Marionette
Disclaimer: Characters, settings etc belong to J. K. Rowling and her respective publishers and associates.
MARIONETTE, s. f. Mari-onète: 4e è moy. 5e e muet. Petite figûre en plein relief, qu'on fait remuer, gesticuler par artifice, par ressort.
- Jean-François Féraud: Dictionaire critique de la langue française (Marseille, Mossy 1787-1788)
Severus' POV
The steady sound of dripping echoes through my workroom. Liquid splashing into a bowl that is almost full. I find myself listening, as if to determine the difference in the viscosity of this liquid from simple water. Perhaps there is a difference. I think there should be, especially since blood is ever so slightly thicker. At least that's what I've always surmised. The weight of oxygenated haemoglobin must make some difference. Like the difference between the bright red of arterial blood in comparison to the darker shade drawn from the veins. I try to remember how far it is that the liquid will spray from a freshly decapitated body but I can't recall. Perhaps I should ask Lucius, though I doubt that it's the sort of detail that he would retain. Crouch Junior would have known but he's beyond asking these days.
I ponder that. The fact that of all our number only one has paid the final price. Of course, I do not fear Azkaban. Though it pleases me to have others think otherwise. Let them think that I live in terror of the greatest punishment that the Ministry can bestow. For as great a hardship as imprisonment might be, it is doubtless something that I may well live through. They might take my liberty from me but what am I if not a prisoner in these halls? And do I fear that the Dementors might steal away my sanity? Perhaps, if I was so reasonably sure that I was still in possession of it in the first place.
It doesn't worry me. Neither the fact that I may have lost my feeble grasp on conventional sanity nor the thought of retribution for my 'crimes'. For being a Death Eater, a murderer, a traitor and that is only the beginning. Some part of me perhaps wonders how it all came about. How it was that I fell from grace. I suppose I could find reasons, if I cared to look.
So many misfortunes heaped upon me. The spite and distrust of my peers because I was unpopular, unliked, unloved. Children can be so very cruel. Equally disliked by my various mentors. Suspected by those others who passed me by.
I was never an endearing child and no matter what, I think, that made people less inclined to listen to my side of the story. I was not of a pleasant disposition or appearance. I did nothing to garner the favour of my instructors. I never saw any reason to. Why should I bother when they had already decided my fate for me? Why strive towards the Light when I was both a Snape and a Slytherin and therefore already firmly on the road to damnation?
Damnation, so often posed as torment in the everlasting fires of Hell. But what would Hell truly be like; could it not be different for each of us? Just as it might be eternal torment in the brimstone fires for one, might it not be confinement within endless stretches of corridors, filled with the waste of so many generations before. I'm talking of Hogwarts, of course. Filled to the brim with another generation of children singled out for the sole fact of how many galleons their parents can contribute to their education. And how is that anything to be proud of? But then I suppose it can be argued that it's easy enough to be hypocritical when one has the means to. All very well for a pureblood like myself to cast desertion on the very system that is the cause of his elevated station in life. Perhaps I should blame Grindelwald and Salazar and Morgana and all those who came before me too.
I think that if they knew many would cite my heritage as a sure indication as to the way I would go. How could I walk any other path with such illustrious relations? Granted, I do not claim direct descent from the noble Slytherin bloodline; we are cousins at best. But such a trifle would mean little to those who would condemn me. And what can any man be but the sum of his flaws? Though I'm not yet decided if I should be grateful or not that I am only truly distantly linked with the faithless family of Malfoy.
It would seem that everything is poised against me and yet, despite all odds, I survive. Cursed by the Dark Lord and despised by my allies. How long will it take before Albus forsakes me? By that time will it actually matter? I do not think it will; for by them might I not have found another protector?
I suppose that much be a shocking revelation. To discover that I never really sought redemption. It wasn't that I believed that it had no intrinsic value; it was simply that the idea held no appeal for me. I did not fall unknowingly and unwilling into the demented clutches of the Dark Lord. Nor was I coerced or persuaded by some other means into His service by Lucius, who so very often foots the blame. I went into the darkness knowingly, willingly and have never regretted it. I chose my path not because of some foolish hatred of muggles or mudbloods or some such nonsense but clinically, after distilling the most available and convenient means to my goal. I wished to further my research and test my own powers, the Dark Lord allowed me to do so. I cared little for political games at the time and even less for the sanctity of human life. I have killed so very many creatures for the sake of my experiments that I think I have come to regard humans in the same way. We are not all that different from any other manner of beast; we merely think we are. Does that make me a sociopath? Wonderful muggle term that it is.
And now I've lost my train of thought but laughter will do that. That would be a surprise for those irritating students of mine, the sound of their awful potions master laughing… to himself, all alone in the flickering torch-light. Laughing over the fact that he is a Death Eater not because he hates muggles but because he hates everyone else as well. Did I say 'is'? My, what a telling slip of the tongue.
