Disclaimer: They are not mine yet, except for the plot, of course.
Summary: If you like summaries that badly, go back to chapter one. Spare me the typing.
AN: This is definitely not my best. I am sorry if this disappoints you and it has taken so long, but it took me forever. It's so sad that five day's work can be read in five minutes. You other writers can sympathize with me. Chapters two and three are essential because of, well, you'll see. I have corrected chapters one and two. Thanks to all my reviewers!
Shadow Child
Chapter Three: The Stench of Guilt
Headmaster's Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Friday, October 26, 1979, 6:00 P.M.
The sky outside was slowly turning to a dusky blue, an autumn wind blowing carelessly about. The Forbidden Forest looked dangerous, silhouetted against the clouds. The Headmaster's office was quiet, as students did homework in their Common Rooms, teacher's graded papers, and the portraits snoozed in their frames. The window in the office was open, so the breeze played with the sitting man's long white hair.
He was sitting at a mahogany desk with intricately carved vines within the wood. Soft scarlet velvet plush chairs were situated around the old room. Old Headmasters and Mistresses snoozed in their frames. The gray stone of the room gave off a cold chill. A small brown bird flew in the tower window, and landed on the desk. It held it's leg out, and the man exchanged the paper it held for a couple small bronze coins. He then flipped the parchment open.
Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk reading the "Evening Prophet." His minute owl, Jenna, [AN: Go to http://babynames.com to find out more] had just delivered it to him. He automatically flipped to the death columns, checking to see who had become one of the new victims. The whole paper was almost completely a graveyard now, but the obituary section was shorter, making it easier to find people.
Dumbledore scanned through the names quickly: Chandler, Evan; Finder [AN: Pronounced with a short i], Walter and Doris; Forester, Harvey; Gratefield, Timmons; Jones, Beth; Kandle, William and Betsy; Kind, George and Lucy; Kiyoshi, Placido and Tacita; Paterson, Lu- wait. He knew them. Placido Kiyoshi was a close friend of his.
Dumbledore looked down at their death notice. There were too many deaths now to give everyone an obituary. There hadn't been too many lately, no one knew why, but there were still quite a few. More than there had been, for instance, about a decade ago, before Lord Voldemort came to power. Dumbledore read the death notice. It was about three inches long and said:
Placido and Tacita Kiyoshi: Died in a small attack at their country home on the outskirts of London. The Emergency Squad that went to the scene found the elderly couple. The attack is thought to be the work of Death Eaters. Their unexpected death could possibly have something to do with their job as Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic, as many think that the couple knew something about Voldemort's current whereabouts. They were 163 and 159 years old. The funeral will be held on Tuesday the thirtieth. [AN: Their names mean something. Go to http://babynames.com to find out more.]
Dumbledore cradled his head in his hand. They had been honorable people and had worked for the Ministry as Unspeakables for over twelve decades. They must have known something, just as the article rumored. They could not even tell him what they knew. The more people knew, the more dangerous their job was. Voldemort was somewhere in England, and close, too. Many different sources had told the ministry this, but the young minister was too carefree to care. Even with the murders going on everyday, Higgins refused to give up people to search the entire country.
A knock at the door disturbed his thoughts. It was probably one of the teachers, come to talk about their classes. But instead, Severus Snape stepped in. He was an old friend too, though he worked at the Ministry. He had been a student below Dumbledore just under a year ago. One of the brightest of his class, Snape had reminded Dumbledore of Tom Riddle, an exceptionally bright student, too, who had gone bad and was now Lord Voldemort.
Snape and Riddle had both been Slytherins, and snotty ones at that. But Snape had an air about him that demanded respect and understanding. Once the boy had graduated, he had gone to Dumbledore for job help. Dumbledore had only been Snape's teacher for one year, and his headmaster for six. Dumbledore had not understood Snape's reasoning to come to the previous Head of Gryffindor House, but helped him none-the-less. They had become close, and Snape dropped in at random times, so Dumbledore really should not have been as surprised as he was.
"Come in," Dumbledore welcomed.
"I need to talk to you," Snape said shortly.
"I believe you are doing so already."
"Seriously."
"Yes, of course. Do take a seat."
"I heard about the murder of your friends."
"Yes, well." Dumbledore said, unsure of what to say, not even wondering how Snape knew about their death, since the paper had arrived moments earlier.
Then Snape said curtly, "I know who did it."
"Who?" Dumbledore asked, curious, yet rather apprehensive.
Severus Snape, looked Dumbledore straight in the eye and claimed unflinchingly and harsh, yet still in a moderately soft voice, almost threatening, which seemed to be put on to show the world what this man was about, "Me."
* * * * * *
Headmaster's Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Friday, October 26, 1979, 6:00 P.M.
