In which Severus Snape's soul bounces like a bad check.


Having received a boost from the alcohol, James sat down before me once more. He cradled a strong drink closely. He smiled bravely and gestured for me to continue my explanation. I cannot describe how wonderful that single moment was, that he should have the strength to give me trust and patience even after so many harrowing battles with others who bore Voldemort's mark upon their arms.

"We all have choices," I began, "and I always tried to think carefully of the consequences of the choices I made." James nodded in acknowledgement. "I suppose you could say that Lucius left me with little choice, however." He frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but I waved him quiet. "I will have you know I did not deliberately seek out Voldemort. However, as Pandora Potter's grandson, Lucius believed Voldemort would be pleased if I were presented to him like a gift. So he made up a letter from Grandmother, and I stupidly opened it. There was a charm in the seal that knocked me out and Lucius whisked me away to Voldemort."

James remained still, his eyes downcast and his hands clenched tightly around the glass.

"Voldemort gave me a choice: death or join him and receive anything I want." I waited to see if James would comment, but he was still. "I decided death just wouldn't suit me, even though I've decided I'm going to haunt someone after I die. Share the misery and all that. With my luck being what it was at the moment though, I would die and not get to haunt Lucius." I leaned forward and plucked James' drink out of his hands. "When I looked into Voldemort's eyes, I knew I had to fight him; I understood then Grandmother's desperation to understand the depths of that — that monster's power. But what good would I be dead? I would not be the first person he would have killed, and no one else haunts him."

I took a sip of the vodka and then handed the drink back. It burned and slithered down to the depths of my stomach. "So I said I would join him for knowledge." I held a finger up quickly as James moved to speak. "Knowledge of his actions. Knowledge that could be passed to the Aurors, who could use it to their advantage in the struggle to defeat him."

James' eyebrows twitched. Not knowing if that was a good sign or not, I plunged headlong into my explanation, voice rising to discourage interruptions. "I would be a spy for you, James. I could give you the information you need, and if anyone asks where you got it, just tell them you have a spy, but don't mention my name. It must be a secret between the two of us. Dumbledore can't know, Lily can't know, Sirius can't know; don't even let Grandmother know. The less people who know of what I am, the less chance there will be of Voldemort finding himself in a position where he has to kill me."

I started at him hopefully but he turned his eyes away from me, slowly sipping on his vodka. I scrubbed my face with a hand. "James?" I said in a low voice. "Please, don't let my choice be in vain."

He slammed the glass on the table hard. It made me jump in surprise, and James laughed, full of bitterness. "It never ceases to amaze me how Voldemort destroys our family so easily time and time again." He stood and began to restlessly pace the kitchen floor. "How can you be so calm about this entire thing? That mark," he gestured violently at my arm and I pulled the sleeve over it to hide it from his view, "is a death warrant. There are those who will kill you first then ask questions later about why you were with Voldemort. I don't want to use you as a spy. It places you into too much of a risk with people doing just that."

I rubbed the Dark Mark. "It wasn't much a family when I became part of it," I muttered. James' countenance darkened, and I didn't want him to feel offended – it was my family, too. "What would or could be destroyed was done so before I was adopted." How utterly wrong I was. In those days, there was the matron of the Potter family and her grandsons. We had the family cottage and all those marvellous portraits. Now there is only the wealth stored in vaults, you, and I.

We are a dismal lot at best. I hate to write it, Harry, but between you and I, the Potter family is getting nowhere fast.

But I suppose that is just as well, since doing otherwise would require one or both of us to breed.

James carried his glass over to Pandora's liquor cupboard and mixed another drink. He remained silent as he did so. When he finally returned and settled in his seat, he cleared his voice and spoke softly. There was a tremble in his hands, and colour had leached from his face. He looked to be suffering physical pain of some sort, though I could not tell you why. "If I use you as a spy, I would be no more different than Lucius. He used you to gain the favour of Voldemort, just as I would be using you to gain the favour of, well, I'd be using you."

"It's my idea."

"I don't like it. If Voldemort learns you're a spy, being Grandmother's grandson isn't going to save you. If the Aurors discover you as a Death Eater, being my brother will not save you. Either way, you're trapped."

