Chapter 23
Though fruitless to, he once in a while wonders if his servitude to one is better than to the other. There are moments, moments such as this one, where the difference between them is nearly identical save for the head filled with hair and the other lacking hair. Albus is far lenient in his requests, however, every so often offering him some sort of support where he, Severus, displays a lick of vulnerability, and yet Albus can be so exceptionally inconsiderate. His support often separates him from the Dark Lord, deeming him supremely human above the Dark Lord, but at this very moment, could he really be thought of as being above the Dark Lord?
'Albus,' he finds his voice again, 'it is too much.'
Too much indeed of the man to make such a request of him. This had not been his wish when he delivered the news of Draco. He had rather hoped that the news would be taken as delicately as it should be, and then dealt with in a well and thought-out manner, not in this particular one. Had he imagined that he would be asked to do this, that he would be required to blacken his soul as though it wasn't alive to begin with, he would've done well to keep the information hidden from Albus.
'What else do you suppose, Severus?' he asks, his voice deceptively interested to hear another way in which this can be tackled.
There ought to be another way, he begs. Not this one. It simply cannot be the only road. He begs.
'Evade him, Albus,' he verbally begs. 'He fears you for good reason. He dares not to attempt it himself, for he knows it will weaken him so.'
No explanation should have to come from him as it is. It is accurate, however; he's not simply saying this to make the older man see reason and thus release him from the nook that is settling around his neck for the tightening soon and very soon.
'My hand is speaks that I don't have much longer on this earth in any case,' Albus reminds him, reasons even.
Yes, that he knows, and yes, he understands it, but, 'Why must it be me?'
Without any trouble at all, he could arrange for one of the other Death Eaters to do it. That is what he would like for Albus to grasp. None of those other people would have any qualms about ending his life. When given the chance, in fact, they'd torture each other to receive the glory from the Dark Lord.
Albus looks to have followed his train of thought, because he smiles warmly, amused even as he says, 'You have been asking me that a lot lately, Severus.'
'As you have been requiring more than I can give lately, Albus,' he returns as pained as he is able to.
Sighing as though tired, although Severus cannot understand what from this conversation would have brought him to this point, Albus concedes, 'Because there remains no other option. I cannot ask anyone else for the things which I ask you. You are in a position of privilege as much as you refuse to acknowledge it.'
'Privilege does not resemble where I am, Albus. Least of all now. With this,' he weakly tells the man.
'It cannot be the boy,' Albus insists.
His reasoning is sound as usual, but that put aside, what of self-preservation? Lucius and Narcissa -Albus included-care enough about wanting to protect Draco from such a deed, whereas he does not have that avenue of sentiment. A moment; he needs a moment to reflect and so chooses to turn his back and face the other way, away from Albus.
What of him? Who is to care about him? Who, in this world, would care to know his truth? That he was coerced into performing something that was never in his will to do? Besides Albus, who else will know anything? He cannot tell anyone, someone at least, who will hear him speak and then feel let down and disappointed. How very tragic that above all at the moment, he would be lamenting over not having another soul to disappoint after he has done away with Albus's life. Of what use it is, to have a living soul, but evidently worthless to everyone.
'You would also be doing me a favour,' Albus tells him much like he's aware of the thoughts plaguing him at present. 'Please, Severus.'
Please, Severus, he says.
How very cunning of Albus; he always says please when it arrives to the climax of their meetings. And he, the hopeless servant that he is, always accepts in the end; in the absence of choice. It will unfortunately not be any different this time either.
'Do I have a choice in the matter?' he presents, even knowing that he does not.
Hope, he decides on the spot, is a terrible thing to have. Hope, in most dire of conditions, in the darkest of spaces, against all there is in opposition of it, still lives in earnest, just waiting to be celebrated. Hope tricks one so wickedly that they suggest and grasp for any opening that could liberate them in spite of the odds. How does he dare to have such a thing still? Surely, he is a fool who never learns.
'One always has a choice, Severus,' he is told.
The answer has him prematurely facing Albus once again, only to study the man's face, to see with what expression he can say something so very obvious and yet condemning in the same breath. A passive expression is what he finds, no more and certainly no less than that. It would seem that Albus is not thrilled to be asking this of him, but there remains no other choice either. He knows this. But oh, the irony. He stands there, speaking of choices being available when he's just proven that the only other option to do with this, is not an option at all.