His stony face showed no sign of regret, and then, like watching a wave cling to the sand as a foothold, protection against the great water which pulled back on it, forcing it into the sea unwillingly, the lines on his face screwed up, as if he were desperately trying to restrain himself from something. And concentrating hard on the patterns on the floor, Snape whispered in a barely audible voice, with eyes full of fresh tears that threatened to fall, "I'm sorry."
Moments before, this same man had stood before Dumbledore, staring him down. Severus Snape was a man unmoved by murder and death, but somehow, this one had cracked him.
Snape blinked back his tears. "Are you mad at me?" he asked cautiously, turning a delicate shade of pink, embarrassed at his show of feelings. The Snapes were not ones to show what they felt. It told others about your lack of self-control and how weak you were. Snape felt very much like a six-year-old who had broken his mother's favorite China plate.
Dumbledore lifted his gaze from his desk to study Snape, boring deep holes through the other man's remorse filled eyes that held a small look of hope, which Dumbledore looked past, trying to see beyond.
Snape was biting his lip- very uncharacteristic of him. He wanted to look away, but did not, fearing it would lower his chances of forgiveness by the only person who ever would consider it. The knot in his stomach tightened as Dumbledore delayed, and he put on an even more resolute face, as if set for the worst.
"No," Dumbledore said suddenly, sounding definite. "No," he repeated, "I'm not."
Snape breathed deeply, having let out the breath he had absentmindedly been holding.
"I am however," he continued, "extremely disappointed."
Snape's heart stopped, waiting for Dumbledore to finish. He was frozen. His heart was ice cold, not that that was unusual, but this time it was a fearful cold, not an evil cold.
"How long?" Dumbledore questioned.
"Five years," Snape replied. "Five long, horrible years."
"Please explain."
Snape began, summarizing it, trying to get it over with. "It began in '74. My father, Ignatius Snape, was a Death Eater, and thought that, in times like this, when the Dark Lord needed followers that bad, fourteen was old enough for the Ceremony. They branded the snake and skull symbol on my arm and welcomed me into the group that Christmas. I felt at home. It seemed like I was finally where I belonged.
"It wasn't until last December that I realized I had already left the world where I should be. The people there would never accept me back. I worked even harder for my Master, trying to make up for my doubts and put my thoughts in their place. My rank was increased, but I did not feel any better about myself. This time, when I killed the Kiyoshis, I wanted to hurl. It was wrong. So I have come to you for help. My heart is still frozen, though," he added, as if to give any spy Death Eater, or anyone else for that matter, who might possibly be outside the door, listening with their ear pushed up against the wood, the benefit of the doubt, that Snape was not a good guy, nor would he ever be.
Dumbledore nodded. Knowing Severus, that had been an extremely detailed summary. He continued, thinking. "So what do you want exactly?"
"I want to know how I can help the Resistance. I will do anything."
"Anything?" Dumbledore questioned for clarification.
"Anything," Snape repeated.
Dumbledore leaned forward. "We need spies," he said.
Snape looked taken back, but with one look at Dumbledore's stern face, he knew it was a take it or leave it deal. There was to be no haggling. Snape inhaled deeply, "I'll do it. When do I start?"
* * * * * *
The Dark Forces Headquarters; Saturday, October 27, 1979, 10:45 P.M.
Voldemort hissed.
"I smell guilt. It stinks and rots and must be disposed of," he said evilly.
The Death Eaters in the room exchanged glances behind their masks. They were afraid. Was it them? Had they thought something forbidden? The smaller ones shrank into the crowd that they normally tried to avoid. They did not want attention for once.
Voldemort paced. Finally, he came to a halt in front of Snape.
Then he hissed loudly, looking directly at Snape, "Nagini, you might be getting dessert tonight."
I know, not too great, but did you like it? Be critical please in your review (hint, hint, wink, wink, nod, nod). Flames are accepted. Anyone who wants to be emailed when to next chapter comes out needs to say so in their review. Check out the websites and my profile page.
Thank yous:
Arikrain: Thank you for your kindness! Go surf the sites above!
ginger_pop: I've made more!
Legacy Lady: I'm glad you like my story plot and writing style! Thank you!
Friend: Thanks! Hope you liked this chapter!
Faith McKay: Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it.
Safire: Really?! I didn't know anyone else thought that! It does make it more interesting.
NotQuiteFamous: Thank you for the FYI. I have corrected it.
angelhitomi: I have continued!
Darkpurpleflame: Thank you! I appreciate the critical review. This probably isn't any better than the previous chapter, but oh well. Hope you feel better.
Nagini: I've written more! Thanks!
