I've finally admitted the truth to myself – this is angst. Actually I'm beginning to depress myself, someone hand me the prozac ;-) Still, I confess exploring darkness is enjoyable too, I mean who wants to think about happy things all the time? :-)
Anyway, I'll shut up now and let you read Chapter 11.
Chapter 11 – Tearing the MaskYou can't lie to the Dark Lord.
"My Lord, she is dead."
He'll find out, he'll see through you.
Their eyes met, the glare that held his own until his eyes stung, and yet he could not look away.
You're playing a dangerous game.
"And where are Rosier and Wilkes?"
He knows. He knows your every move.
"My Lord, the Aurors killed them. Only I managed to escape…"
No way out. You deserve what you get.
"Is that so? Crucio."
This is what you did to others. This is what is done to you.
Pain was the only reality. Agony was all he knew. Everything in him was screaming out, every nerve exploding from the sheer, diabolical torture.
When at last the curse ended, Severus found himself prostrate on the ground, blood on his scratched hands, dirt on his face, and longing for death. He'd screamed his lungs out, or so it appeared. He strained his head to look up at Voldemort standing over him - those terrible eyes. It hurt just to look at them.
"Other than that," he said lightly, "Well done."
Somehow exhausted beyond belief, Severus dropped his head back onto the earth, and wished the world out of existence. Voldemort kicked mud into his face. Severus weakly spat dirt and blood out of his mouth, and passed out.
When he came to, he was cold and achy, shivering on a deserted moor. The others had gone, several hours before, he supposed. It appeared to be early morning – he was soaking with dew and feeling more wretched than he had ever done in his entire life. He still clutched Arabella Figg's wand in one hand, which was now cramped and painful. He didn't have the strength to Apparate. He trudged across the thick grass, occasionally stumbling along the way.
Memories of the past few hours came gradually pouring back. As he wondered where to go, he realised it didn't matter. From this point onward, anywhere he went would take him to Azkaban.
Going mad, he considered, vaguely, suddenly seemed attractive. Or amnesia, possibly. Anything other than the madness of Azkaban, which would only serve to remind him of all the things he had done. He had, his unhelpful conscience reminded him, inflicted upon people the same, soul-torturing pain of the Cruciatus curse. He had let himself be ruled by the Dark Arts. Affliated with murderers. Become intoxicated by power. And now he was certain he was the most wretched being in existence, a few steps away from the Dementor's Kiss.
He longed for oblivion.
After letting Figg go, he had instinctively gone to Hogsmeade. He wasn't quite sure why that was. It was just – somewhere safe. But he'd had to return. If he didn't return to Voldemort, who would he return to?
Dumbledore.
His stomach clenched as he remembered the terrible look of anger in Dumbledore's eyes when he was disciplining Sirius. What he had done was ten times – a thousand times worse. But Hogwarts was the only place he could go, and the only hope he had. Dumbledore was powerful – and he was kind. That was all he could hope for.
He wasn't quite sure how he eventually made it back to Hogsmeade without getting splinched. At the gates, he rang the bell, and a tiny House Elf appeared. Apparently, they could Apparate in the Hogwarts grounds. It had large amber eyes, and appeared to be female.
"What is master wanting?"
"I – I want to see Professor Dumbledore."
"Saffy will tell him right away. What is you being called?"
"I'm Severus Snape."
The House Elf disappeared again, and then reappeared.
"Saffy is to take you to him, master."
She opened the gate, and beckoned him to follow. It felt surreal to be walking through Hogwarts like this, a student no longer. The House Elf led him through past classrooms, past old paintings he remembered, even catching sight of the Gryffindor ghost as they walked, and Severus wanted to wish himself back into a classroom, playing chess with Geoff or even James, or talking to Mandy.
They would all hate him now. He'd burned all his bridges with careful efficiency, hadn't he? Now his only alternative was to drown.
The gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office usually needed a password, however all the House Elf needed to do was pat it with her knarled hand. It moved aside.
"You is allowed to go up, master," she told him, and then vanished.
He walked to the door, and braced himself. Then he opened it.
Dumbledore didn't see him at first. He was talking to an old woman. Arabella Figg.
Severus fought the urge to run away. The frail, innocent old woman he had tried to kill only a few hours previously. She couldn't recognise him – he had been masked. But even so…
"Ah, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore said amiably. "Sit down."
