He could prove her suspicions right and pretend to be the nasty Death Eater who would allow her to extract his secrets in return for sex, thus ensuring that she could submit to questioning under Veritaserum with no chance of betraying his cover.
But then he'd be cutting off his source of information from the Order. He could still let Samantha in on the Dark Lord's plans, but he would have no way of giving her advice on how the Order should respond to those plans. He could give her advice, obviously, but it would be meaningless if she barely trusted the information he had.
"Shit," he breathed out as he dropped his head into his hands. "Samantha, this is all my fault."
"Damn right it is!" She shouted. "I have half a mind to dose you with it myself!"
Snape raised his head and looked over his shoulder at her.
"Is that what you truly want to do?"
Samantha regarded him silently for a moment, her eyes narrowed in suspicion of his motives. Despite that this reaction had been what her initial plan had hinged on, her mind whirred as she thought through his words. Was he bluffing? Did he think that she would accept his mere acquiescence as proof positive of his loyalties? Did she think that? She wasn't sure. The same question kept plaguing her: How could he have possibly forgotten to account for such a likely scenario? Surely he knew that McGonagall, much less Shacklebolt, would not readily accept her on her word alone, given that the woman had already expressed doubts as to Samantha's loyalties.
"Where is your Veritaserum?" Samantha asked at last. This was her plan; she had to stick to it. It was her only chance at answers.
Snape stood and turned to look at her. He was clearly disappointed by her response, but unsurprised. She suspected he was quite used to people not trusting him. Though given his past, she thought it rather warranted.
"Come," he said. "It is in my – your stores."
Samantha quirked an eyebrow at his correction, but moved to follow him. Snape stopped at the door and turned around to face her.
"It would be best if you appear at least somewhat chastened. These portraits may not spread rumors throughout the castle, but Albus must not know about this."
"Why am I to look chastened?" Samantha asked. Snape rolled his eyes.
"Because," he started, "I am a nasty Death Eater who would not be above threatening bodily harm to get my way. Do try to make it look as if I've done so."
"Fine," she said with an irritated huff, while remembering that he had done just that to McGonagall the day before.
Snape turned on his heel and wrenched the door open, a dark scowl fixed firmly on his face. He stomped across the office and inflicted the same violence upon the office door.
"Out," he growled.
Samantha, Snape was inwardly pleased to find, looked sufficiently repentant and, head bowed, scurried out the door. He slammed it behind him and let out a deep breath. He really was getting quite sick of this act.
The few students who were still filtering out of the Great Hall after having a leisurely dinner watched as Snape strode past them, with Samantha on his heels, nearly at a run. In years gone by, they may have given her looks of sympathy, but now it was suspicion tinged with fear. Snape was not to be trusted for any reason, and Samantha, well, the jury was still out on her loyalties.
Snape abruptly slowed his pace once he reached the last step on the staircase leading to the dungeons. Samantha was only just able to step around him in order to save both of them from a rather inelegant, not to mention painful, tumble to the stone floor.
"Do you mind?" Samantha grumbled as she regained her balance.
Snape furrowed his brows and pursed his lips, an insult ready on the tip of his tongue, but one look at her face made him think better of it. He wasn't sure that he'd ever known someone capable of imposing such restraint on him with nothing but a glance.
As they moved further into the dungeons, Samantha took the lead. Her robes billowed out behind her and the trailing hem snapped loudly against the wall as she rounded the last corner before reaching the lab. Snape, who was following just far enough behind to capture the sight, would have laughed had the situation been different. Even he'd not been able to manage that particular trick before. Not that he would admit to any conscious decision to walk in such a manner that would make his robes billow out behind him, of course.
Snape followed Samantha into the office.
"In," she said imperiously, pointing to the locked and warded door of the lab.
He dutifully allowed her entrance and followed her in.
"Sit there," she pointed to a stool by one of the counters along the wall. "Where is the Veritaserum?"
"It's in that cupboard," Snape said, pointing to a high cupboard, well above Samantha's head, in the corner of the room.
"And I suspect that is warded as well?" Samantha asked, her hands balled into fists and pressed tightly against her hips.
Snape merely nodded and extracted his wand to allow her access.