I feel like I've typed thank you a thousand times, but you all deserve thank yous! Thanks again. Please review :)
Summary: If you like summaries that badly, go back to chapter one. Spare me the typing.
AN: This is definitely not my best. I am sorry if this disappoints you and it has taken so long, but it took me forever. It's so sad that five day's work can be read in five minutes. You other writers can sympathize with me. Chapters two and three are essential because of, well, you'll see. I have corrected chapters one and two. Thanks to all my reviewers!
Shadow Child
Chapter Three: The Stench of Guilt
Headmaster's Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Friday, October 26, 1979, 6:00 P.M.
The sky outside was slowly turning to a dusky blue, an autumn wind blowing carelessly about. The Forbidden Forest looked dangerous, silhouetted against the clouds. The Headmaster's office was quiet, as students did homework in their Common Rooms, teacher's graded papers, and the portraits snoozed in their frames. The window in the office was open, so the breeze played with the sitting man's long white hair.
He was sitting at a mahogany desk with intricately carved vines within the wood. Soft scarlet velvet plush chairs were situated around the old room. Old Headmasters and Mistresses snoozed in their frames. The gray stone of the room gave off a cold chill. A small brown bird flew in the tower window, and landed on the desk. It held it's leg out, and the man exchanged the paper it held for a couple small bronze coins. He then flipped the parchment open.
Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk reading the "Evening Prophet." His minute owl, Jenna, [AN: Go to http://babynames.com to find out more] had just delivered it to him. He automatically flipped to the death columns, checking to see who had become one of the new victims. The whole paper was almost completely a graveyard now, but the obituary section was shorter, making it easier to find people.
Dumbledore scanned through the names quickly: Chandler, Evan; Finder [AN: Pronounced with a short i], Walter and Doris; Forester, Harvey; Gratefield, Timmons; Jones, Beth; Kandle, William and Betsy; Kind, George and Lucy; Kiyoshi, Placido and Tacita; Paterson, Lu- wait. He knew them. Placido Kiyoshi was a close friend of his.
Dumbledore looked down at their death notice. There were too many deaths now to give everyone an obituary. There hadn't been too many lately, no one knew why, but there were still quite a few. More than there had been, for instance, about a decade ago, before Lord Voldemort came to power. Dumbledore read the death notice. It was about three inches long and said:
Placido and Tacita Kiyoshi: Died in a small attack at their country home on the outskirts of London. The Emergency Squad that went to the scene found the elderly couple. The attack is thought to be the work of Death Eaters. Their unexpected death could possibly have something to do with their job as Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic, as many think that the couple knew something about Voldemort's current whereabouts. They were 163 and 159 years old. The funeral will be held on Tuesday the thirtieth. [AN: Their names mean something. Go to http://babynames.com to find out more.]
Dumbledore cradled his head in his hand. They had been honorable people and had worked for the Ministry as Unspeakables for over twelve decades. They must have known something, just as the article rumored. They could not even tell him what they knew. The more people knew, the more dangerous their job was. Voldemort was somewhere in England, and close, too. Many different sources had told the ministry this, but the young minister was too carefree to care. Even with the murders going on everyday, Higgins refused to give up people to search the entire country.
A knock at the door disturbed his thoughts. It was probably one of the teachers, come to talk about their classes. But instead, Severus Snape stepped in. He was an old friend too, though he worked at the Ministry. He had been a student below Dumbledore just under a year ago. One of the brightest of his class, Snape had reminded Dumbledore of Tom Riddle, an exceptionally bright student, too, who had gone bad and was now Lord Voldemort.
Snape and Riddle had both been Slytherins, and snotty ones at that. But Snape had an air about him that demanded respect and understanding. Once the boy had graduated, he had gone to Dumbledore for job help. Dumbledore had only been Snape's teacher for one year, and his headmaster for six. Dumbledore had not understood Snape's reasoning to come to the previous Head of Gryffindor House, but helped him none-the-less. They had become close, and Snape dropped in at random times, so Dumbledore really should not have been as surprised as he was.
"Come in," Dumbledore welcomed.
"I need to talk to you," Snape said shortly.
"I believe you are doing so already."
"Seriously."
"Yes, of course. Do take a seat."
"I heard about the murder of your friends."
"Yes, well." Dumbledore said, unsure of what to say, not even wondering how Snape knew about their death, since the paper had arrived moments earlier.
Then Snape said curtly, "I know who did it."
"Who?" Dumbledore asked, curious, yet rather apprehensive.
Severus Snape, looked Dumbledore straight in the eye and claimed unflinchingly and harsh, yet still in a moderately soft voice, almost threatening, which seemed to be put on to show the world what this man was about, "Me."
* * * * * *
Headmaster's Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Friday, October 26, 1979, 6:00 P.M.
