The Story of Severus: Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everything.

By: Susan

Summary:  Snape's past has been left a mystery.  Why did he join Lord Voldemort? Why did Dumbledore clear him?  Did he have a relationship with Lily Potter?  How was he connected to Lily and James?  And what about the prophecy?

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A thin man with blood red eyes stood alone in the darkness. From a distance, he was impossible to discern. Even as his servant Wormtail approached on the night before Halloween, he still looked almost invisible, except for the faint light shining from the crescent moon.

"Lord Voldemort…I have them," he said. There was a note of pride in his voice.

The Dark Lord swiveled his head to stare at the short man.

"The Potters?" he breathed. "All of them?"

"Yes…Yes sir." Lord Voldemort nodded.

"Wormtail, Wormtail. I admit, I never thought it possible. After all, you never seemed worthy…But by giving me the Potters," he mused wickedly, "Wormtail…I believe you have made yourself worthy of my mark."

Wormtail let out a wimper, but extended his arm all the same.

"My Lord, thank you," he said, as Lord Voldemort traced a pale, bony finger on Wormtail's forearm. He then extended his wand, pressed it into the skin and hissed something. The wand's tip flamed bright green. Wormtail's arm split open, but the blood turned black as it touched the tip of Lord Voldemort's wand, and swirled into the shape of a skull.

Wormtail let out an involuntary shudder, causing the Dark Lord to cackle at his weakness, so he bent and kissed the hem of his robes.

"Stand up," he commanded, and his servant did so, holding his arm, hoping the pain would lessen. "It will always burn," he said. "To remind you." Then, disgusted at his lack of affection, he pushed on Wormtail, who fell over, still writhing from the burning of his arm.

"Thank…Thank you," he gasped, but it was evident he was anything but thankful.

"Be gone," Lord Voldemort ordered scathingly. "I shall take care of the Potters."

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Wormtail disapparated, still clutching his bloody, burning arm, and Lord Voldemort was left alone in the darkness once more.

Lord Voldemort stood alone in the darkness after his servant had left for what seemed to him like hours; his hands and body like ice. He had a choice to make, one that would change the world around him forever.

There were two children. He had access to either. There could only be one child who would be his foe. Two children. One choice.

He stared out at the night with his bloodred eyes, surveying, staring. The child of the Longbottoms. Neville, they named him. A pureblood wizard.

And Harry. The child of the Potters. Half-blood. Half-blood, like himself.

Which would be more dangerous to him? Which would be the threat? It would be obvious to choose the other child, the less dangerous one. Wouldn't it?

For the first time in his life, Lord Voldemort was divided. His philosophy was that a pureblood wizard was the only worthy wizard, yet he himself was half-blood.

He closed his eyes, imagining the child they called Harry. Being raised in a household with the Potters. A home. The only home he'd ever known was a hideous muggle orphanage, and of course as a child, Hogwarts.

Lord Voldemort had never been jealous of anyone. What need did he have for jealousy? He certainly had everything. The only man who rivaled him in his power was Albus Dumbledore, and he was a withering old man. Yet, on this cold October night, he felt fits of rage and jealousy against Harry Potter rise from him, for having a family who cared about him, and for having the power to vanquish him.

These emotions, for the first time since he had left Hogwarts, began to swell up inside of him, writhing like a snake, churning like the stomach of a sick man. It was unnatural for him to feel these. How was it possible?

The boy was a half-blood like himself. They had a likeness. They shared…they shared something. He'd never even seen the boy before. And…he felt something. Jealousy? Rage? Competition? Even as a defenseless child, Harry Potter was a worthy adversary.

He tried to tug his mind from these corroding thoughts. A mere child, a worthy foe of Lord Voldemort, the strongest wizard in the world? Impossible. The child was nothing. Nothing at all.

And yet, at hard as he tried, he couldn't deny himself from thinking. Not even the powers of Lord Voldemort could stop his own thoughts from formulation. It was impossible to stop the human brain; it was like trying to stop a speeding train, or the sun from setting.

As he tried to suppress these thoughts, he knew. Lord Voldemort knew which child he would choose. And for the first time since he had left Hogwarts, he felt the unsettling emotion of something terribly close to fear.

xxx

It was nearing two o'clock in the morning, that same night, the night before Halloween, when Severus Snape awoke with a start. He hadn't known it, but his sleeping brain had been gripping his forearm so tightly that when he awoke, it was red and raw from his strength.

