Just in case, Severus Apparated precisely onto the top step outside the door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
He frowned at the black door and particularly at the silver knocker shaped like a twisted serpent for several seconds and cursed again the memory of Sirius Black before pushing his way into the ancestral home of one of the wealthiest and darkest pureblood families that had ever existed on British ground.
Severus had disliked the mutt from the day he had met him at the Hogwarts Express, and he had plenty personal reasons to hate his guts, but he was certain that even without a nasty history between them he would have despised the asshole as a matter of principle for turning his back on such a legacy. Black had been born with everything Severus had wished to have in his youth: the right blood, wealth, looks, a last name that had commanded respect all across the wizarding world, a town house that had been the envy of all other pureblood families including the Malfoys with all their peacocks. Black had had everything served on a silver platter —he had been the heir to all that—, and he had rejected it all with a scornful laugh. He had turned blood-traitor and done everything in his power to offend his family, and yet in the end he had inherited everything anyway.
Meanwhile, Severus had been born with nothing and had been ignored by the Prince side of the family no matter how much he had tried to please them by adopting their pureblood ideologies, excelling at all kinds of magics and even joining the Dark Lord. In the end the last Prince had died without acknowledging him and making sure Eileen's half-blood bastard didn't inherit a single knut or family portrait.
Severus had long ago gotten over his inferiority complex and ceased to be bothered by the Princes' rejection and by the condescension of purebloods in general —he knew his own value and he had only to look at how high he had risen both at the Dark Lord's and at Dumbledore's side if he ever forgot—, but it was hard not to be assaulted by residual waves of that old pain and resentment every time he walked into the sort of house he would have given anything to grow up in. Just as it was hard not to be hit by renewed waves of loathing towards Sirius Black and by extension James Potter, another privileged asshole who had been born with everything he had needed to win Lily over without effort.
Severus shook his head to dispel the shadows of the past and forced himself to focus on what he had come to do.
The entrance hall was gloomy and Walburga Black's portrait was covered with its usual curtain, but Severus disillusionated himself anyway and glided forward without making a sound. Even though the old hag didn't despise Severus half as much as she had hated her son she still considered him a filthy invader and would not hesitate to report on him if asked. And it would not do for the Dark Lord to know that he had come to check the place before surrendering the secret.
Fortunately the house-elf wasn't here, thought Severus while he silently cast a human-presence-revealing spell to make sure the house was empty. That nasty creature knew too much and was too treacherous as to be allowed anywhere near the Dark Lord, it actually should have been put down long ago in Severus' opinion. The fact that Black had meekly obeyed Dumbledore's compassionate orders instead of chopping his elf's head off and sticking it to a wall like he no doubt had wished to do was yet more confirmation of the mutt's contemptible weakness.
He began his methodical inspection at the kitchen, which was where most of the Order meetings had been held. The house had supposedly already been carefully swept to remove any Order-related evidence, but Severus highly doubted anyone had really thought the Dark Lord himself would be coming for a visit so he checked everything over again, noticing while he did it that it looked as if someone had sacked the place instead of just vacated it. He knew that between the mutt and Molly Weasley they had made sure almost everything with the slightest hint of darkness was unforgivably thrown away, but there had definitely been more things left the last time Severus had been here. Perhaps Black had had time for a last episode of destructive rage before he had rushed to meet his murderous cousin.
The kitchen came out clean, so he proceeded to thoroughly check every other room in the house from bottom to top. He didn't find anything seriously compromising, but he did stumble with multiple Weasley belongings that had been carelessly forgotten here and there. Severus irritably vanished it all, since it would do the Weasleys no favours for the Dark Lord to know that they had been so deeply involved in the Order as to have actually lived in Headquarters.
After peering inside to make sure Nigellus was not in his frame, Severus inspected the room where Potter had stayed too, only finding what seemed like black fur shed all over one of the beds. His lip curled in disgust at the thought of the mutt sleeping in the boy's bed while Potter was in Hogwarts, no doubt moping and feeling sorry for himself after having gotten blind drunk and engaged in a yelling contest with his horrid mother. Pathetic.
The master bedroom definitely looked —and smelled— as if a frustrated hippogriff had been locked there for an entire year. And as if an equally frustrated man had kept the beast company half the time, judging by the incomprehensible scratches on the walls that brought to mind the ones a prisoner might make to pass the time inside his cell. Clearly Black had never really left Azkaban.
Severus couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for the asshole.
Finally, he reached the topmost landing. Severus had never been this far up (Dumbledore had sternly commanded him to intrude as little as possible in the mutt's house so as to avoid trouble) and now saw that it was the floor assigned to the Black heirs. One door had a sign that read "Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black", a message that had probably been aimed at the owner of the other door. He entered Regulus' room more out of curiosity than anything else, since he doubted there was anything there that the Dark Lord ought not so see.
