Chapter 2
The winds were cold and icy, and went directly to his bones, as he rode toward the castle that night. The skies were black and dead, with no moon, and a few fading stars, nothing but the empty void surrounding his form. Silence hung in the air, with the exception of the dull sound of hooves hitting against the earth, a cape billowing behind, and the ragged breathing of the haggard man riding the stallion.
Severus Snape pulled on the reins of the black horse, riding faster and more furiously toward Hogwarts castle, up the long winding road from Hogsmeade. The freezing gusts caused his eyes to tear, and his chest heaved with each shallow breath. It was only a little further, he told himself. His long black hair was flowing behind him, wild strands flying in front of his eyes, clouding his vision. His mind raced with anticipation, terror, regret, and anger. He knew what was happening. He had felt reality searing into him, white hot, piercing his flesh, his head, his heart. It seared directly into his forearm, making visible his mark of shame, his own "scarlet letter." It was this brand that had brought about his recent departure from the school in the first place. And, in serving its office, it was this brand that had called him back on this night.
But it was not for the originally intended reasons. He was not returning to honor Voldemort. He was returning to face him, and his fears. He would not hide any longer. He would fight not in the shadows, as he did as a spy for so many years. He would fight alongside those who had nothing to hide.
When news of Voldemort's new strength had first reached Hogwarts, there was little time for action. It was soon found that the dark lord's powers had finally grown to exceed those of Dumbledore. The castle was no longer a safe haven, and a great war would take place. Muggle-borns immediately began to go into hiding, to go home, wherever they stood a chance. They knew Voldemort would be swiftly at their heels. At the same time, not ironically, members of the Slytherin household began to vanish. They were retreating to their master, as it had always been known that they would, should the wizarding world see such times. Dumbledore, in his ancient power and grace, had called for an urgent meeting. The old man stood before the professors of Hogwarts, and Harry Potter, in the staff room the night before. Dancing flames in the fireplace illuminated his face, his whole body, which now looked like something of a deeply-rooted, twisted tree, that had stood proudly for many years, and now bowed to winters frost and the tempest's winds. His eyes were glazed, his face solemn. He spoke steadily to his council, explaining the present situation, and what must happen. He knew Voldemort was coming. Voldemort and his army of death eaters, giants, demons and dementors. They would reach the castle walls, and no enchantment would ever keep them out. He turned to Harry Potter, a boy barely 17 years of age, and asked him if he knew what he must do. Harry knew it was written in the prophecy. Only one would stand, after the fight. The final fight. For neither could survive while the other lived.
The student body was addressed, parents were apparating to Hogsmeade, looking to take their children home. Some of the students had decided to stay, to fight, to take a stand. Dumbledore was staying, all of the teachers were. The next day was spent saying goodbyes to those who were fleeing for their lives. An army of aurors and witches and wizards alike was gathered within the very walls of the castle. The place was in an uproar, a complete and utter frenzied chaos. Hermione Granger's sobs could be heard from the Gryffindor common room, as she paced the girl's dormitory, in fear for her life as a muggle-born, and for Harry Potter. She and Ron had always done what they could to help Harry in his encounters with the dark lord. But those times had passed. She now had no place beside him. But she refused to leave, nonetheless. She and Ron would be there, to face whatever would come.
Sometime during that day, Severus Snape had felt that familiar, nauseating pain. The Dark Mark. The skull like shrapnel in his skin. Clutching his forearm, he disappeared into a corridor. The terror had simply overwhelmed him. He had seen first hand what Voldemort was capable of, what he had been capable of before his new power. He did not know what caused this power he had gained, but Severus could feel it, somehow, with every blinding flash of pain that evil mark sent through him. Voldemort was growing closer, calling for all death eaters, for all evil forces to join him in his final attempt to take the world for his own. And he was coming for Snape, the one who had deserted him.
And so Severus had flown. He ran, as far away as he could apparate, once in Hogsmeade. He couldn't face the dark lord. His cowardice grabbed hold of him, and he began to envy the dead. He traveled through time and space, it seemed, into other hemispheres, where it was already the following day. This thought irked him some. According to this standard, the battle was last night and probably over. But it was not, in reality. It would be starting soon.
He felt bitter tears cloud his eyes, and his mind raced with horrible vision, of his childhood, his days as a death eater, worshipping the being from which he now ran. It was at this time that Severus Snape realized why he ran, while all the others stayed to fight, why fury with himself could not compete with blind terror. He saw his life quite clearly then, though he did not even know for sure where he exactly was at that moment. But he saw his life, his value.
He was nothing.
He did not fight, because he had nothing to fight for. Anger, hatred, and even, dare I say it? loneliness, had consumed his soul, in its entirety, and nothing was left but the bitter shell of a wasted life. He stared numbly at his hands, with their long slender fingers, raw white knuckles.he knew well that never once had those hands made or done anything that was beneficial to the world. More bitter tears came. Oh, what a pathetic excuse for existence! He had spent his life in defense, outsmarting everyone, threatening them with curses, hexes. But now he was alone. Alone, with nothing to speak for him but his own cowardice. It was at that moment he decided to make a vital change. A change that would effect the rest of his life, and quite possibly end it. He would go back and fight, with any bit of strength he had left. And should he die, it would only mean that he would not have to endure his self-loathing any longer.
And so now he rode back at lightning speed, riding a horse he had found tied to a fence in the now deserted town of Hogsmeade. He tore off into the night, a darting shadow, challenging the coming of the dawn. He would arrive there, but quite hopefully, not too late. And he silently prayed, to the nothingness, that his ride was not in vain.