"And how many will die in the future?" I asked suddenly, not wanting to think of how Voldemort did know of my intentions. "Right now, the Aurors are blind. You fumble in the dark, striking wildly at anything that moves. Voldemort has the advantage at the moment because he is a creature of the dark that knows exactly what is going on. How much could you change the odds if I feed you information? I could be the light in the darkness that would show you people where to go."

"I don't like using you. What if you give us false information accidentally? How will both of us feel then? What if we let something slip and Voldemort finds out? There are too many unknown factors here."

"Your biggest problem is that you don't want to use me."

He shook his head. "Yes."

My signals were getting mixed and I was beginning to feel disgusted with him. "Why?"

"Because it's wrong! It'll be just like the way Voldemort uses people. We don't have to stoop to their petty level. We're better than them."

We glared defiantly at one another. I shifted in my seat. "Remember how we met Lily?" I asked.

"If you change the subject, I'm going to decide this conversation is closed and will not allow it to be brought up again."

"I'm trying to make a point, you dolt, now let me finish. When Grandmother told parents that their children were capable of magic and that yes, magic did exist, she first learned how acceptable the idea itself was for the parents by watching us manipulate one another into getting the child's reaction to it. In this, we do nothing dif—"

"This is different!" James leapt to his feet and I leaned back, lest he jumped across the table and began to shake me. "This is not a game for us! There are too many lives and too many consequences now. We cannot afford to risk lives for a little bit of knowledge. I won't risk you. Grandmother would have my head if—"

"And it is too late now!" I jumped to my own feet and glared down at him, mentally daring him to so much as lay a single finger upon my person. "I am already a Death Eater. I have sat in on plans, made suggestions, and tomorrow, I lead an attack against the Muggle Slums of London. How do I back out of this situation? I can't. Where do I run that Voldemort will not eventually find me?" I stopped; I had begun shouting, but that would only make adrenaline pump faster and then neither of us would be fit to listen. "It was my life or Lily's."

That got his attention. His legs folded beneath him in shock and he dropped listlessly in to his chair. Moisture began to glisten at the corner of his eyes. "And now that it is my life, that will be forfeit should I turn my back on Voldemort," I said softly, sitting down as well. "If you refuse to take advantage of the choice I made, then it's useless. My life will be worth nothing." I leaned forward until our noses nearly bumped, forcing his eyes to meet my own. "Are you so bent on doing what is honourable that, when I try to leave Voldemort otherwise, I will be played with? Do you want that instead? I would rather be used as a tool that could stop him than a plaything for his amusement!"

The old mask of pain I was used to seeing in your father's eyes when I knew he was thinking of that time he had spent alone with Voldemort appeared. He looked shattered and defeated at that moment, and I damned Voldemort thrice over for the price of the victory I wrought from my brother. "Fine," James said hoarsely. "So be my spy."

He fled then and I knew he had gone to Pandora's room, seeking sanctuary that can never exist so long as Voldemort does.

And so it was we were once more manipulating one another, leading each other in circles, using one another for cues, placing each other in the situations required of us.

I waited and watched in those meetings Voldemort had me attend. I passed my acquired information to James, who set traps and ambushes. Voldemort knew what I did, and seemed rather amused by the trouble and danger James and I created. He said he had not had a decent challenge since Pandora left and it was only fitting that her two grandsons should take up her mantle.

Knowing one of his own betrayed him was more of a game than anything else, and Voldemort did so love his games. He used the traps and ambushes for his own experiences, somehow garnering more than I did. He warned me though; one wrong slip that alerted the other Death Eaters to my true nature, and he would punish me as cruelly as he would punish any other traitor. More so, indeed, because I was special in that way.

I would be hard-put to amuse him after he finished wringing what humanity I had left, and he did just that, little by little. It started with a few suggestions and contributions to his plans, elevated to making dark potions for him — not potions that killed, but potions that caused excruciating pain or blackouts or numbed the victim's mind until they were as obedient as if cast with the Imperius Curse — and then I took human lives.

I never killed anyone, Harry. At least, that is not how I view my actions. I sacrificed lives. It was better than two or three people died by my hand rather than allow the whole world to be destroyed. Better they died quick and painlessly, rather than become puppets for the Death Eaters' play. I feel myself justified.