Severus had resented Regulus Black just as much as he had resented any other rich pureblood who had had everything easy and had been accepted in the Dark Lord's ranks because of his last name rather than because of any personal merits. Seeing his bedroom now only served to refresh that old resentment. The room had a sense of former grandeur and was elegantly draped in Slytherin colours, with the Black family crest and motto decorating the wall over the bed along with an artful colleague made of Dark Lord-related newspaper cuttings. There was also a picture of the Slytherin Quidditch team where Regulus could be seen looking haughty and spoiled like all Blacks.
He had to admit, though, that Regulus had been uncharacteristically decent for a Black, mostly a quiet bookworm more suited for a life of research than for the Death Eater ranks. And, indeed, he had gotten himself killed less than a year after joining, probably murdered by his own brother if Severus had to bet.
Severus stood there watching the young Regulus for several thoughtful minutes. He had resented the kid at the time, yes, but now that he was older and had been Head of House for many years it suddenly struck him that Regulus had not been very different to many of the students that Severus strived to guide and protect in a daily basis. Sensitive children that came from fanatic blood-purist families and therefore had never had the option of not taking a Dark Mark as soon as they were old enough even though they really were not cut out for that kind of life. As a Head of House Severus initially had only felt inclined to protect the students he identified himself with —the true Slytherins as he called them in his mind—, often half-bloods or even the odd Muggle-born that came from difficult home situations and as a consequence exemplified the Slytherin values much better than any privileged pureblood. In time, though, he had learned to see the different sort of damage that many of the spoiled purebloods carried with them without even realizing, and that in a way was a lot harder to fix than Severus' kind of damage.
At least Severus had been free to do whatever he had wanted to do with his life, since no one in his family had cared and no one had expected anything from him. That made his choice of joining the Dark Lord all his, a fact that forced him to take full responsibility for everything he had done and kept doing as a result.
Severus had grown up being no one and having nothing but a strong will to survive and become someone who could fend for himself and make anyone who hurt him regret it. Aggrieved as he had felt by the unfairness of his life compared to most others, he had not cared about anyone else but himself until the moment when he had realized that Lily's life was in danger. That had been a turning point, the beginning of a life of remorse, but even then he had been selfish. He knew that Dumbledore had demanded of him as penitence to protect Lily's son not because he had orphaned the boy, but because Severus had begged the Dark Lord to spare Lily without caring about her child and husband.
Severus had spent the last fifteen years slowly learning to care about more than just himself. Dumbledore had patiently guided him along that new path, always trusting him, always believing in the man he could be. His mentor had been sure that Severus would never again make the same mistakes, that he would never again prove himself so despicably selfish.
And then Severus had proven that he was still the man who only cared about himself.
He was doing this to protect Potter, true, but Severus didn't give a damn about the brat. Any compassion he might have found himself feeling lately towards the boy had vanished last night in favour of a renewed wave of utter loathing, so he definitely wasn't doing this for Potter, but despite Potter. The brat was just a living object that connected him to Lily and allowed him to maintain the illusion that he was atoning for his part in her death.
Severus wasn't even certain that he was doing it for Lily, since he had serious doubts about whether she would approve, and that uncertainty made him feel almost as lost as he had felt when Dumbledore had told him the boy had to die.
He hadn't expected to feel so conflicted about his decision when he had committed himself to a traitorous path. He had known it was wrong, yes, but it had felt right for him, desperate as he had been to find his way and his life purpose again, to escape the sense of failure, disorientation and powerlessness.
Perhaps he should have taken a few more days to think about it, given himself more time to process Dumbledore's monstrous revelation, before rushing to put all this in motion. He certainly no longer felt so horrified by Dumbledore's cold plans, nor he could manage to get properly angry at having been used and lied to by his old mentor. Because even though Dumbledore had played with everyone as if they were chess pieces, Severus knew that he had done it because he had seen no other way to end the war and save the majority of lives, and that he had not made any of his cold-hearted decisions lightly nor without bearing the burden on his conscience. Now that Severus was also choosing to sacrifice lives for a... Smaller Good, he could understand how hard it must have been for the old man to live with his choices.
Dumbledore's monstrosity would pale next to Severus'. His mentor had been willing to sacrifice a few lives for the benefit of thousands or millions, while Severus was willing to sacrifice thousands or millions for the benefit of only one boy who wasn't even worth the sacrifice. And it wasn't just the lives of Muggles, Muggle-borns and blood traitors that he was condemning. It was everyone's lives. His Slytherins might be relatively safe in a world controlled by the Dark Lord, but their lives would also be darkened more than they already were by his selfish choice. Everything would be corrupted.
Severus left Regulus' room feeling way too old for his thirty-seven years. And too weighted down by his increasingly heavy conscience. Guilt and shame were gnawing at him, turning his insides into a nest of restless vipers and making something palpitate at the back of his head. He felt like crying or yelling, and was toying again with the idea of killing the boy himself after hunting and destroying all the other soul pieces, relieved that he didn't yet know what or where all the Horcruxes were so he wouldn't have to make a final decision right now.
