Complete summary: After Severus becomes a professor, he finds a strange note on his desk with the phrase: "Severus Snape will love the One-Who-Lives." Snape's canon life with my own twist. This will be from the moment he confesses to Dumbledore, until the moment he finally kisses Harry Potter. (There might be an epilogue, but that depends if anyone reads this.)
Disclaimer: I don't own it. None of it. (I WISH I owned Severus. He'd look really nice chained to my bed… But I don't own him. ;__;)
A/N: Eh, okay, I've decided that this will be HP/SS. That's Harry Potter being involved in a relationship of an EVENTUALLY sexual nature with Severus Snape. That also means, for the slow of mind, that this contains: SLASH. YAOI. Male/male relationships. (I respond poorly to flames.)
This is just the prologue, so it's short. The amount of feedback I get on this (*if* I get feedback, actually) will depend on whether I decide to continue this or not. If I do continue, I will have much longer chapters.
Staggering into the office of Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was a battered Severus Snape. The long, black robes that had followed him through his school days were tattered and clinging desperately on his thin frame. Had an artist been present at this strange encounter, they might have commented on the contrast that the strips of black fabric made to the pale, off-white colour of Severus' skin. Fortunately for the young wizard's pride, there wasn't anyone in attendance besides the Headmaster. The Professor immediately drew out his wand and pointed it at his former student.
"H-headmaster, I mean you no harm… any longer." The voice, though only a whisper -- and a strangled whisper at that -- managed to fill the room. The intruder collapsed into the nearest chair, his head lolling on his chest as if it was difficult to bear the burden of the mind inside.
Dumbledore nevertheless kept his wand on Severus, his usual twinkling blue eyes cold. The blue in his eyes was vaguely reminiscent of how the surface of a lake looked to one fast-approaching it's hard surface from a very high altitude. Perhaps that's what the ragged man was indeed doing, and falling fast.
"Ah, Severus Snape, my child, what have you gotten yourself into?" The Headmaster replied wearily, though both of them knew Severus Snape had lost his child-like innocence long ago.
Instead of a verbal response, he pulled back the tattered remains of the left sleeve of the cloak he wore. Inside his left forearm was an ugly mark depicting a snake emerging from the mouth of a skull. It was the mark of the enemy of the time, the current Dark Lord, Voldemort. The imprint was called, quite appropriately, the Dark Mark, and was little more than a brand. Lord Voldemort's servants, called Death Eaters, -- and they did savour death as if it were candy -- were cared for little more by their master then he would care for cattle.
"I see." Replied the solemn Headmaster, his attitude at the present moment contradicting everything that students have thought of him in recent years. His face, weathered by the length of his life, had many lines and creases; each of these testimonies to his age, at the knowledge that he had failed his student, had only served to enhance his expression of sorrow.
"I won't attack you, Headmaster. Summon the Aurors, the Ministry, whomever you wish. I deserve Azkaban." Severus sighed brokenly. Severus was rather used to humiliation -- indeed, it came hand in hand with being a Death Eater, slave to Voldemort.
Dumbledore seriously pondered that declaration for a few minutes, an agony that lasted nearly as long as eternity for Severus. "No." Was his simple response.
Severus snapped his head up, revealing for the first time a long cut across the lower portion of his throat. Obviously, someone none too skilled had attempted to slit his throat. The Headmaster had to contain a wince at the blood crusted on Severus' skin. It was amazing that the tendons in his neck weren't severed. "Believe me, Headmaster, I am prepared for the Kiss. That is a just punishment for all I've…done."
He eyed the younger man sadly, "No again, I'm afraid. For how does the stealing of your soul through a kiss of a Dark creature make up for the suffering you have doubtlessly caused?"
"Nothing can, Headmaster -- I'm beyond redemption," he responded forlornly.
Dumbledore nodded sagely and said, "That might indeed be so, might indeed…" His expression grew cloudy and he appeared to be pondering something.
A bitter laugh interrupted his musing. "Surely, Headmaster, you cannot be such a fool! 'Might?' There is no question of it -- no challenge from me." And indeed, this was the way Severus saw it. The only thing he deserved was the thievery of his most prized possession: his soul. He pictured suddenly a scene he had witnessed many times himself, the filching of a soul.
Suddenly, there was a the feeling of Darkness, of Fear itself. There was not only a feeling, but darkness surrounded the street, the moon, the stars, all light went out. As the light fled, so did all sound. It was if someone had cast the most powerful silencing charm of all.