Each time I looked directly into Voldemort's eyes and saw the emptiness within them, saw the burning need to dominate, I know those who died would be the lucky ones should Voldemort succeed. Either way, I did these people a favour. Yes, my hands are stained with blood, and I shall not I deny I am a murderer. But the only person I killed was myself, for each time I sacrificed a life to destroy the most powerful magic-user the wizarding world knew then a piece of my soul blackened and turned to ash. Pandora's work to soften me, to lead me to a life worth living, was slowly dismantled and strewn to the winds of Fate.

It was bad enough, I told Voldemort, that I had to help him make plans to kill people, but I did not want to see the eyes of those I killed. I would lead attacks though, directing from the background away from the fighting between the Death Eaters, their target, and alerted Aurors. I had to stand before people and take their lives, rather than let them live and be used for Death Eaters' amusement. Voldemort merely snickered and told me to get back to brewing my potions.

A year passed. Lily and James were married. I did not attend the wedding; I spent all that evening distracting Voldemort who wanted to crash the wedding reception with two-dozen Death Eaters and a box of dung bombs. Voldemort slipped a snake-in-a-box contraption/toy past me though. James told me a snake flew out of it into his face with a shower of sparks when he had lifted the lid of what he thought was a wedding present. He wanted to know if it was my idea to attach Tom Riddle's name to it, but I claimed ignorance.

Another year followed that. Within that year, James and I only received one letter from Pandora. She never answered our own, no matter how frantic we wrote; she would not be rushed by anyone, and time was of the essence.

My dearest boys

I trust you two are staying out of trouble and are marginally getting along. At least my letters are not bloodstained and for that I am grateful. Tracing the footsteps of a man who passed through almost three decades ago has been difficult, to say the least. The Dark Arts of Africa and the Middle East are extremely, well, dark. These arts are truly powerful and truly terrifying as I have never known them, and if those Dark Wizards of the past in these countries had become as skilled and adept in using these spells as Tom Riddle, the magic world would have fallen thousands of years ago.

Little by little though, I am beginning to understand the true magnitude of Riddle's powers. That he has a reservoir of such magic within him to use these arts is mind-boggling at the most. Immortality, necromancy, summoning; he learned Dark Arts so forbidden and so closely guarded by the natives that I spend more time trying to stay alive than researching.

Make no mistake, my darlings, I do a great deal of research.

I find that Riddle's strength and power are like layers. Layers of enhancement and layers of control, all wrapped around a single core that masters and feeds them all. These layers are what will have to be destroyed. I loathe doing it, for I fear that even at my height when youth and power had peaked together, I am not strong enough. But it is either Professor Dumbledore or I, and only I may get close enough to Riddle to do what will be needed.

So James and Lily finally married, did they? I won the betting pool! I won the betting pool! I would like my half of the winnings deposited within my account, thank you very much. ) And a baby boy too! My gods, the merrily wed couple has been very busy indeed! I shall gloat and spoil baby Harry as is my right when I return home.

Aside from embarrassing James, I have to say I am doing well and am continuously drawing closer to a plan for stripping the power from Tom Riddle. I will not permanently rid him of his power — within him lies too much for me to, for anyone really — but I can get rid of the enhancements and controls and the power clinging to that. Every little bit will help in the long run. Unfortunately, I must stay where I am and formulate my plan with materials I can snatch without notice from the natives.

Until I come home again, you two keep well, remain out of trouble, and get along.

Love now and always

Pandora

I should mention here that you were born on your parents' wedding anniversary. Actually, there were many babies born that year, you being just one of them. Ron Weasley, your cousin Draco, Neville, and you were all born bang, bang, bang, right after one another, just in that order. Neville came as no surprise, as Frank popped up every week to babble of how his dear Alice was doing. When Neville was born, Frank got drunk and came over to Dinsmore to offer us cigars and nearly burned the house down when he attempted to light them with his wand. James and I laughed our arses off at his ineptness and it was Lily, belly swollen with you, who tossed him out on his ear.

I believe this exertion caused Lily to go into early labour, as you were born the day after Neville.

I would like to say that Lucius made a silly arse of himself as well, but it was Romono who appeared to give us a bottle of Muggle wine to announce the birth of his grandson. He beamed, proud and boastful, and told us everything he could about Draco while we pretended to send off a letter to Pandora to announce the news.

