Chapter 9


Along the corridors of the school, he walks in strides to get to the safety of his chambers for a bit of relief. The Mark is burning again, causing him a discomfort that he isn't pressed to weather among a crowd of people, but particularly, he's bothered by the darkening of the damned thing. So bothered in fact, that the burning seems secondary, even when he knows why it's burning.

He secretly looked at it when it burned for the first time, and indeed, the colour has changed.

Does it need to be dark so, vivid in contrast to his skin?

He'd liked it better when it was faded. He says better, when in all honesty, he's never liked it one bit. All of his life, he's detested any sort of deliberately made marks on the body. His father had had one of those Muggle tattoos on his arm, right below his shoulder. It had looked out of place, unwelcome to his young eyes and as such, he believed that he'd never get any tattoo of his own; the idea had been repugnant to him. That was until he found himself at a vulnerable time in his life, most angry too, that he accepted being beckoned to a supposed place of love and belonging. He gladly took the Mark then, having no immediate qualms about it on his skin, after all, it was the symbol of belonging, a sign that he would never again be truly be alone.

If only he had known the full truth back then.

Obviously, he'd been accepted into a circle of people who didn't shun him for being fascinated by the Dark Arts. Quite enthusiastically, he'd been received, seduced even, that he forgot all about his oath to himself, that he would never again be controlled in the way that he had been at home. Upon truly realising what he had agreed to belonging to, knowing that he would never be able to do anything about the Mark on his skin, neither his allegiance, he settled for tolerating the cursed thing. What else could he have done? Regretting his decision would not have made it go away in any case, no matter how much he's continued to dislike it.

At present, however, the darkened state of the dark thing bothers him so, for the reason that from now onwards, every single time that he pushes his sleeves back, he will see it clearly. His life has truly returned to this then, hasn't it? What was it that he'd said to Karkaroff? The same Karkaroff who'd, since a few moments ago, fled? That he'd have to be brave about the whole thing?

He'd have to be brave about the entire thing.

Hating that last thought especially, he decides that he can longer bear to walk while tormented with such thoughts. His thoughts are making him feel as though he is no longer in his own body, that quickly finding an open classroom remains the only option for him. He does so quickly, just as quickly stepping into it and shutting the door with force after him. Wordlessly, he commands wards to come in place on door, as he leans his back against it to catch himself for a moment. Thankfully, he found an empty classroom when he did, for he doesn't know how much longer he could have carried on.

Oh, he internally laments while lightly tapping the back of his head on the door, what will become of him now?

Nothing will ever be as it was. All thanks to the cursed thing on his arm.

His arm...

There's pain there, as there should be, though it's nothing terribly unbearable. The design of the cursed thing is precisely that, so that no follower could have an excuse as to why they lingered in responding to the call. He should be responding to the call where he is, considering the lingering ache from the second call a little while back, it's only that Albus instructed him to stay put. At least, he'd said, until the time is fitting to respond to the call.

Hmf! As if there'll ever be a fitting time to respond. That the Dark Lord made a second call - a second, for the love of magic- should've been as fitting a time as any. But alas, how ever could he expect Albus to understand that? He's not the one with the damned thing on his arm, and he certainly isn't the one who will have to repent in front of the Dark Lord for his tardiness.

If only he could Apparate to where he needs to be.

No, he ought to stay put.

Brave, he ought to brave this out.

But oh, how he doesn't feel up to being brave. Instead, he feels weak to the extent of gracelessly sliding down the door onto his bottom, his legs tiredly stretching out before him. His right hand, clearly disconnected from his mind, uncaring of the internal battle, reaches over to its brother, covering the place where the Mark is underneath the robe. He'll become a servant to this Mark again. The very colour of the thing represents something that he would rather live without.

Damn the Mark and damn Albus.

The man has instructed him to stay put. As worried as he may be about the happenings in the maze, and as much as he can't leave his post enough to worry about a burning Mark, some consideration should be expected from his part. Would he be so blasé about it had it been Potter on this end of the Mark?

'Professor Snape?'

Much too late, everything registers to him. The voice, who it belongs to, the footsteps coming his way, and unfortunately the very fact that he's been caught in the act, it all falls upon him at once. Despite it being a late realisation, his mind reminds him how ungracefully he's positioned, and possibly how he might've groaned involuntarily before being as he is, and that is enough to have him springing to his feet. Never mind that there's been someone with him in the room all of this time, it's the discovery that he wasn't attentive enough to it, that has him drawing his wand at the intruder.