How easy it is to forget what one says. At least when one is not a spy of somewhat dubious loyalty. I had wondered if it was a little overdone during Potter's occlumency lessons though. It certainly took that foolish boy long enough to catch my deliberate naming of the Dark Lord. I could have spoken otherwise, perhaps even used that mouthful of He Who Must Not Be Named but it amused me to watch Potter's suspicions grow. What would he have done, I wonder, if had I referred to my lord Voldemort each time? They are interchangeable titles really, at least for one who was so often in His service.
Albus must suspect; there is little that he does not know and yet he takes great pains to keep his tame Death Eater… docile. Perhaps it is because he is merciful; to one, who does not deserve, does not want mercy. I never asked for redemption. I was willing to be a tool in his hands, to surrender all my secrets and to go from there into oblivion. Not because I though I would atone but because I was tired, weary of this mortal coil. Perhaps I was simply bored. Either way, Albus wished me to live, to be of further use to him. And once the war was over, once the Dark Lord had fallen, I found that I no longer had any wish to die. I was content to pursue my research, to watch the other Death Eaters slip through the many and varied gaps in the accusations levelled against them, to ply my trade again in another arena. For I have ever preferred the position of kingmaker to the title of King. And there was never such a noble sovereign as Albus Dumbledore.
So for the moment I am a domesticated serpent. Quite harmless, save for the odd acid turn of phrase and my morose looks. And in the end could it not be that this is the extent of my evil? Isn't it possible that I was nothing more that another one of the Dark Lord's lackeys, drawn into his circle by damnable Malfoy? And Lucius does play that part so very well. He flaunts his wickedness before everyone, so is it any wonder that he is easy enough to blame? The odd nervous look in his presence, a faint tremor in my voice when I speak of him and it is so very easy to have them believe that I was helplessly in his power. Of course, my lord knows differently. He is aware that it would take more than allusions and empty threats to draw me back into his service. Even more so now that I have discovered that my barely heard whispers have even more influence because no one else hears them. What are a few public chidings from Albus when in the darkness he can not help but hear my words? And will he not do all that he can to help his poor, ill-used, dark creature? Broken at the hands of Malfoy and his Dark Lord, forever outcast from those whose forgiveness he craves. And isn't it simplicity itself to discount his ever sharp and angry tone when he wakes in the night screaming in soundless terror at a nightmare of the wolf?
I have Lupin to thank for that. Not the nightmares, I don't tend to have nightmares as a rule, though Albus need never know that. And strangely enough I do not dream violent dreams. But I must say that Lupin is extremely lucky that James Potter pulled me out of the way when he did; for his sake not mine. Else Albus would have had to explain away one very dead werewolf. Of course, Lupin is not aware of this and personally, I don't think that he needs to be. Let him think that the Beast might have been fast enough and I shall keep to myself the knowledge that this dark wizard is faster. It was after all, one of the reasons that I rose so quickly through the ranks of Death Eaters. Others might be cruel but simple viciousness has always served me better.
The continued dripping intrudes on my thoughts. Funny how such a simple sound can silence my mental meanderings before they reach the inevitable conclusion. What ever it is that conclusion may be. I used to think I knew what it was, where it was that I wished to be. I'm not so sure any more. Now that everything has changed. Now that I have the time to think about it, I find that I have no great purpose in life. There is nothing that I strive for. I move like some malevolent spirit from one Master to the next, to ply my charms. My whispered words that inevitably fall upon the sensitised ears of my protectors. And I am to them, always what they would have me be. A poor creature to be manipulated and used as they see fit. At least that is how they see it. And so instead of the promised aid I bring them damnation. It's only fair, I feel. Because each and every one of them will promise me something that they can not grant. The Dark Lord offered me power; such an intangible aspiration. Albus offers me redemption; nothing but the ephemeral grace of a moment. And what do I seek? Nothing that is in their power to give; peace and silence and an end to this foolishness.
So when my strings are cut will they wonder why I'm still standing, will they wonder why I refuse to fall when I have outlived my purpose? Why I might turn on both or neither? Not that there aren't others that I'll have escape my retribution. Lucius, for instance because he's never lied to me, never tried to conceal his reasoning. For a Death Eater he is remarkably honest. And perhaps I would have let Sirius Black go too because his enmity was sometimes enough to rouse me to anger. As it is I would happily see this new war end in desolation. I will do my part on this inevitable path to destruction, I will willingly watch as the world we know is torn apart because… because…
I notice that the dripping has stopped, am disturbed more by the silence now than previous sound. I move methodically to unhook the suspended creature, a white ferret, now bloodless and useless to me. The blood on the other hand will be of much use to me tomorrow, in several rare and potentially illegal potions.
And in the darkness I will find neither redemption nor retribution… In the darkness there is only oblivion.
00:45, 15/08/03
22:15, 20/07/05 (edited). Correction of 'cite', 'sought' and 'occlumency' thanks to a review pointing out these glaring errors.