Shortly after the birth of his son, Lucius dramatically reduced his activities with the Death Eaters. He began to work, slowly but surely, to ensure Draco would receive an unusual amount of power and wealth when he eventually inherits. I was there when Lucius brought Draco to Voldemort for approval. I knelt in the far off corner of the room and watched the comings and goings, listening to the news Death Eaters brought Voldemort. Lucius swept into the room, wearing his Death Eater uniform and carrying a small, squirming bundle in his arms. He presented the bundle to Voldemort as if offering him the world.

Voldemort gently pulled the blanket back. From my viewpoint, all I could see was wrinkled pink flesh and a tuft of white-blond hair. Lucius swelled with paternal pride as Voldemort cradled the child and rubbed various body parts with a single finger, coaxing giggles and grins from Draco.

How do all cute little babies grow up to be obnoxious teenagers? Strike that – how can anyone even think these squalling, demanding, selfish little human beings are even cute?

I remember thinking I would never subject to any woman the pains of pregnancy upon witnessing Lily mope around Dinsmore where she and James had been living since they married. She usually had her swollen ankles propped up on one piece of furniture as she slumped over another, reading various "How To Raise Your Baby" books, which James would trip over in the middle of the night on his way to the loo.

You were born at late in the morning, after many hours of hard delivery. I can remember standing beside Lily's bed as James handed you to her and kissed her on the cheek, softly saying, "Happy Anniversary."

Tired, ragged, and grumpy from undergoing labour, Lily proceeded to strangle James for the most gruesome hours thus far of her life. She screeched the entire time on how she hated him, this was his fault, and she wanted a box of chocolate for her anniversary gift, not cramps and birthing pains. I had stayed home to help the birthing the best I could and missed a Death Eater meeting in the process.

Because I was helping you — with your usual bungling timing; I should have known it was a sign of things to be — make your grand entrance into this world, I did not learn that Frank and Alice Longbottom had been targeted for a "warning". In my innocent bliss, I Apparated to their cottage to give them the news (and to repay Frank for almost burning down Dinsmore in his state of intoxication) and almost directly landed inside a party of half a dozen Death Eaters. Naturally, I hid.

They did not see me when they departed. Voldemort's death sign hung over the house, ominous and gruesome. I stared at it in shock before realizing that Neville was screaming himself livid inside the house.

Fearing what lay within, I reluctantly approached and entered the house. I saw neither Frank nor Alice, and I traced the wailing to Neville's overturned crib. His face was blotchy and purple from his wailing. I picked him up, swaddled him in a fluffy blue blanket, and rocked him quiet. I did not want to search the house and discover Frank dead; I was not sure how I would have reacted. As I left the house and stood on its threshold, I felt my Dark Mark burn from a call and, without thinking, I Apparated to Voldemort, who was pacing a dark room within the Riddle manor.

He did not look at me as I appeared by his side, gasping for breath as little Neville whimpered. I had not realized how draining it was to double-Apparate, and found myself appreciating Pandora's strength that night long ago when Remus had bitten me.

Voldemort stopped upright at a whimper, approached me slowly, and then swiped the bundle from my arms when I was still too weak to shield Neville from him. As Voldemort turned his back to me I stumbled to my knees and grasped wildly at his cloak. "Is this James' brat?" he asked as he opened the blanket. Neville cooed up at him and Voldemort grinned.

"N-no."

Voldemort nudged my body with his foot and sighed in disgust. "We don't kidnap babies and eat them, Severus, despite the rumours otherwise. If this isn't your nephew, you need to put him back where you found him."

"N-no." How could the monster joke when my friend could very well be dead? I found strength in the anger and forced myself to rise to my unsteady feet. "That's Neville Longbottom, son of Auror Frank Longbottom."

"Oh. Well, Frank's son. That's all right then." Voldemort began to pace the room once more, rocking Neville in his arms. My anger swelled at Voldemort's daring, at the heartlessness of it all. But neither of us could afford my loss of temper; Voldemort watched me from the corner of his eye, amused as he gauged my reactions.

"Why was he left alive when Frank and Alice were attacked?" I asked softly. If the attack on Frank was a test for me, then I would tear the Riddle manor down upon Voldemort's head – once I had squirreled Neville to safety, of course.