His stony face showed no sign of regret, and then, like watching a wave cling to the sand as a foothold, protection against the great water which pulled back on it, forcing it into the sea unwillingly, the lines on his face screwed up, as if he were desperately trying to restrain himself from something. And concentrating hard on the patterns on the floor, Snape whispered in a barely audible voice, with eyes full of fresh tears that threatened to fall, "I'm sorry."
Moments before, this same man had stood before Dumbledore, staring him down. Severus Snape was a man unmoved by murder and death, but somehow, this one had cracked him.
Snape blinked back his tears. "Are you mad at me?" he asked cautiously, turning a delicate shade of pink, embarrassed at his show of feelings. The Snapes were not ones to show what they felt. It told others about your lack of self-control and how weak you were. Snape felt very much like a six-year-old who had broken his mother's favorite China plate.
Dumbledore lifted his gaze from his desk to study Snape, boring deep holes through the other man's remorse filled eyes that held a small look of hope, which Dumbledore looked past, trying to see beyond.
Snape was biting his lip- very uncharacteristic of him. He wanted to look away, but did not, fearing it would lower his chances of forgiveness by the only person who ever would consider it. The knot in his stomach tightened as Dumbledore delayed, and he put on an even more resolute face, as if set for the worst.
"No," Dumbledore said suddenly, sounding definite. "No," he repeated, "I'm not."
Snape breathed deeply, having let out the breath he had absentmindedly been holding.
"I am however," he continued, "extremely disappointed."
Snape's heart stopped, waiting for Dumbledore to finish. He was frozen. His heart was ice cold, not that that was unusual, but this time it was a fearful cold, not an evil cold.
"How long?" Dumbledore questioned.
"Five years," Snape replied. "Five long, horrible years."
"Please explain."
Snape began, summarizing it, trying to get it over with. "It began in '74. My father, Ignatius Snape, was a Death Eater, and thought that, in times like this, when the Dark Lord needed followers that bad, fourteen was old enough for the Ceremony. They branded the snake and skull symbol on my arm and welcomed me into the group that Christmas. I felt at home. It seemed like I was finally where I belonged.
"It wasn't until last December that I realized I had already left the world where I should be. The people there would never accept me back. I worked even harder for my Master, trying to make up for my doubts and put my thoughts in their place. My rank was increased, but I did not feel any better about myself. This time, when I killed the Kiyoshis, I wanted to hurl. It was wrong. So I have come to you for help. My heart is still frozen, though," he added, as if to give any spy Death Eater, or anyone else for that matter, who might possibly be outside the door, listening with their ear pushed up against the wood, the benefit of the doubt, that Snape was not a good guy, nor would he ever be.
Dumbledore nodded. Knowing Severus, that had been an extremely detailed summary. He continued, thinking. "So what do you want exactly?"
"I want to know how I can help the Resistance. I will do anything."
"Anything?" Dumbledore questioned for clarification.
"Anything," Snape repeated.
Dumbledore leaned forward. "We need spies," he said.
Snape looked taken back, but with one look at Dumbledore's stern face, he knew it was a take it or leave it deal. There was to be no haggling. Snape inhaled deeply, "I'll do it. When do I start?"
* * * * * *
The Dark Forces Headquarters; Saturday, October 27, 1979, 10:45 P.M.
Voldemort hissed.
"I smell guilt. It stinks and rots and must be disposed of," he said evilly.
The Death Eaters in the room exchanged glances behind their masks. They were afraid. Was it them? Had they thought something forbidden? The smaller ones shrank into the crowd that they normally tried to avoid. They did not want attention for once.
Voldemort paced. Finally, he came to a halt in front of Snape.
Then he hissed loudly, looking directly at Snape, "Nagini, you might be getting dessert tonight."
I know, not too great, but did you like it? Be critical please in your review (hint, hint, wink, wink, nod, nod). Flames are accepted. Anyone who wants to be emailed when to next chapter comes out needs to say so in their review. Check out the websites and my profile page.
Thank yous:
Arikrain: Thank you for your kindness! Go surf the sites above!
ginger_pop: I've made more!
Legacy Lady: I'm glad you like my story plot and writing style! Thank you!
Friend: Thanks! Hope you liked this chapter!
Faith McKay: Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it.
Safire: Really?! I didn't know anyone else thought that! It does make it more interesting.
NotQuiteFamous: Thank you for the FYI. I have corrected it.
angelhitomi: I have continued!
Darkpurpleflame: Thank you! I appreciate the critical review. This probably isn't any better than the previous chapter, but oh well. Hope you feel better.
Nagini: I've written more! Thanks!
I feel like I've typed thank you a thousand times, but you all deserve thank yous! Thanks again. Please review :)