It's Miss Granger, he confirms with one long look at her, but even so, he will not lower his wand.

Damn Miss Granger right along with the Mark and Albus!

Whenever is it not her? Why does she always have to be the one to catch him unawares lately? It's just as well that he has his wand drawn at her; she's beginning to represent a threat to his mind as of late.

'Are you all right?' she asks him, apparently not worried about the wand drawn on her.

Is he all right? Is she mad? Madder than usual, he ought to say. If he's correct in assuming that she's watched him closely ever since he entered the room, then he's properly upset with her for being here, meaning that no, he is not all right. Can she imagine that just as angry as he is with her, he's also angry with himself for not realising that she was in here?

'What are you doing in here?'

He wants to know, because like the rest of the school, she should be out there, waiting for the Tournament games to be over.

'Viktor told me that Vol- the Dark Lord is coming back,' she begins, her eyes close to shedding tears. 'He said that their Headmaster is sure of, and I… I have this terrible feeling about tonight, Professor. I was in here doing some research, because it's really no use sitting out there when I can't see anything of what's happening. I only wanted to be prepared, but then you came in and...'

The Dark Lord, she said? Viktor has given her some information, has he? It's not a common one for anyone to use. And excuse him, she wants to be prepared for what?

'Are you all right, Professor?' she asks again, to which he takes only a moment to simply study her face.

Her expression puzzles him. She is in any case standing too close to him, without any trace of being afraid of the wand drawn on her; he might as well lower it. Is this girl mad? Madder than usual, he means.

'You believe that you can prepare for the Dark Lord's return, do you?'

He's curious about that. Perhaps, if she's found an effective way to prepare for his return, he could prepare in that same way. What does she think she will do, attack him as soon as he presents himself to her?

'I don't know, Professor,' she admits, 'but I know that Harry will be part of whatever happens. I know that everyone will be expecting him to do something. I have to support him. It's too much of a responsibility for one boy to have alone. I only want to be able to help him when the time comes.'

Potter, precious Potter! Damn him as well.

Could she not stand in front of him and mention Potter?

She speaks of Potter as though he truly has a means to defeat the Dark Lord. She knows nothing, this girl. It's infuriating. Potter is not the saviour that everyone will think that he is. Besides him, there is the Order, a group of men and women who are dedicated to defeating the Dark Lord. And of course, there is him. He will have to play his part as well, it's only that his part will be much closer than anyone can imagine it to be. So much so that the evidence is what brought him here to her in the first place.

How dare she make light of his coming doom while brandishing Potter in his face as the saviour that will make all perfectly all right?

'Did it ever occur to you, Miss Granger,' he steps right into her, seething beyond himself, as it is, 'that should the Dark Lord rise again, Potter will not be all that saves the wizarding world?'

For how she steps away from him, he can only surmise that he sounded sufficiently outraged. But then, that developing expression... He's seen enough of it directed towards him, that he doesn't need her to say anything to give him the clue of her current feelings. How rich of her to be upset with him!

'You praise Potter so, that you forget about all those who lost their lives to make sure that he has one!'

Still backing away from him, she responds with a hot, 'I'm not praising him!'

'Oh, but you are!' he snaps, taking one large step and closing in on her again. 'You stand there and speak of him, forgetting about all the others in the process. How very much like him, you are. How much you idolise him, only to have your dreams shattered. He has only survived so far, due to other people. Potter is an incompetent braggart, who does not value anything that he has. He has no regard for anyone, and is constantly seeking the praise which he always receives. He is dependent on the admiration of everyone, hence his foolish heroic attempts all of the time.'

'You're wrong about him!' she shrieks as she ducks around him to rush towards the door.

He's desperately wicked for this, he's aware, and yet that doesn't stop him from relishing in the fact that he's upset her as much as she provoked him. To this state, no less. He spins about to taunt her even more, above knowing that the door to which she is desperately rushing, will not open for her.

'If I am so wrong, Miss Granger, what has you so upset? The truth is unbearable, do they not say?'

Ignoring him, she tries to open the door, even with her wand, only for it not to budge. Of course, it doesn't budge, his wards made sure of that. She too seems to realise that she can't get out without his help, which is probably why she turns around to face him. The same expression from earlier is still on her face, making him advancing on her more taunting. He loves that she has no way out of this; just as he has no way out of the cursed Mark on his arm. They are both trapped.

