"It's starting, isn't it?" I asked softly.
"Yes. He's got the supporters he needs to bring him back to the kind of power he had fourteen years ago. But this time he knows our weaknesses; he knows exactly how far we'll go to protect what we hold dear." Dumbledore's voice was tired, devoid of the one emotion I needed to hear: hope.
For Voldemort had finally made his move. We were out of time. He would conquer Hogwarts first, I knew that much. And yet, I had not entirely given up. It was foolish, I knew, to deny the truth of what had to come--pointless, as well. But if we gave up now; if we surrendered to the monster that sought to control our world, what made us better than Voldemort?
We would be forced to either join him or . . . Or what, I didn't know. I did know that with Harry and Albus gone, the wizarding world would stop resisting the Dark Lord. We had to protect them at all costs, but how far could we go? How far could we go before the line between us and Voldemort--between good and evil--ceased to exist? How far could we cross that fragile line and still say that we were right?
The questions haunted me. Only I truly knew how hard the Dark Side could be to resist; only I fully understood how far Voldemort would go to secure his victory. And it scared me. I knew that Harry could not be counted on to lead the fight; he had his limits, after all. But he expected more from himself, I think, than any of us realized. Than any of us wanted to realize, because to admit that Harry was, for all his extraordinary magical talent, a mere mortal was to admit that defeat was inevitable.
We could not hope to win if we continued to rely on the principles we had been taught from childhood. But to win we'd have to be as cruel and heartless as Voldemort himself, and I wasn't sure how far we could go. No, that was not exactly true. I knew exactly how far we could go; the only question was that if we let ourselves be as ruthless as Voldemort, could we ever return to the lives we knew?
In essence, if we dug the hole, could we get ourselves back out? Did we want to?
It was the last question that haunted my dreams. I personally knew how easy it was to dig the hole; how hard it was to climb back out. I had come close--far closer than I cared to think about--to surrendering mind, body, and soul to the one Lucius Malfoy would forever call master, and I still doubted my own ability to fight the Dark Side's powerful influence. But if I couldn't fight Voldemort's terrible powers, how could I expect the others to do the same?
How could I expect Harry to give up his future to fight for an impossible dream?
That was what I was doing, really. It sounded so incredibly heartless when you said it like that, but wasn't that what the entire wizarding world been doing for fourteen years? Wasn't that what we were doing even now, when we went running to Harry for answers? It was pathetic, when you thought about it, that whenever a problem came up, we went running to Harry. We counted on a fifteen year old boy to lead us, because we were afraid to do it ourselves.
We were playing right into Voldemort's hands, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Even Albus was letting Harry be held accountable for more and more, and I couldn't let that happen. But could I stop it? Or, more than that--was I right? And even if I was, one man couldn't change the world.
I laughed bitterly at that. No, one man couldn't change the world. One man could destroy it.
"Severus?" Dumbledore sounded more than a little confused by my laughter. Certainly, in his eyes, this was no laughing matter. Not even remotely funny. But I couldn't help myself; the irony of the situation just struck me as hilarious.
Albus just stared at me for a moment, then shrugged and looked away. I didn't bother to explain the reason I'd been laughing at the fact that Voldemort was about to conquer our world. The less he knew about me, the better. Only one person in the world--Harry Potter--knew and understood the danger my double-agent role was putting me in during these troubled times, and he wasn't talking.
Perhaps it was ironic too that Harry Potter, the person I had once hated beyond all else, was the only person in the world that knew my darkest secrets. He had the power, if the impulse struck him, to turn me in to Voldemort. What would happen if he did turn me in only Voldemort honestly knew, but I had a vivid imagination and the images that my mind conjured up were worse than any torture.
But there was little use in thinking about that. If it happened, it happened; there was nothing I could do to stop it. I knew it was only a matter of time, though: I played a dangerous game, and eventually I'd have to lose. I always prided myself on being logical and reasonable, but this time logic did little to quell the fear that threatened to overwhelm my self-control.
We were running out of time, and we had yet to decide how far we would go to protect our homes, our lives . . . our freedom. That was the idea that held the most power of me - freedom. I knew what it was like to lose your freedom. I had lost my freedom to Voldemort all those years ago, when I was just seventeen. And even now, I was not free from the dark secrets of my past. I would never be.
I could not simply walk away from this. I could not back out now. I was in this for keeps, and if destiny demanded it, I was willing to give the ultimate sacrifice to protect what I believed in. Voldemort had controlled my life, but I would not let him have that power over me now. I could not undo the past, but my future was entirely up to me. I would not surrender to the monsters that haunted my nightmares.
'You say that now, but when it comes down to it, you're afraid of him,' taunted that little voice inside me.
And I am. I'm afraid of him, I admit it. Denying the truth won't get you anywhere. But if I let that fear overpower me, I would be forced to betray all I held dear. I knew the first time I looked Tom Riddle in the eyes that if he ever succeeded in his quest to rule our world, he would destroy everything I loved. And yet I couldn't say no. My own need for power condemned me forever.
I was out of second chances. I had fought the demons of my past for longer than I cared to admit, and there was nowhere else to run. Nowhere was safe. Would I have the strength to face the inevitable? Would I have the strength to resist Voldemort? I don't know. Maybe I'll never know. There's only one thing that certain now, only one fact that can never change.
I'm out of second chances. And there's no turning back.