Splitting pains shot up his arm; they seemed to shock his fingers, his face, his toes; every single part of his thin body. Moaning, he lit his wand after picking it up from his bedside table. He stared at his shadowy arm, blinking as the hideous skull gauged into it glowed black, then stung and burned so badly that he screamed aloud.

Severus Snape grimaced, thinking that it wouldn't do well to relish in the pain of the dark mark. It certainly would be more painful to ignore it. He donned his black hooded cloak, and placed his wand in his pocket, then prepared to apparate to Lord Voldemort's side.

He picked up a watch with a stunning silver chain from his bedside table, then placed it around his neck. He struggled with his eyes that seemed to want to settle upon the moving photograph of Lily and himself. He hadn't the heart to get rid of it, even the night after he agreed to join Lord Voldemort. He'd been promised revenge against her and James, and he still hoped to have it, but there was something about that photograph. It was all he had left to a childhood he hated, except for the moments he spent with the girl in it. How could he rid himself of it?

He lifted the photograph and slid it from its spectacular frame, unable to keep his fingers from tracing it. He could almost feel her radiance against him; her ability to make him forget about the problems with his father and James; her-

He let out a scream, dropping the photograph and clutching his arm as tightly as possible. He slid back his robes once more, staring at the Dark Mark and all its evil. A sensible whisper of a voice in the back of his mind told him to ignore it, to go back to sleep, to stop himself from the evil he might witness tonight. But he stared at the photograph of Lily once more, then realized that this was something he had to do. He wanted her more than anything.

With a pop, he arrived by his master's side, then bent to kiss the hem of his midnight colored robes, as was customary. Lord Voldemort took a step back from him and with of swish of his hand, sent Snape's face sailing into the cold, barren, ground.

"Late, are we?" he said evilly, as Snape arose and fingered his bleeding lip.

"I'm…I'm sorry, master," he said quietly, then let his dark eyes meet the ground. It would be no use explaining, he would have to face the consequences.

"Crucio." Lord Voldemort's voice cut through the darkness like a sharpened sword, and his scarlet eyes watched in delight as Snape screamed and shook. "You won't be late again," he told him, lowering his wand.

"Never," Snape whispered, staring at the ground. A voice in his head grew the slightest bit louder, but he shook it away and listened quietly to his master's words.

"I have them," Lord Voldemort said. "Just as I wanted. I have the Potters."

"Master…I…"

"Yes, I am quite aware that it is too good for words," he said sardonically, "Now…Their child-"

"Child?" Snape bit his tongue from his interruption.

Lord Voldemort, for once, did not seem angry; on the contrary, his face seemed to brighten. "Telling you must have slipped my mind," he said, but it was quite obvious it had not. "Well, it is true, you haven't been closely knit in the circle of our affairs…In fact, you've never been given an order by me…The only reason you're here is because you came across my followers and myself one night many months ago."

Snape let out an involuntary shudder, remembering his fear that night, which caused his master to cackle. "Tried to forget that night, have you? It's a shame, you haven't proven your loyalty to me yet…But tomorrow night…"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow is Halloween, isn't it, Severus? A bit more ominous if you kill your first love on Halloween night, isn't it?"

Snape stopped. Suddenly, the wind that was dancing against the billows of his cloak seemed to vanish; the rustling of the leaves in the nearby tree suddenly faded. In the silence, his questioning word seemed feeble. "K…Kill?"

Voldemort looked impatient. "No, Severus, we won't kill her. It's only what I've wanted since I found out she was carrying the child that has the power to vanquish me."

"To vanquish you?"

"My, my, you are deeply remote in our plans, Severus, aren't you? You and dear Igor, so aloof from the rest of my followers, in your own little world, doing only little things. Now will be the time for you to rise from the small role you've held, and take a larger role in the destruction of those…unfit." He stared at Snape again, who looked at a loss of words. Grinning wickedly, he began again. "Now, Severus, I'll need you to-"

"I…I thought that…that you planned to kill Potter and…Lily would…I…"

"You wanted the muggle born for yourself, Severus? I see. How…interesting. Unfortunately…Plans change."