'Please let me out, Professor,' she pleads.

'No,' he answers.

Although she's really only a student, one whom he should be looking to protect as is his duty, he feels no remorse in holding her hostage like this. She had no right to remain quiet while he displayed himself so poorly in her silence. It's not as though he has his wand drawn on her. On the contrary, even though she's tightly pressed to the door with her left arm bent around her back to reach the handle, she's the one whose right hand has a wand pointed at him.

Clearly, she's not above hexing him if she needs to, the way her wand is pointed at him.

Her bravado in the face of her apparent fear makes him smile. Amusing, she is. If she didn't fear him, she wouldn't have her wand out, ready to hex him. She wouldn't be lightly shaking either.

'Please, Professor. I need to go back to the field. The Tournament must be over now. Harry might-'

'Potter is not everything in this world!' he interrupts her with a stern shout.

Where he'd been looking to unsettle her before, he's fuming now. Bloody Harry Potter is not all there is in the world! So furious he is, that he pulls back his sleeve as he closes most of the space between them, to thrust his Mark right in her face. Some part of his mind recognises that he acted hastily, callously actually, it's only that he's too furious to be rational about the suddenness of his actions - the resulting repercussion much less.

'There are those of us who know what it's like to need and not have,' he says to her, his voice lower than a shout. 'Who want and never get. Who seek and never find. Potter has never known what it is to always have the mere least of everything! Potter could never bear what others so difficultly do.'

Having heard all that, she should realise that Potter is not all there is in the world. He gathers himself enough to search her face for this realisation, only to meet a dirty look on it. Unfortunately, he's not given enough time between that look and noticing her closing eyes -as though to keep the image before out- to move his arm away from her, to avoid the stinging slap that hits his flesh almost immediately. The sharp sound of it is unusually horrific to his ears, but it's when, with all of her might, she pushes him away from her, sending him falling to the ground as she runs to the other end of the classroom, that he understands what it truly means to be horrified.

He is horrified, as much by her as with himself.

Flat on the floor, for the second time in this classroom, all thanks to one Miss Hermione Granger, he finds himself registering everything all at once.

Damn it all, what has he done?

Quickly, before all this right senses come back to him, he gets up, opens the door, and then rushes out of it.

Damn it all.


26Chapters


There's no one around to tell this to, but he wants it known, that he makes no habit of this. He never has, in fact, it's only that this specific case is different. How often can one say that they narrowly escaped going to Azkaban some thirteen to fourteen years back, abandoned the league of evil doers, only to be sent back to the leader of the evil doer's league those same amount of years later, without the guarantee of the safety of their life?

Only once, he will say.

Thus, the difference in this specific case.

If he never comes back from that meeting, he would have said his last goodbyes to her, with all of his truths laid naked before her.

When he arrived, he'd carefully looked all around him, also casting a charm around himself, to make him invisible to the prying eyes of nosy people. That is why in a more controlled manner than how it happened with Miss Granger nearly a full week ago now, his Mark is displayed; to a tombstone. The one bearing the name of the woman that he loves.

Honestly, he makes no habit of this either, showing his Mark whenever the urge comes over him, because it never does. It's only that if he could callously display such intimate knowledge to a student girl, simply because she angered him bottomlessly, then he ought to have the guts to show it to Lily as well. To her, he owes an explanation as he is doing, and this big confession to her, should give him the right set of mind of purposeful determination to go ahead with the task that Albus is sending him to do. This is unlike the shame that he got from his incident with Miss Granger, it's purgation of sorts.


26Chapters


A knock, even and carrying just the right amount of sound to be heard, breaks through the quietness on this side of the door. Whatever sounds, voices and discussions perhaps, may be floating around on the other side of the door, he has no access to hearing, he only has the short sound of his knock to fill his ears. That, and the sharp change of the rhythm of his heart; it's audible to his ears now, the beating of his own heart.

He's not afraid, though, because from birth (even), he could argue, he'd hardened himself to not show three of his greater emotions. Happiness being the first, for he thought that if he ever showed it, someone would maliciously work to take it away from him. Sadness being the second, for the simple reason that he would be taunted for being in that state. And lastly, fear, because it gave the other party power over him. Concerning fear, very few, only three, in fact, have seen him display some tone of lesser or greater fear before them.

