I spent a day by the river
It was quiet and the wind stood still
I spent some time with nature
To remind me of all that's real
It's funny how silence speaks sometimes when you're alone
And remember that you feel

Again I stand against the Faceless Man

* * * *
Snape sighed as he stared into the shimmering depths of the lake. What had he come out here for? Quiet, perhaps; God only knew how much he had on his mind. Yes.

But in truth, his reasons were much simpler. With Voldemort on the rise again, Dumbledore had been forced to tell the Hogwarts faculty Severus' true role, and his past - Snape could not forget the horror in their eyes, and the fear. And though he could stand the certainty of torture, of imminent death at Voldemort's hands, he could not take the fear in their eyes.

It went back, he supposed, to the day Lily had learned what he truly was. Her reaction had been no less than his worst nightmares realized - no less than what he deserved. And yet . . .

"You're not." Lily's voice trembled. "Tell me you're not with them."

"I can't do that. I won't lie to you."

"What made you do it? You're not like the rest of them! You're smarter than that! How could you bow to a monster like him and pledge your loyalty - your life, even - to him? It's not right, and you know it's not."

"Not right, yes, but fact." He hated the harshness of his own voice, hated the way she cringed away from him. He had been a fool to come here; he should've just turned himself in to the Ministry and not troubled her. But he'd thought . . hoped . . that she could understand. And, lacking that, that she would prefer to learn it from him than the papers.

"Why'd you come?" Her voice was very soft, as though speaking required real effort.

He looked away from her; the accusation in her emerald eyes was more than he could take. He shouldn't have put her through this; what kind of a monster was he? They'd been friends once, but that had been a long time ago . . too long to change anything now.

"I don't know. I thought perhaps you'd prefer to hear it from me, rather than Potter. You need not go to the trial. If I have one, that is."

"You're giving yourself up?"

"Yes. Not that it matters much, you'd tell them anyway." She didn't respond, and he apparated away, not wanting to hurt her more than he already had. And, against his wishes, she'd been at the trial, just as he'd known she would be.

He'd spent only a week or so in Azkaban; he had been the only Death Eater to surrender himself to the Ministry, and that, of course, caused interest. And Dumbledore had come to him with a proposition: he could either stay in Azkaban until he went utterly mad, as so many did, or he could become a spy for their side. It had been a calculated risk on his part, and a surprisingly hard decision - either to go crazy in perfect safety, or run the risk of dying an extremely unpleasant death at the hands of a man he'd once called master?

Dumbledore had not wanted that last condition attached; he offered to try to get him out of it. But it wouldn't have made any difference in the long run. Snape had never really been cut out for a life on the run, and Voldemort wasn't stupid - he would've known that he'd been betrayed.

And so he had agreed. Sometimes he still wondered why; now, so soon after the Triwizard Tournament, he found the thought coming to mind more often than he would've liked. But he couldn't run now, could he?

No, he'd already decided that; he would protect Lily's son at all costs. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to the problem of Harry's safety.

There had always been a chance, he'd known that. Voldemort was no ordinary man; he should've known that the Dark Lord would return. He should've known. He should've protected Potter, but he'd failed at that as well.

This was time he could not let the inevitable occur. Not while he still lived. But then, he thought with a surprising lack of emotion, if he didn't manage to convince Voldemort of his loyalty, he might not be doing that for much longer either.

* * * *
Now I saw a face on the water
It looked humble but willing to fight
I saw the will of a warrior
His yoke is easy and his burden is light
He looked me right in the eyes
Direct and concise to remind me
To always do what's right

Again I stand against the Faceless Man
* * * *

His gaze strayed to the photograph he held, and he sighed again. Lily waved at him from the photograph, and in this picture, even James forgot himself enough to give his arch-enemy a grin.

This picture had been taken shortly before the tragedy that had shattered his life; he still wondered if he could have saved them. Logic said no; Voldemort had told almost no one about his secret plans for the Potters destruction. But his heart, that great betrayer, told him otherwise, and as always, logic didn't do much toward easing his troubled thoughts.

Harry looked so much like James; the resemblance still shocked him. But those eyes were Lily's; sometimes he wished they weren't. Every time he looked at Harry, he was reminded of laughing, smiling Lily, and that hurt.

Harry, perhaps, could be the hero his world needed so desperately. Snape wasn't, by any means; he was the first to admit that. But Harry . . .

He could be the hero his parents had never gotten the chance to become. He could lead this world to victory; he could change everything. Harry had already learned the cost of betrayal, already knew the pain of heartbreak. Already knew the sense of guilt Snape had lived with every day since the night the Potters had died.

But Harry was able to see past that; for that Snape was thankful. Harry was a born warrior, a born hero. He could let go of the past in a way Severus never could. Those shockingly green eyes were full of a warrior's fire that somehow managed to urge everyone around him to confidence.

* * * *
Next time I see this face
I'll say I choose to live for always
So won't you come inside
And never go away
* * * *

But was that what had forced him to this? That subtle sense of guilt that was present in every waking moment? What if it hadn't been his fault?

"What does it really change?" he said softly. He accidentally released the photograph, and it floated on top of the water for a moment before slowly sinking out of sight beneath the clear blue of the lake.

"It changes everything, Severus," whispered a gentle voice he knew. It wasn't, he knew it wasn't, but for one agonizing second he was certain it sounded exactly like . . . Lily.

And perhaps it did change everything. Everything he knew . . or thought he knew. Maybe that was why Harry still said the name Voldemort without fear; maybe that would guide him through the final battle. Maybe that was why he could still face the dawn, not with fear, but with the same simple joy Lily always had.

Maybe that was what let them face the future . . .

* * * *
Again I stand against the Faceless Man

* * * *s