Glancing wildly around, a blonde man spotted a Dementor approaching quickly. The man trembled and fell towards the ground, whispering 'No, no…' under his breath. A hand suddenly appeared out of the right sleeve of the creature -- but it was no human hand. It appeared to be a hand that had recently been decaying in water for a long period of time -- grey and scabbed. Slowly, the long, dilapidated fingers reached out and grabbed the man by the neck, pulling him far upward toward whatever lay behind the hood.
The Dementor lowered it's hood, revealing it's head, and all the man could focus on was a black hole where its mouth should have been. All the man could smell was the putrid breath. All the man could feel was the air being sucked away from around him, into the shapeless hole that was its mouth. Then, abruptly, the man knew no more. His soul was completely and irretrievably lost to him. It was indeed a fate worse than death.
Snapped out of his reverie by a polite coughing noise, Severus repeated, "no challenge from me," and stared into his hands.
"Those creatures don't deserve your soul." Dumbledore said, firmly.
"Ah, yes, I had heard you didn't like those creatures much…" he said before he could stop himself.
"I don't believe anyone does, really. The serve the sole purpose of terrorizing people." He paused and then asked, "do you really wish to join the side of the Light, Severus?"
Severus thought for a moment, making sure that this was something he was ready to do. Giving himself freely over to the Dementors was not a promising prospect. "Yes." And he spoke the truth, it was undoubtedly heard clearly in his voice.
"I will offer you two options, then. You can either turn yourself into the Ministry of Magic, or become the Potions Professor at Hogwarts." The twinkling all but returned to his eyes when he saw Severus' eyes widen at such a possibility.
"Headmaster, I don't understand --"
"Allow me to elaborate." Severus stopped speaking respectively, though his mouth was still hanging slightly open. Not many people had seen Severus Snape in such a state as that. "You will be teaching on the pretence of spying against me for Voldemort. However, after every Dark Revel that you attend, you will report to me of their goings-on."
There was a short pause before Severus spoke. "I'd have to go back to the Dark Lord?" Dumbledore nodded in reply. "But -- you don't understand! It would be so tempting to just… become one of Them again. I know I would turn around and betray you. I couldn't possibly --"
"Think about it, Severus. You have a good deal of self-control."
Severus was sitting in a dark room, waiting for someone. It seemed almost claustrophobic with the low ceiling, but the darkness made it nearly unbearable. Fortunately, it was empty. Had there been a chair or two in the room, it might only hold two people. Though Muggles were not technically people, they were the same size.
Suddenly, the door burst open and Wilkes came in with a powerfully-built Muggle man. There was a sudden, incredible adrenaline rush at the thought of breaking this man. He closed his eyes and inhaled the stench of panic, perspiration, and blood.
What would have happened if he had refused Wilkes' proposition hours before that scene? What if he had sternly refused the murder of a Muggle? Were some of the questions that were running around his head. He knew the answer to neither of these questions, but he wished he could find out. Maybe that man would never have died if he had said no. But then again, he might have died anyway.
"The torturing and killing will go on whether or not you forfeit your soul, Severus. But you are in the perfect position to stop some of it. Mind you, you will never be able to stop all -- but even if you only ever save one life, it is a life worth saving to someone." Dumbledore said. He had leaned over his desk and put a comforting hand on Severus' shoulder.
Abruptly, Severus seemed to come out of a trance and he shrugged his shoulders, making the Headmaster lift his hand and settle back into the chair. There was a pause and Severus nearly shouted, "They're just Muggles! You just don't understand the extent of their filth."
"Severus," the Headmaster started in a warning tone. "Just because one does not possess magical abilities does not mean that they are vile creatures. They are human, like you and me. Muggles have families; husbands, wives; sons, daughters; brothers, sisters; fathers, mothers."
Now, one might think that to most this statement was common sense. Of course people, no matter what their abilities -- magical or not -- had families, friends. But this was, to Severus, a shocking revelation. The realization that he had sadistically murdered husbands, wives, children and friends was enough to make the bile rise up in is throat. But some part of him had always known.
Sensing what was happening, Dumbledore conjured up a bucket, like the ones seen in Muggle households, for him. There was a certain amount of irony in that which was not lost on Severus, though he was concerned more with the acid burning his throat. In a very un-Severus-like manner, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Of course, Headmaster, I'll become your spy."