One of those three people, is the very reason that he is here – attempting to begin avenging her death. Another one of the three, is partly the reason that he is here; a solid delegator as always, that man is. And then the last of the three, should be clever enough to work it out for himself, that never again, will he see Severus Tobias Snape afraid and fearful before him. Even less, begging for anything from the selfish being, because clearly he cannot be trusted to spare others where he believes that he will lose.

Still, concerning fear, he'd made himself excellent in the respect of hiding his emotions, but that never meant that he never had to prepare himself in some sort of way before a certain thing happened. Like this moment, for example. Ever since Albus advised him to not immediately appear at the Dark Lord's side, he's been preparing for this moment. His preparation had been complete, whole and thickly impenetrable, that is, until the actual reality of being on the verge of the first and extremely delayed self presentation before the Dark Lord.

For all of his preparation, solid in form, it's nearly incomprehensible how it's seeming to be slipping way now. If he could equate his preparation to a mask, he'd name it a mask made of a paper soft material, that would weaken against the first harsh condition to touch it. Its weakening would then give way to slipping away, until there was nothing to cover his true identity, no matter how badly he tried to keep the mask held in place.

Just like his preparation for this moment.

Although invisible to the outside world, his preparation now feels like an answer slipping away when he needs it the most for his exam.

Damn it!

How he hates that he even had to prepare himself for the meeting, and more now that his preparation is not sticking in place. He'd not necessarily say that he's fearing the outcome, or more, the reception of his presence, except, he cannot find it within himself to lie to himself that he is not fearful either. It's a reluctant in between for him, only that he won't display it. There's no point in concentrating on that now that he is here anyhow. In a matter of seconds, his knock will be answered, and he will be invited in, to see the very being whom he does not want to see. He better compose himself in any case, and make as though he is in control of what will happen to him once he is let in through the door.

As he is putting himself together, pulling his tattered mask back onto his face, just as it's nearly collected as a whole, the door violently opens.

It's time, he hastily thinks, and ironically, he has no more time to right his mask into fooling those who will soon surround him.

From the gusto that blew the door open, he expected a true Death Eater to be revealed on the other side, only, he's met by the roundish face of a lesser being, not truly worthy to be called a Death Eater - if there's any pride to be had in being something so pathetically vile, that one would subject themselves to be ordered around for the worst.

'Pettigrew,' he mentions the name, bored, which is his way of not truly acknowledging the presence of the short man.

An ugly smile, if it can be called that, appears on Pettigrew's face, giving of the impression that as ugly a smile as he is receiving, his arrival will be treated the same.

'Severus Snape,' Pettigrew says with a form of mockery somewhere in his tone.

Pettigrew, Pettigrew, he looks the man up and down, feeling as much not tickled as when he spoke the man's name. Here's not here to be debased by someone as worthless at Peter Pettigrew, and as such, he makes his purpose for his presence a clear and controlled announcement that cannot be missed.

'The Dark Lord,' he simply says.

He will not, he refuses, explain himself to anyone who is not the Dark Lord himself. Even in the case of the Dark Lord, he will not explain himself in all entirety, because that would be stupid. Quite self-destructive as well, but mostly dim-witted.

'Enter, Severus,' a hoarse voice calls for him from within the room.

For a second time, the previous collection of himself begins slip away again. Really, the way his collectedness falls from him, and begins to move all the way across of him, is as though it's being magically summoned by the creature to whom he is heading. Come to have such a thought, he'd honestly not put it past the evil Dark Lord to do such a thing, and because of it, he holds himself tightly, daring himself to maintain a composure that he doesn't immediately have anymore.

And so with mental braveness, he walks into the room, making sure to keep his steps as normal as possible. Footsteps too rushed, say that he is frantically fearful, and footsteps too dragged, say that he is a reluctant sort of fearful. Both would colossally be the wrong message to send across to the Dark Lord, a willingly offered playground, in fact. Hence, his deliberate steps.

'My lord,' he calmly welcomes himself into the presence of the Dark Lord, following his greeting with a small head bow.

'Severus,' the Dark Lord visually considers him.

Promptly, not allowing air to pass between his spoken name and his response, he bows his head again, saying another calm, 'My lord.'

The silence that follows between them, is one that he could have guessed from the visual examination that he is so far being subjected to. In a dimly lit room, silence seems more the fitting thing to exist, than anything else, he supposes. There's something in the silence, though, that's not waiting, no. There's simply something in the silence, and he will do well to not be the one who interrupts it.