Samantha pulled a small step stool toward her so that she could reach the vials. He wasn't sure why, but Snape felt…something at the sight, some kind of warmth. He fought the urge to walk up behind her and simply pluck the bottle off the shelf without the aid of a stool.
Having found the vial of the deceptively innocuous-looking clear liquid, Samantha stepped down from the stool and turned around the find Snape staring at her, an almost vacant expression on his face, save for the faint smirk (or was that a smile?) curving his lips. She scowled at him.
"Open," she demanded.
He did as he was told and she administered the requisite three drops. She paused for a moment, thinking, perhaps, that he might have built up a tolerance against it. Did she need to give him more?
"Aren't you going to interrogate me?" Snape asked when she stood motionless, the bottle held in one hand and stopper in the other.
"Quiet," said Samantha, realizing that she hadn't done much more than give him one word commands since they left his office. "I'm trying to decide if I'm going to give you a larger dose."
Snape said nothing and remained silent while waiting for her to make up her mind.
"Again," she said, moving the bottle toward his mouth. Once more, he did as he was told and allowed her to put two more drops on his tongue.
"Satisfied?" He asked after she closed the bottle and placed it on the table behind her.
"We'll see," she answered darkly. "What is your full name?"
"Severus Tobias Snape."
"And your date of birth?" Samantha realized as she asked the question that she had no clue what it was, but forged ahead all the same.
"January 9, 1960," he responded in a flat voice. Either the potion had kicked in or he was good at faking it. She hoped it was the former.
"Did you kill Albus Dumbledore?" Samantha asked. Snape winced at the baldness of her question.
"Yes."
"Did he order you to do so?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"He had been cursed and I was unable to completely heal him. He would have been dead within the year. After he found out that Draco had been ordered to kill him, he told me that I would have to do it to save Draco," said Snape.
He didn't like talking about it, Samantha could tell, but it was a necessary evil if she was going to trust him.
"Are you loyal to the Dark Lord?"
"No," he answered with as much feeling as was possible under the effects of the potion.
"Were you ever?"
He sighed.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Until he murdered Lily."
"Have you ever murdered anyone?" Samantha asked. It wasn't really pertinent to her line of questioning, but she needed to know.
Snape looked up at her, his eyes unreadable. He seemed to be struggling with an answer.
"Severus, if you try to lie to me, I will not believe a single word you say from here on out," Samantha informed him.
"Not directly."
"What do you mean?"
"I have never directly murdered anyone," he clarified. "But I have been the cause of many deaths."
"And now to my situation," said Samantha, knowing she didn't need to ask any more on that account. "Did it truly not occur to you that my story would have to hold up under Veritaserum?"
"No, it did not."
"And why is that?"
This was the most important question Samantha had. If he was supposed to be the consummate spy, how could he have missed such an obvious flaw in the plan?
"I don't know," he answered simply.
"I beg your pardon?" She asked, not pleased with his explanation.
"There is much I have to do. I have too many lies to keep up and too many people to watch. The thought never crossed my mind. If it had, I would not have suggested the plan."
"Who suggested the change in disciplinary measures?"
"The Dark Lord," said Snape.
"And do you agree?"
"No," he answered, looking at her as though she'd grown a second head.
"What do you plan to do about it?"
"I can't stop it," he said frankly. "But I promised Dumbledore."
"Promised him what?"
"That I would protect the students."
Samantha sighed and leaned against the counter. She knew he was stuck between a rock and a hard place on the matter. How could he possibly fulfill his promise to Dumbledore while upholding this sham of a policy?
"Alright," she said at last. "I don't–"
She stopped herself. Did she really not have any other questions to ask him? No, she could think of one more. Her hesitation lasted only a moment.
"Do you love me?"
Snape stared at her, but didn't look as though he was trying to fight a truthful answer.
"Yes," he answered, his deep voice, though quiet, seemed to reverberate around the small room.
And then there was silence. What was there to say, really? He'd given her nothing but straight answers and she knew that one of the only ways to beat Veritaserum was to skirt the truth. If she had any doubts now, it was due more to rampant paranoia than the reality of the situation. No, now she had the truth, but what was she to do with it?