'Nonetheless, might I bribe you for the request, perhaps?' Albus cleverly shifts their talk.
His heart, at the question, picks up pace. He would like to attribute the reaction to that treacherous thing called hope, only, he knows very well that his mind's impeccably instant recall is the reason for the change. Could this be another chance to restore what was ended?
'What could you possibly bribe me with, Albus?' he wonders.
If not to thrust that troublesome yet not unwelcome girl upon me again as you did the previous time?
'Why,' Albus shows him a gentle smile, 'with the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, of course!'
Excuse him?
How grand it must be to have lived a fulfilling life that near the end, a bribe isn't bothersome to consider in exchange for one's own life! On the other side of that, however, is the silent implication that his own soul is as simple as to be bartered with for a mere bribe.
'You want me to teach that?'
He is, as Albus nods his response, completely taken aback by the offer. Should he really believe that after years in intervals of suggesting to teach that subject, it is his to take? His life is a lie, surely. The honour that it would be to himself, to teach that branch of magic at last... For years he's pined in silence to be chosen, and year after year he watched as his colleagues went and never returned the following year after teaching that subject. And now, at long last he-
'Albus...' the realisation washes over him, leaving him cold. 'That post is cursed.'
Of course, everything has been set to be perfect. His demise is to be precise. He too, as he'd just some twenty sentences back complained about Potter, has been in waiting, to be offered up at the right moment. How terrifically wonderful. Not only will his soul be blackened in the coming days, he will most likely be shunned or dead by the end of the school year as well.
'So they say,' Albus says, making his decision not to lie very clear.
26Chapters
He could, this very night, atop this hard bed of his, stop breathing and nothing would be amiss in the world. The beauty of his Patronus, the very one illuminating through the black of his bedroom, could disappear from the world, never again to be seen and still, nothing would be amiss in the world. Wormtail would probably discover his body only for the smell a week later, and then when he'd bring the news to the Dark Lord, he'd be ordered to dispose of his body. His family house, his very own property, would then be turned over to Wormtail, and that would be the end of that.
No one would miss him.
No one would be unforgivably furious with him for leaving them without him in this world.
Albus, would be upset only for the bump in the plan. He'd be more concerned with how to save Draco, probably. For truly, what would it gain him in the battle against the Dark Lord, to lament the death of a servant?
There'd be no mourning for him.
The Death Eaters would celebrate his death, while the rest of the wizarding community would hear the news and carry on about their day as usual.
They'd be no one to advocate for him, that in his last moments, he battled with himself on what was required of him.
His last tears, the ones running down his cheeks at this very moment, would've dried by the time that Wormtail found him, and no one would ever know that he'd spent most of the night weeping in the company of and to the charmed Patronus just above his head.
26Chapters
These three days, his torment over the prophecy which he delivered to the Dark Lord seems better in comparison to now.
Where have the days gone when his most immediate problems had to do with students and their inability to be taught? How did time move so fast that in a matter of months, he revealed his vulnerability to a girl, started looking to Sybil for a contorted sense of comfort when the need got to be too much, have an enemy thrust into his home as a servant, and now forced to kill Albus Dumbledore?
It was all so much simpler when he was hated for being himself. It was preferable, in fact, because then, he didn't have to confront himself with the truth that has been haunting him ever since the decision was made. When he does kill Albus, he will be hated even more than he is now, the bigger difference being that he will be treated as though he were one Peter Pettigrew; no one would care.
If his body is lost, unable to be found, there will be no one to look for him and insist on a proper burial for him. If no grave is afforded him, no one shall be bothered to wonder about it. Even worse, if fate is as lovely to him as it always has been and he is to suffer some ailment before he dies, at his death bed, there'll be no one. He'll probably be too weakened to even cast the one comfort that has kept him all these years; not even Lily's memory, the thing he's loved the most all of his life will be there for his final breath.
He's loved and loves her dearly. If he is able to reflect and think back on his life upon his death, he would be content to have loved Lily, only, she'd only be a memory. His love is the same nonetheless, except, is it unjust for him to ask that one other living person be there with him? Albus will not be able to be there - he would, if he were alive by then, but he will not be. In a manner, he supposes that his inability to be properly furious with Albus has in part to do with how the other man does care about him to a degree. He may not know him in his fullness and they may not share their deepest desires and secrets with each other, but there is care for one another between them.