"Because I like children," Voldemort replied loftily. Neville squealed in his arms. "Oh, don't frown like that, Severus; the Longbottoms are not dead."

"No?"

Voldemort turned back to me. "If you think I want Augusta Longbottom to come after me..." He shuddered and I was reminded of the one person who intimated Pandora. "What a horrible woman," he muttered. "I should know; I went to school with her even if she was some years behind me. She's a Hufflepuff, which may surprise you," (it did indeed), "but it suits her well enough, being the ill-tempered badger that she is." He clicked his tongue. "Augusta was married six times but only retained her first husband's name. Frank was born four years after her sixth marriage ended in her sixth divorce, rather late in her reproductive years. It was a horrible scandal, but no one was foolish enough to bring it to her face. Hell," he muttered almost too softly for me to hear, "I wouldn't."

He rocked Neville in his arms. "It is a warning to that family not to fight me," he said. "Mrs. Longbottom, to preserve her grandson, will not oppose me anymore." It was an echo of the situation of Pandora's life and I shivered as a dark foreboding wandered over what remained of my withered soul.

May Neville actually gain a backbone through my badgering. It shall serve him well in his later years. Better that I be the most terrifying thing he has ever known, that the idea I would punish him for betraying his friends save you all in the end. Who knows? Our actions all create ripples, which effect the future. Come what may, between Augusta Longbottom and myself, Neville will learn to stand on his own two feet (or we will kill him trying).

Little by little, in the next nine months, Voldemort snuck plans and meetings past me without my knowledge. He ordered attacks on those who opposed him, and I was unable to pass the information to James. Voldemort had somehow gained a spy. This brought us to a dead standstill, with the Aurors knowing what Voldemort would do, and with Voldemort knowing how the Aurors planned to respond.

Finally, many of the Aurors gathered together in a single meeting to brainstorm. James refused to inform me where it was located and I could not begrudge him of this. At the time, it was just as well. Voldemort wanted to speak with me about a special mission.

I knelt before him as he sat on his chair surrounded by the twisting shadows. Lucius stood at his right. "Severus," Voldemort said softly as he tapped the end of his wand against one thigh, "I need a party-wrecker. Lucius here does not wish to lead and you are the only one whom I believe capable of not botching this mission."

Behind my mask, my eyebrow twitched. "A party-wrecker?" I said. "Surely that is better left to those who have already lost all semblance of dignity."

Something flashed across his face. "Do you question my decision?"

"No, my lord," I said, bowing deep enough for my forehead to brush his knees. "Merely that being a party-wrecker sounds rather oafish, and I do have the dignity of my name to live up to."

"Perhaps not a party-wrecker," Voldemort amended lightly as he swept one of his hands through my hair. I grimaced at his touch; who knew that he preferred greasy black hair? "There are Muggles and Wizarding folk alike gathering together alike to celebrate this Easter holiday. I think it would do to remind these people that there is no celebration for these dark times. Kill some or toy with some, but destroy their mood and festivities."

As I left to gather together those who would carry this out mission with me, I smelled someone. Undoubtedly that seems a very strange observation to you, but I was well acquainted with that smell. I did help Lily select that particular aftershave set for a Christmas gift, after all. (Laugh at the idea of my carrying Lily's shopping bags, if you will, but someone had to help her carry her bags and a certain other someone had decided it was far safer fighting Voldemort headlong than it was braving the Muggles' shopping malls during holidays with an almost equally-pregnant Petunia for company.)

I saw a plump little figure cowering near a corner of Voldemort's throne at the edge of the light. I recognized the form of Peter Pettigrew, confirmed by the stench of that Christmas gift. I knew the distinct way he had of standing hunched over, feet splayed wide and hands clenched tightly.

I strangely felt satisfied in my discovery. Peter had betrayed the person who trusted him more than I was trusted. I, a child whom the world had destroyed the chances to learn trust, had placed myself explicitly in that very same person's hands. I stowed the information back in the recesses of my mind where it would rest until I informed someone other than James. As satisfied as I was in learning Peter's betrayal, I found I could not hurt my brother by informing him of his best friend's betrayal. No; Sirius Black deserved to be the first told.

