Chapter 20
She was barely a teen, hangin' out in-between, just a part of the scene.
With mercurial smile, and incurable style, she was only a dream.
How's that, he didn't know a thing about making love to the kind of girl you
read about.
He said I'm bound to be broken
My Daddy bet that I'd amount to nothing
he won't let anybody show him anything.
He was a troubled child, had been down for a while, always kept to himself,
Though she couldn't defend, he only wanted a friend, now he's made something else.
It's so sad, no one saw it coming,
The paper said that he hit the ground running.
When the world is turning for you, don't turn on me.
Who are you here to repair, well I don't know what you mean.
You could never resist glorifying despair, well now it's coming to you and I
don't really care.
Broken, Bad Religion.
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Two weeks later, 10:00 P.M..
It was awfully chilly, and a sudden draft compelled Brandon to wrap his blanket tightly around his shoulders. He shivered on his hard cot, his bare feet numb and frozen. He felt, however, just dandy: Azkaban seemed to be having no negative effect whatsoever on his mentality. Oh, he was in tip-top shape all right, having a damn great time. His father had visited him not long ago, to inform him that his sentence had been shortened to three months for the assault on the girl. The rape charge, filed by Albus Dumbledore, had been dismissed, and rightly so, Brandon thought. She had wanted it as much as he had.
A sudden, insane burst of laughter tore from him, racked his body at the thought of her. His father had brought more good news than just the light sentence. More laughter, a mirthless sad peal. Oh, she's in for it now.
He laughed like that all through the night, building in intensity until the night watch came and sedated him.
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If Azkaban was cold, then northern Ontario was a fucking glacier. Severus was wearing long underwear, fucking longjohns. And he was still cold.
He wondered for the billionth time why he had chosen this godforsaken armpit of the Canadian shield. There was six feet of snow in his yard. Spring had practically started, the locals told him; also that he had missed the worst of the cold. It hadn't been forty degrees below in a couple of weeks.
So he was cold, and above all, bored. He had no contact with a single living soul. All he had to link him to anyone was the mark on his arm, which only hurt once and a while now. Just enough for him to know that they still wanted him. Anything else had to be done with a computer, and he had the internet to keep up with the goings on in his home country. The only other thing that brought him any amount of happiness was the Daily Show with Jon Stewart.
He was miserable and restless. There was nothing to do. He went to bed and dreamed of her, not of sex, but of her. In his dream, he had taken her with him to Ontario, and she was wearing longjohns to . . .
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Viola was awake. She found that sleep was impossible; this place no longer felt right. The bed she had slept in as a child was now so empty and virulent that she couldn't stand to stay in it for another night. Her parents slept in the next room, and her brother beyond them.
He always seemed to be on her mind, her lovely brooding paramour. She smiled bitterly to herself at the absurdity of this title: Dumbledore had said that, put the word into her head. She wasn't sure what it meant. She couldn't wait for Randy to come home for Easter.
A muffled voice sounded from the hallway, near the door to the apartment. It startled her and interrupted her pointless thoughts. When the voice had quieted, she heard the apartment door creak open.
She shut her eyes tightly and pulled the blankets up past her eyes. Someone was laughing.
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Some time later, an excerpt from a newspaper:
LONDON: What many residents assumed was just a fire drill in a mid-city apartment complex has turned into a baffling mystery to city police. The fire started on the third floor of a low budget complex; it was minor, confined to one room. At first it seemed as if everyone had safely vacated.
Four bodies were found in the apartment where the fire was started, all in the master bedroom and not noticeably burned. Autopsies show no sign of smoke inhalation, indicating that the fire was started after the family was dead. No cause of death can be determined, which has caused medical professionals in the area a lot of confusion. Evidence has confirmed police suspicions of arson and murder, and are looking for any leads which may lead them to the person or people guilty of the deaths of the Rienne family . . .
There was a picture on the website with the article. It was a muggle photo, but a faint green shimmering form hovered above the building. A few of the people in the picture had their heads craned up, as if they saw it to. Severus saw it: it was a skull, captured by the muggle camera. No one else but a wizard would be able to see it in the photo, and wizards don't read muggle news. He wondered if there was anything about this in the Daily Prophet. Probably not, but he had no time to check. There were things to do, potions to brew.
His chest felt like it was going to implode, and his arm didn't hurt anymore.
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Professor Sprout left the Hufflepuff common room, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. The sobs of the three friends followed her: she had just told them Viola was dead.
Dumbledore was waiting for her outside, and Sprout was moved to fresh tears at the sight of him. Tears ran from hollow red eyes into his beard and he looked a hundred years older than he was. It was obvious whom he blamed for the death of his student.
Inside, beyond the portrait hole, the anguished cries of the children tore the Professors' hearts apart.
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It had been so many years, but Severus still recalled every ingredient to the complicated potion. In the basement of his rented house he worked all day and night, heedless of the cold that chapped and blistered his bare feet on the concrete floor.