He would like, if it's not unjust to ask, that someone cares to get him put inside a grave. With his name engraved in the stone guarding his resting place. Albus would have been that person, but he will see to it that Albus never gets the chance to.
26Chapters
He has been thinking…
He wants to believe that as dark as the soul can get, sticky with liquid tar, there must be something, even a little something that makes it possible to genuinely smile. Meaning it as well and for those few moments, actually be beatifically deceived into believing that it's not a dark soul. Is that not so? It has to be, does it not?
Even though it will help him nothing at all, he understands, even though all of his sullen ponderings while lankly seated in his hard armchair, away from the fireplace will leave him no better, his heart is still stealthily grasping at the possibility of having a reprieve. It has been doing that a lot in the last days; hoping. His soul will soon turn dark and he wants to know that at least, there's possibly something in the world, even in the Muggle world, if he were so to discover, that could be his little relief while harbouring his own soul.
So then what? Establishing that he needs something, what should he do acquire it?
Should he come up with a special potion to be that little relief? It could be, he dryly reasons, that the knowledge of working on a potion will keep him sufficiently motivated to see through the lengthy marsh of a dark soul until he dies. However, a potion is too easy and deceiving an option, and besides, that would be a product of himself, a drug that he has designed, as compared to an external relief, independent of his own influence. His own influence would surely be contaminated to begin with.
He would need something clean and genuine, but what?
Perhaps, he could-
And just what does he think he is doing? Why does he torment himself so, knowing what he knows? Is he not Severus Snape? Has hoping ever done him any good in his life?
26Chapters
Feeling robbed of peace, well, as much peace as he can have in the misery of his fate, he in any case rises from his bed to attend to the bird insistently tapping on his window. His attempt at a long lie-in can wait for another day then if birds insist. Reaching the window, he's nearly moved with compassion for the bird. Much too tired the owl appears, that really, it should have no business transporting something as simple as an envelope.
Who is the irresponsible person who sent it to him in this manner?
He nearly asks the bird this too, as he opens the window to allow it to deliver the piece of mail into his waiting hand. The only thing that truly stops him from doing so is the fact that while owls are magical creatures, it would surely not be able to give him the name of the person inconsiderate enough to do this. Nonetheless, the letter is sure to carry the name of the correspondent and then knowing who they are, he shall deal with them accordingly.
Truly, he stares at the poor creature, if the thing being done doesn't affect the sender himself, damn the one being sent and consequences thereof, surely.
Dear magic, would someone look at him!
Is he truly finding empathy in a bird -has it come to this for him? He was once a man with fierce dignity that never allowed him to run away from things that frightened him, and now he has become a man who identifies with the struggles of birds? His life surely is a lie. He ought to stop. In fact, he ought to close the window and release the bird from his sight before he begins to imagine himself as a bird.
Unwilling to imagine himself as a bird, he quickly closes the window. While still at the window, he begins to unseal the envelope, proceeding to unfolding the letter within once he's discarded the envelope onto the floor. At the first word, his stills his entire body, his eyes recognising the handwriting with no difficulty at all.
It cannot be, his mind tells him also urging him to close his eyes for only a second. He needs to come back to himself and then look upon the letter with refreshed eyes. It's that there was nothing left to say between them. That is, of course, unless something has happened, and if it's so, nothing would make his week harder.
Oh, but Severus, what could be worse than killing the only person that you have in this world?
Though not the best of best of motivations, it is enough to get him to open his eyes and fix his eyes on the letter for a second time. This time around, he is determined to believe his eyes, seeing as he cannot ask for a second opinion. Properly this time, he begins to read the letter.
Dear Professor Snape.
I hope that I'm not disturbing you.
I wasn't sure whether to write to you again. I'm fine, I only wanted to thank you for your response. You didn't have to respond, but thank you very much for doing so.
Hermione Granger.
Finishing the letter, he makes himself read it for a second time; untainted by disbelief and welcomed by relief.
Looking up from the parchment, he thinks:
It's a letter that has nothing to do with requests and responsibility.
It's a letter thanking him.
It's the appreciation that he never required and yet apparently freely has.
It's the only thing to make him want to smile in over six days.
It's the only thing that has him thinking that maybe, just maybe, to one person, even minimally, his death would matter.
It's the push that for once in his life, he will take up Molly Weasley on that lunch offer.
It's that all of a sudden, he feels the compelling need to look upon the source of this letter.