Easy said and easy done was my mission, for most of it, at least. There were six places I went. I did not kill, I commanded there would be no death created by the forty Death Eaters I led, for just destroying their festivities and teasing people at each place was enough to remind them Voldemort should not be forgotten so easily. Raving lunatics at Saint Mungo's usually convey a more impressive message than a rotting corpse.

In the end, it was only a set-up against me. Another of Voldemort's tests, one that went horrible wrong? I do not know.

The Death Eaters had their own commands. At the first five places, the Death Eaters did as I had commanded, scaring and toying with the humans. At the sixth place, they attacked and killed directly. I stood in the shadows of a building and watched in horror when I realized this was not the same as all those other places. I heard the screams that swiftly turned from fear into pain and agony. This was not toying — this was death. I was enraged that the Death Eaters should disobey my orders and kill when I had commanded otherwise, but when I saw Sirius fall out of the front door, struggling with one Death Eater over a wand, I realized this was the meeting James had mentioned.

Voldemort had known and had given his own separate commands for this particular location.

My rage turned into a chilling fear and I rushed headlong to the building. My brother was in that building, along with Lily… and you. I did not care if Voldemort would kill me for helping James directly before the Death Eaters. I was not going to betray James' trust this time or any other time. I finally had the trust, which I thought impossible to receive, and I treasured it beyond my own life.

The Death Eater Sirius fought threw him off and Sirius slammed into the wall. His head crashed against it with an awful crunch. He looked stunned and one arm twitched as I levered my own wand against the Death Eater and uttered the Killing Curse. I bent over Sirius even before the body dropped. "Are you well?" I asked. Sirius squinted at me and I wondered if the blow to his head had addled what little brain he used. I heard Lily scream and saw a flash of light. I heard you wail. Sirius reached up and grabbed hold of my mask as I stood and followed your screams. I never noticed as I retaliated against the Death Eaters.

The Aurors fought against their attackers, and it was a close battle even with my surprised attack at the flanks of the Death Eaters. From the moment I entered to the very end of the battle, everything remains a blur to me. It all happened too fast and I was too filled with desperation, fear, and anger to think clearly. All I know is that I killed. All I know is that I followed your screams to my doom.

My next comprehensible memory of that time is standing before Sirius, the only other conscience adult in that entire building. Sirius had trouble focusing his eyes and kept leaning to the side, slightly off-balanced. I held you close, Harry. Your cries were still and I first thought you were dead, because Lily had been holding you when both she and James had been struck unconscious from the Cruciatus curse. Sirius tried to pry you loose from my arms, but I, too tired to fling any more spells, tried to jab out his eyes with my wand. He stumbled out of my reach and looked like he would tear me from limb to limb just as soon as he could figure out which of the two of me he saw was the right one.

"Get help," I said to Sirius. "Get help for everyone." I turned back to where James' body was curled in a foetal position on the floor, his hands twitching even while unconscious. You finally stirred in my arms and reached out to your father.

"Papa?"

"Needs help," I said. Sirius decided he could speak as well. I should have aimed for his voice box instead of his eyes.

"You — I don't trust you, you scum-sucking death-consuming filthy street rat! I'm not going to get help with you here near James and holding Harry. You might kill them!"

I said nothing as I pulled the upper part of James' body onto my lap and let you tangle your hands in his hair. Sirius would not risk attacking me when I was so shielded.

"I don't trust you!" He stumbled to stand in my line of vision. I looked up him and he blinked several times as disbelief filled his face.

"I don't trust myself either," I whispered. "Go to Dumbledore and tell him what happened here. Get help." James twitched in my arms. "I am n-not going anywhere." Still, Sirius would not move. "I swear upon Pandora Potter's wrath, I will not go anywhere. I will stay here."

Comforted with the idea that Pandora would flay me alive upon learning I was a Death Eater, Sirius finally hurried away. I do not know how long I held you and your father, but some time later a man with wild hair and a roaming Magic Eye stood before me.

"Severus Snape?" he asked, sounding uncertain of whether I was even aware of his presence. I realized I had been crying, but for how long I did not know; perhaps I had first started crying when I retaliated against the Death Eaters. This surprised me. I thought I was incapable of shedding tears for someone I loved after I had destroyed my humanity at Voldemort's behest, and I think this Auror was equally surprised for the very same reason. He regarded me a long moment. "I am Alastor Moody, and you are under arrest."