He knew, instantly, looking at the gentle man with his soft, welcoming smile, that he could never say the words 'I am a Death Eater.' Wanting Dumbledore to know was one thing, but shaping that into his vocal cords was going to be impossible.
He removed the wand from his pocket. It was almost white, smooth and swishy. He turned to Arabella Figg.
"Mrs. Figg, this belongs to you." It was all he could manage. Her hand shook as she took the wand, and Dumbledore's mouth dropped open, in an uncharacteristic lack of composure. The masks were down now – the façade was over. He put his head in his hands and finally betrayed how utterly broken he was feeling. The old woman gasped. He heard Dumbledore say softly, "So it was you."
He couldn't look up, or even take his hands from his face. His eyes were burning with tears he was too ashamed to show. He heard Mrs. Figg get up. "Albus, I should go now. Thank you for your help."
Dumbledore, too, arose. "You should be safe, Arabella. I'll let your nieces and nephews know as soon as I can."
She left, leaving a hauntingly empty silence. It was almost unbearable, but still Severus could not remove his hands.
"Would you like a few moments alone?" Dumbledore said asked him, his voice quiet.
Severus made an attempt at a nod, which the old wizard appeared to understand. Severus felt his hand gently rubbing his shoulder, briefly. Something dropped lightly to the table. When Dumbledore had gone, he saw that it was a handkerchief.
When Dumbledore returned, he felt no better but was a little more composed. The Headmaster was so grave – he would have given anything to see his warm smile, hear one of his light-hearted remarks. But surely there could be none of that, never again, ever. He'd be going to Azkaban.
Dumbledore looked at his former student, and saw a broken man, his eyes red-rimmed, and looking exhausted. What a waste of such a talent. What a terrible thing Lord Voldemort has done…
When he spoke, Dumbledore's voice was not hard, or angry. Disappointed, possibly, but above all it seemed sad, regretful.
"Severus, thank you for coming to see me today. I am proud that you could confess this to me."
"I've done… the most terrible things," Severus said, hoarsely. "I deserve to die." It came out like a protest. How dare Dumbledore treat him like a decent person? What ridiculous notion was possessing him?
Dumbledore reached out, and touched his arm consolingly. The human contact was somehow shocking – how could Dumbledore touch him without disgust?
"You're not dead yet, Severus. There is still much more to go – much good you can do."
"I tried to kill her."
"But you didn't want to – and you didn't kill her."
Severus didn't respond. He caught himself absently rubbing the Dark Mark on his arm. Thoughtfully, he gingerly pulled up his sleeve, exposing the thing for all to see. He held it out.
"There's no way to remove that."
Dumbledore understood what he meant. He didn't flinch at the sight of it – even moving closer to examine it.
"You can still remove Voldemort's influence from your life, you understand?"
Severus nodded dumbly. He drew back his arm, and began absently rubbing the Mark again. It would be there forever.
"What good could I possibly do now?" He asked, plaintively. He realised he was reaching out to Dumbledore for his salvation, for a reason not to drink poison or throw himself off the Astronomy tower.
"You realise Mrs. Figg would probably be dead if Voldemort had sent anyone other than you?"
"I couldn't cast the curse…"
"Because you didn't want to kill her. Does Voldemort believe she is dead?"
"He does…" Severus shuddered at the name. Maybe he would become another one of those who couldn't stand to say it.
"You could save other lives in a similar way. We have so little idea as to the plans of Voldemort. You would risk much but…"
"I'll do it." His tone was desperate, final. Dumbledore gave a gentle, sad smile.
The next few weeks felt harder than he could have possibly imagined. He was only a semi-official member of the Union Against Voldemort, and whilst most of the members did not know exactly why he was there, he felt deep inside that the ones who did despised him. All except Dumbledore – and Arabella Figg. He didn't fit in anywhere, anymore. With the Death Eaters, he was terrified Voldemort would discover that he was no longer serving him. With the others, at the Research Division, he'd become short-tempered – it was probably the stress from everything else, he mused. He couldn't be bothered to tease McKenzie anymore. He'd just bite his head off. It was vaguely satisfying seeing his lab mate cower at his anger. At least something was under his control.