'My lord,' the Dark Lord carefully repeats at last, at the same time lifting his wand and pointing it in his direction. 'Am I really such, Severus?'

Ha, the Dark Lord takes must think of him as a fool.

That cool, seemingly merely questioning tone is a farce. Just as the intimate use of the name Severus before it was. Both do not surprise him, or even move him to feel afraid. Not even the wand pointed directly at him, frightens him, because Albus had already warned him that it could possibly get to a point of being treated as though his life was being threatened.

Also, the tactic of using a Death Eater's name, is only specific to some, not all. He, Severus, has always suspected that the Dark Lord does that to deceive the select few of them, and or manipulate them into believing the lie that he values them, that they are indispensable to him, when it's really all a farce. He long ago learned that the Dark Lord is never to be trusted. With anything.

Knowing that, he will not fall into the trap being cleverly set for him. He will rather play along with the Dark Lord's ruse.

'You are, my lord,' he replies, using exactly the same calmness as the times before this.

As the last word leaves his mouth, the Dark Lord abandons his place through a speedy glide, to appear standing right before him, his wand still not lowered from position.

'Then an explanation is in order,' he hisses, that being the first of his true emotions to seep into his words.

'Dumbledore forbade me all this time.'

It's true. To an extent. Dumbledore did forbid him from coming to see the wizard before the time was right to do so, it's only that he never did contest that, offering reasons as to why it was a bad idea to keep the Dark Lord waiting for his appearance. Forthrightly, he hadn't been in a hurry to see the Dark Lord.

'Dumbledore...' the wizard's red eyes narrow as he tests the name.

He makes the name sound like a rather disgusting taste in his mouth, and just then, Severus takes a proper look at the new features of the Dark Lord. Before his fall, he had not looked this extreme. He'd had hair on his head, and his face, although disfigured from the Tom Riddle who had left Hogwarts once upon a time, had been different. This bald and skinny thing of a man, red eyes included, is something horrid to behold. Granted, he is not the top of the class to pass judgement about someone's looks, but still, there's a line between natural imperfection and created distortion. The Dark Lord's new look, should be a crime punishable with an Azkaban sentence.

'Dumbledore...' the Dark Lord says the name again.

Obviously, the wizard's contemplating something, so Severus remains silent. Not for too long, thankfully, as the Dark Lord asks him a question in the moment that follows.

'You haven't wavered, have you, Severus?'

'Never,' he immediately replies.

Even if he had wavered, he wouldn't confess it now, would he?

'As you say,' the other wizard says, finally lowering his wand and then turning his back.

It's over, their meeting.

Only a stupid one, would not know that the Dark Lord is finished with them this way. There's nothing else to be discussed between the two wizards, but clearly, the Dark Lord needs to put him through a long trial to find his true loyalty, and until then, their meetings will look like this; brief, testing and not at all detailed.

'Stay as you were, Severus,' the Dark Lord softly commands, 'and bring me word of Dumbledore when I call for you.'

'I will, my lord,' he nods even though he cannot be seen.

After that, through a light and careless hand motion from the Dark Lord, he is then excused to leave. Now only, he can let out a relieved sigh, thankful in all it is, only, he'll first have to wait until he has safely Apparated away from this place to do so.


26Chapters


'I will, Lily,' he deeply promises, the words themselves coming from a sore place within his heart.

Fresh from his meeting with Riddle, he's once again standing at her tombstone, with the aftertaste of that meeting still lingering in his mouth. There hadn't been that many words exchanged between him and the Dark Lord, at least, not sufficient to leave an unpleasant distaste in his mouth. However, the words that were not said, or even implied during the silence that found itself so often settled between the two of them, is what really fed his mouth with distaste.

He hadn't thought that a second appearance at her burial place would be necessary, seeing as he doesn't want to make a habit of coming here - least of all during these times, and yet, if there's anything to cleanse him of the aftertaste of the Dark Lord's meeting, it's the pure promise to avenge the death of Lily. Also, just being here, in her presence helps.

'I will,' he repeats the promise, much softer this time, to reflect the absolute resolve alive inside of him.

He swears that in some manner or another, he will do his part, as long as he is allowed to have a part, in avenging her death. He needs her to know that, if nobody else in the world will be aware of it.