He was like a machine, moving but not thinking. He knew thoughts right now could destroy him, so he pushed them away as much as he was able to. Regardless of his efforts, her face sprang unbidden into his mind, first smiling and seraphic as he remembered her, and then cold and dead, as she was now. Every time this image came to him he went off on another flurry of productivity on the potion.
By the time the sun came up, he was looking at a tiny vial full of black, sparkling liquid.
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The service was held two days after the autopsies. Friends and family of the deceased had gathered, including many students and Professors of Hogwarts.
Severus missed the funeral, but he hadn't wanted to attend it anyway. The instant he aparated in London his arm flared red hot, and numbing pain went all the way up to his collarbone. They would know he was back. They would come after him. He hardly cared.
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There was a gathering at the Malfoy manor.
It was a hastily arranged get-together with little preparation, but this was not intended to be a party.
Voldemort was there. He had arrived before anyone else. He was clearly excited about something. The Dark Lord abandoned all ceremonies and spoke to his followers while they scrambled into their robes and masks:
"The planning is over my friends!" He shouted gallantly. "We are ready, everything is finally prepared and the timing is perfect. That school is empty, Dumbledore isn't there." His speech was met with awed, shocked silence.
"Without Dumbledore Hogwarts is finally penetrable, his protection isn't as strong. Without the school he is nothing, and we will have the children to negotiate with." There was a scattering of snickers.
"Lord, a minute?" The whiny voice of Wormtail piped up. He was treated to a venomous glare but went on speaking anyway. "Snape is back, in London. He just aparated, I detected his mark."
A smile curled Voldemort's lipless mouth. "He must have heard about the girl. I'm glad we got to her first. Poor Severus." His leering grin grew more hideous with his mirth. "Lucius?" He called out, suddenly grim and serious.
A single figure pushed through the identically attired Death Eaters, indistinguishable. "Yes Lord?" Spoke the voice of Lucius Malfoy from beyond the mask.
"Track Severus down, and bring him to Hogwarts to join us for the festivities."
Even Malfoy was a little afraid when Voldemort began to laugh.
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Snape didn't appear right outside the church, but about a ten minute walk from it. This was his plan; he would likely be noticed by Albus if he popped up too close. He was only noticed by a pair of young Asian girls, who looked slightly confused, as if they weren't sure of what they had just seen.
It was cold out, but compared to Canada it was a summer dream. Nonetheless he was bundled in his black leather overcoat. The one she had worn. He kept his head down as he walked, hoping that the turned up collar of the coat, plus his windblown hair, would obscure his face sufficiently. He knew he would only have a few minutes to do what he had to do before they got to him, and so he hurried through the crowded streets, determined and resolute.
He rounded a corner and the church came into sight. It was small and humble, maybe Protestant or Anglican, he didn't know or care. People were filing out, loitering around on the steps, looking cold and miserable. He saw Dumbledore, disguised as a muggle in a trenchcoat very similar to the one Severus was wearing. He also recognized many students, but not as much as he would have thought. Many of them were crying.
Staying as far away from the Headmaster as possible, Severus snuck stealthily into the church and flung his coat onto the floor. Underneath he was dressed completely in white: quite a change from his usual attire, but this wasn't a usual day.
The voice of a young girl screamed from outside: they were already here for him. The church was empty, and he used his wand to slam the doors closed. More people were screaming now. Someone was banging on the doors, and he could swear he heard the insane laughter of Lucius Malfoy.
He looked around, taking in the inside of the church. Beyond the many empty pews were the caskets, four of them, all opened. Slowly he approached them.
He would have preferred to meet her family under completely different circumstances, but it couldn't be helped now. Viola looked a lot like her mother.
He was overcome with a strange calmness. His breathing was regular and deep, as if he was sleeping. The knots that had tied his stomach before were now loose; he felt absolutely nothing at all. Not even his arm hurt anymore.
The banging on the door became more insistent, and he suspected that it wasn't Lucius trying to get in, because he would have used magic. The screams were building. He ignored it. His hand went into his pocket and clasped the vial.
He looked at it, and then at Viola, laying dead in her casket, rouged and dressed up only to sleep forever. He wondered with a surge of impotent rage what they had done to her before they killed her. His teeth clenched and he wept silently, loving her with every fibre of his being until it hurt too much to be alive.
Finally the doors swung open and three Death Eaters stood there, one of them most definitely his old best friend. They thought they had him, he could tell.
So many years ago he had brewed the same potion that he now had in his hand, intending to kill someone with it and failing. He emptied the vial in one quick shot.
Lucius tore off his mask, a feral grin, almost like a snarl, was on his face. Snape's throat turned cold as the potion went down, and that cold spread throughout the rest of him quicker than he thought it would have. He slumped into a sitting position, leaning back on the casket of his lover. He had the presence of mind to smile triumphantly at Lucius, because he knew that he would be dead before his old friend got a chance to have any fun with him.
While the Death Eaters made their move on Hogwarts, and Dumbledore fought them outside a church to defend the children that were with him; while Lucius was cursing and rushing back outside to join the Dark Lord, Severus Anthony Gordon Snape passed away peacefully with a smile on his face, and the last thing he ever thought about was the one time in his life that he was ever truly happy.
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