So absorbed he was in his inner hell that it took him several seconds to process the revulsion that filled him when he opened the last door and lit several oil lamps with a flick of his wand to illuminate the interior. Almost every last square inch of the walls was covered with Gryffindor banners, pictures of motorcycles or posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls. Severus assumed that the mutt had cast Permanent Sticking Charms on everything to make sure no one couldn't remove it, and also that the entire decoration had been directly aimed to annoy Walburga Black.
He hesitated at the doorway. Severus had no wish to go through Black's personal stuff —the mere idea of catching the smell of the mutt made him sick—, but he knew this was probably the most critical part of the house to inspect. The room looked almost as undisturbed as Regulus', which suggested that whoever had dismantled Headquarters had not wanted to go through the dead man's stuff either and so who knew what had been left behind.
Wanting to get it over so he could get the hell out of this place, Severus finally stepped in, his eyes immediately falling on the only mobile photograph stuck to a wall, which predictably was of the four blasted marauders all standing arm in arm and smiling like fools. He felt pleased that the worst two were already dead, and hopeful that the Dark Lord would soon allow him to kill Pettigrew. Lupin could keep on drowning in self-pity for all he cared, although no doubt the wolf would have trouble staying alive in the new regime.
With a long-suffering sigh, Severus began searching each corner of the room, his mouth twisted in distaste while his senses were assaulted over and over again by memory-triggering smells and sights. It infuriated him that he could still be so strongly affected by the asshole on a primitive level, as if some part of him were still afraid of werewolves or marauders' ambushes. As if!
Just as he had guessed, the room had not been properly cleared if checked at all. Most of the contents were worthless junk that would not interest any Slytherin in a thousand years, but Severus found a stash of letters that definitely should be incinerated in case they contained information about Order members or more likely about Potter. He was hesitantly flipping through them while trying to decide whether to read them or not (it would be easier to manipulate the brat knowing more personal details about him, but it made him uncomfortable to read Black's private correspondence) when a loose piece of paper slipped through his fingers. He reflexively knelt to picked it up, and then his heart stopped.
Lily was laughing on the floor.
Severus' hand trembled around the picture as he brought it closer to his eyes to examine it better. Yes, there it was Lily, beautiful and perfect as only she could be, laughing at the sight of a black-haired baby that zoomed in and out of the picture on a tiny broom, roaring with laughter. A pair of legs that must have belonged to James Potter was chasing after the flying toddler, but Severus' forcefully Occluded against that detail the way he Occluded against James' side of Lily's grave whenever he went to visit her. Two weeks ago he probably would have blocked out the brat too, but now he didn't.
She looked more beautiful than Severus remembered. The last time he had seen Lily had been the day when they had graduated from Hogwarts, and his closest memories ended at fifth year, so she had remained young in his mind and he hadn't imagined that she could get more appealing. To his pain, however, she clearly had truly bloomed with marriage and motherhood.
She looked so happy. No one would be able to tell that there had been a war going on nor that she had been living in hiding because an evil maniac had targeted her family just by looking at the photograph. And, seeing the glow in her face when watching her son, it wasn't hard at all to understand why she had refused to step aside for the Dark Lord.
The picture hurt Severus in many different ways. Most of all, it hurt him to know that Lily had been murdered a short time after that photograph had been taken. To imagine that laugh turn into screams of terror, the light in her eyes extinguished forever, her warmth giving way to the coldness of death. To know that it had been his fault, for joining the Dark Lord and taking to him the Prophecy.
It hurt to know that Lily had never been his, that that child had been made with another man, that Severus' own mother had never looked at him like that, with so much love and adoration.
Tears were dripping from the end of his nose.
It hurt like hell, all of it. The loss, the guilt, the loneliness. Sometimes, like now, it overwhelmed him. Severus was weary of suffering, of being alone, of having no hope for himself.
He knew that he couldn't really complain, that he was responsible for how his life had turned out and had no right to feel like a victim when he had so many victims on his record, but sometimes... sometimes it hurt too much.
Severus really shouldn't indulge in tears when he had a meeting with the Dark Lord to look forward to, but he didn't have the strength nor the will to injure himself further so he let the tears fall unchecked.
He wept for Lily, and for Dumbledore, and for himself. For the love he hadn't received, and the damage he had caused, and the torment still to come.
At the end of his pathetic breakdown he felt terribly weak and fragile, but also lighter and clearer than he had felt since the day of Dumbledore's monstrous revelation. Because now, looking at this laughing, loving Lily, Severus knew that he was doing it for her and that, right or wrong, he would condemn the entire world to preserve that what plainly would have broken her heart to lose.
Even if she disapproved.