He hated Veritaserum. It bore the guilty stain of aspirations he had once had. Aspirations that damned McKenzie with his damned innocence knew nothing about. Stupid. Bloody. Hufflepuff.
"What's worse?" Tellingford said one day, during their break. "Cruciatus or Dementors?"
"Cruciatus," Pendleton said. "Both lead to madness but Dementors are less painful."
"I think Dementors," Valence contributed. "It's a worse sort of madness…"
"Snape?" Tellingford glanced to Severus, who had no desire to be included.
"Cruciatus," he mumbled, although he knew he was bound to be biased. He had to wonder, however. He would have gladly endured the Cruciatus curse many times if only to do away with the Mark…
It was only a matter of time before he once again came face to face with James Potter. James had spent the last few months playing Quidditch for the Wimbourne Wasps, and it was rumoured that he would play Quidditch for England. There was always some controversy over Quidditch these days; people were wondering whether in this national Wizarding crisis that perhaps Quidditch matches should be postponed. However, it was generally agreed that Quidditch was a welcome release. James Potter apparently didn't think so. He was now training intensively to become an Auror.
He had spoken to the Union, but hadn't seen Severus, who was sitting in the back of the hall. He told them that whilst he didn't judge his colleagues who were still playing Quidditch, he felt that his own personal talents were not best used in Quidditch. He had felt drawn by conscience to the fight against Voldemort. Everyone had clapped.
Severus surprised himself with how much he hated the man who was once his friend. James's life overflowed with the chances Severus had never had, and now he was being applauded because he'd been lucky enough to have the choice of where he went and who he followed. He hated him for being gifted with bravery, he hated him for being effortlessly conscientious, and he hated him most, paradoxically, for saving his life. Severus would have been dead on the day he went to meet Voldemort, if it hadn't been for James.
Severus was going to leave, but he had to walk past James talking with Dumbledore. "They think I'm so selfless," James was saying. "But I have to do this – I'm compelled to… It's like a curse, almost…"
He turned at the swishing of Severus's robes, and Severus froze, unable to walk past and yet unable to put on a façade that would cover how he felt. He slowly turned, determined to meet James's eyes and feel for once that he didn't have to tag along after him, that he didn't owe him anything.
But it wasn't true. Or was it? James had only saved him to save the face of Sirius and Remus, his abhorrent best friends. He didn't know why he'd ever cared about what James thought at all.
"Hello Severus," James said tentatively. "How are you?"
The ordinariness of this greeting staggered him. How could James be like this? Deep down, he mused, James was self-absorbed, interested only in making sure he was universally admired and his own personal world stayed perfect. But how could he not realise that the time had past, long ago, for idle pleasantries?
Severus did not answer, not even hatefully. What was there to say?
"I'm – I'm glad to see you here," James said, amiably. "I confess, I didn't think you were the type to actively work against Lord Voldemort."
Well raise the banner for you, Mr. Potter, you don't have to say You-Know-Who…"Until recently, I wasn't," Severus said tersely, all his emotion crammed into a cool monotone. His voice sounded almost alien, its tone was so removed from his feelings. Recklessly, he pulled up his left sleeve. James nearly jumped back at the sight of the Mark, and he paled visibly, as he began to understand.
Not waiting for a response, Severus decided to leave the explanations to Dumbledore and strode off. He heard James's voice behind him, calling him, but he walked on, wishing everything into blackness.
***
A/N – Thank you, kind reviewers. (Incidentally, the thank you notes for ADI would probably be huge by now! Eeek!)
Odd World! :D Be nice to Darth, he's my Darthykins…
ConfirmTheOriginOfFire! *grins*, anything I can do… I'm glad you liked it
Arinya! *blush* Very astute of you, I'm not sure I even intended that link, but on the other hand I like it, it goes with the irony I love so much :-)
A/N2 – It's been so long since I did any fanfiction, I think I've forgotten all my author notes. Ah yes. To anyone reading my other stories, I have half a chapter of 'Confessions of an Attention Seeking Hufflepuff' written, and I really should write more. Oh yes, and I actually started writing a new story which will be weird but fun…
A/N3 – I'm sure I said in an earlier chapter that there were only five chapters left, and I'd like to announce that there are still five chapters left! In other words, ignore that estimate, I'll just write how much I feel like…
A/N4 – I'm off to do some work…