The winds were cold and icy, and went directly to his bones, as he rode toward the castle that night. The skies were black and dead, with no moon, and a few fading stars, nothing but the empty void surrounding his form. Silence hung in the air, with the exception of the dull sound of hooves hitting against the earth, a cape billowing behind, and the ragged breathing of the haggard man riding the stallion.
Severus Snape pulled on the reins of the black horse, riding faster and more furiously toward Hogwarts castle, up the long winding road from Hogsmeade. The freezing gusts caused his eyes to tear, and his chest heaved with each shallow breath. It was only a little further, he told himself. His long black hair was flowing behind him, wild strands flying in front of his eyes, clouding his vision. His mind raced with anticipation, terror, regret, and anger. He knew what was happening. He had felt reality searing into him, white hot, piercing his flesh, his head, his heart. It seared directly into his forearm, making visible his mark of shame, his own "scarlet letter." It was this brand that had brought about his recent departure from the school in the first place. And, in serving its office, it was this brand that had called him back on this night.
But it was not for the originally intended reasons. He was not returning to honor Voldemort. He was returning to face him, and his fears. He would not hide any longer. He would fight not in the shadows, as he did as a spy for so many years. He would fight alongside those who had nothing to hide.
When news of Voldemort's new strength had first reached Hogwarts, there was little time for action. It was soon found that the dark lord's powers had finally grown to exceed those of Dumbledore. The castle was no longer a safe haven, and a great war would take place. Muggle-borns immediately began to go into hiding, to go home, wherever they stood a chance. They knew Voldemort would be swiftly at their heels. At the same time, not ironically, members of the Slytherin household began to vanish. They were retreating to their master, as it had always been known that they would, should the wizarding world see such times. Dumbledore, in his ancient power and grace, had called for an urgent meeting. The old man stood before the professors of Hogwarts, and Harry Potter, in the staff room the night before. Dancing flames in the fireplace illuminated his face, his whole body, which now looked like something of a deeply-rooted, twisted tree, that had stood proudly for many years, and now bowed to winters frost and the tempest's winds. His eyes were glazed, his face solemn. He spoke steadily to his council, explaining the present situation, and what must happen. He knew Voldemort was coming. Voldemort and his army of death eaters, giants, demons and dementors. They would reach the castle walls, and no enchantment would ever keep them out. He turned to Harry Potter, a boy barely 17 years of age, and asked him if he knew what he must do. Harry knew it was written in the prophecy. Only one would stand, after the fight. The final fight. For neither could survive while the other lived.
The student body was addressed, parents were apparating to Hogsmeade, looking to take their children home. Some of the students had decided to stay, to fight, to take a stand. Dumbledore was staying, all of the teachers were. The next day was spent saying goodbyes to those who were fleeing for their lives. An army of aurors and witches and wizards alike was gathered within the very walls of the castle. The place was in an uproar, a complete and utter frenzied chaos. Hermione Granger's sobs could be heard from the Gryffindor common room, as she paced the girl's dormitory, in fear for her life as a muggle-born, and for Harry Potter. She and Ron had always done what they could to help Harry in his encounters with the dark lord. But those times had passed. She now had no place beside him. But she refused to leave, nonetheless. She and Ron would be there, to face whatever would come.
Sometime during that day, Severus Snape had felt that familiar, nauseating pain. The Dark Mark. The skull like shrapnel in his skin. Clutching his forearm, he disappeared into a corridor. The terror had simply overwhelmed him. He had seen first hand what Voldemort was capable of, what he had been capable of before his new power. He did not know what caused this power he had gained, but Severus could feel it, somehow, with every blinding flash of pain that evil mark sent through him. Voldemort was growing closer, calling for all death eaters, for all evil forces to join him in his final attempt to take the world for his own. And he was coming for Snape, the one who had deserted him.
And so Severus had flown. He ran, as far away as he could apparate, once in Hogsmeade. He couldn't face the dark lord. His cowardice grabbed hold of him, and he began to envy the dead. He traveled through time and space, it seemed, into other hemispheres, where it was already the following day. This thought irked him some. According to this standard, the battle was last night and probably over. But it was not, in reality. It would be starting soon.
He felt bitter tears cloud his eyes, and his mind raced with horrible vision, of his childhood, his days as a death eater, worshipping the being from which he now ran. It was at this time that Severus Snape realized why he ran, while all the others stayed to fight, why fury with himself could not compete with blind terror. He saw his life quite clearly then, though he did not even know for sure where he exactly was at that moment. But he saw his life, his value.
He was nothing.
He did not fight, because he had nothing to fight for. Anger, hatred, and even, dare I say it? loneliness, had consumed his soul, in its entirety, and nothing was left but the bitter shell of a wasted life. He stared numbly at his hands, with their long slender fingers, raw white knuckles.he knew well that never once had those hands made or done anything that was beneficial to the world. More bitter tears came. Oh, what a pathetic excuse for existence! He had spent his life in defense, outsmarting everyone, threatening them with curses, hexes. But now he was alone. Alone, with nothing to speak for him but his own cowardice. It was at that moment he decided to make a vital change. A change that would effect the rest of his life, and quite possibly end it. He would go back and fight, with any bit of strength he had left. And should he die, it would only mean that he would not have to endure his self-loathing any longer.
And so now he rode back at lightning speed, riding a horse he had found tied to a fence in the now deserted town of Hogsmeade. He tore off into the night, a darting shadow, challenging the coming of the dawn. He would arrive there, but quite hopefully, not too late. And he silently prayed, to the nothingness, that his ride was not in vain.