Snape stepped back as if he'd been slapped. "You…You're going to kill her?"

"The irony, the irony. Now, you want nothing more than to merit that Dark Mark upon your arm, don't you?"

Snape just stared, furtive eyebrows narrowed, his dark eyes scanning Lord Voldemort's face.

"Or…perhaps you don't?" He began to raise his wand, but Snape nervously ran a thin finger over his split lip and nodded. "Well then…We have an agreement?"

"I don't understand," Snape said.

"What is it that you don't understand? I have the Potters. I have you. You can have revenge, I can…" he grinned horribly, and Snape's stomach sank to the ground. "Well, what do you say?"

"I can't…I can't kill her…"

Lord Voldemort's comic sneer suddenly broke into a scornful look. "You will, because I say so." His eyes narrowed.

Snape looked frightened, but bravely stood his ground. "I wouldn't…I would never…I can't."

"What are you saying, then, Severus? Are you saying that you don't want to be a part of this…alliance?" He placed a bony hand on Snape's arm and pulled him close enough that Snape could feel his hot breath swarming his hook-shaped nose.

He found himself succumb to hidden strength, and a voice in his head seemed to double in volume, take over and shout. "I won't kill her!"

His scarlet eyes traced every part of Snape's body in an instant; it seemed they controlled the chill that trickled down his spine. "You will do what I say!"

"I WON'T DO IT!"

"Perhaps you won't…But…Perhaps…" he raised his wand, and Snape shrank back, realizing that this could be his last moment in life- he could be done for with just two words. "Imperio!"

A warm sensation spread all over his body, as if he was floating on clouds. The darkness seemed not so dark; the hatred and fear in the air seemed to fade as if he was in a protective bubble. He heard a voice from the depths, and it took all his control to focus in on it.

"So it may not be you doing the killing, but will be your hands doing it." Snape felt his own hands rise up towards his neck and squeeze tightly. He tried with all his might to move his fingers, but they continued tightening to the point where one more breath from his suffocating body might have killed him. Lord Voldemort met his frightened stare with a cold, unnerving smile, then let Snape's hands fell to his side.

"Now, Severus, both Lily and James, and their son will die tomorrow night. It has been written in the stars." Snape was dimly aware that his eyes were focused on the sky. When he looked at the blackness, though he knew his master's words were only an expression, something in the depths of his mind noticed that there was not a twinkling star in sight.

xxx

Severus Snape arrived back at his home late that night. It was not Severus, though, that changed back into his nightclothes, nor was it Severus that hung his cloak on the bed post.

Severus Snape was a prisoner in his own mind.

He was dimly aware of his surroundings, dimly aware that he could not control his own movements. He was dimly aware of a voice, far in the depths of his own mind, ordering his body to do things.

But he didn't protest.

What good would it be? What would defying Lord Voldemort do? It certainly wouldn't save Lily. It was impossible to save her now. Lord Voldemort's hate was insatiable. What he wanted, he received.

And yet, Severus was troubled. It would be his body that would do the killing. Lily's last moments would be of him raising his wand and saying the killing curse.

Her last memory would be the words of Avada Kedavra leaving his blasphemous mouth.

And suddenly, it didn't matter anymore. Nothing seemed to matter. Why had he cared so much about Lily marrying James? It hurt him to even think it, to think that she was right all along. He loved her, yes. Of course he did. There was no question. But if he loved her, why hadn't he let her do what she wanted? She loved James and he knew it now. He had known it then. It still made his heart ache fiercely.

And yet…If he hadn't protested…If he hadn't fought with her. If he hadn't kissed her…That first and last kiss. If he hadn't stamped away angrily while relieving his first memory of her…If he hadn't thrown her wise words back in her beautiful face…

There were so many ifs. Infinitely many. If he had just accepted what was, none of this would have happened. He would not have stumbled upon Lord Voldemort, Lily Potter would not have to die.

And yet, a tiny voice in his head relayed yet another message he had overlooked; perhaps everything happens for a reason.

A reason. If he hadn't fought with Lily, nobody would know what Lord Voldemort planned to do on Halloween night. But he had fought with Lily, and he knew.

He alone had the power to stop this.

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