Staring at the shards remaining of what had once been her favorite vase, Marya knelt on the floor unseeingly. For all her life she had hated Death Eaters – those responsible for the loss of her family. The first year after their death, every time she skinned her knee and her mother wasn't there, she had hated them. When she had gotten her Hogwarts letter, and couldn't run and tell her parents, she had hated them. When she had finished her schooling and received her N.E.W.T. results, and had seen other students rush into their parents' arms to celebrate, she had hated them. Every milestone in her life, there was that gaping hole. Aunt Hannah had tried her best, but she could never quite fill that void. And Marya had hated with a passion those who had caused it.

After sitting motionless for the better part of half an hour, she got up. She had to talk someone.

Soon she was moving up the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office and residence. After crossing his office, she knocked on the door to his private quarters. When he opened, it didn't look like he had been asleep yet, but she would not have cared if she had woken him from the deepest slumber. One look at the burning eyes in her white face, and he opened the door wide, beckoning her in.

"Marya, what happened?"

"You should have told me." Her voice was wild, angry. "How could you not tell me?"

"Tell you what?" His face showed his bewilderment.

"Severus Snape. A Death Eater."

Albus Dumbledore sat down next to her, understanding dawning on his face.

"I asked him if he was there the night my parents were killed. He said he couldn't remember. They were not even important enough to take notice off. Just some of many..."

At that, her voice shook, and tears started streaming unchecked down her still, white face. "They weren't even important enough to notice, Uncle Albus...."

With a sigh, Dumbledore took her hand.

"How much did he tell you?" he asked her, his voice patient and gentle.

"Just that. What else is there that matters? How could you not tell me?" she asked again, angrily, jerking her hand away.

"It wasn't my story to tell, Marya," he said quietly." There is much you don't understand. Since he chose to reveal this much of his past to you, I think I can fill in the details now, since he isn't here to defend himself. But I will have to put a memory charm on you, so you can never under any circumstances talk to anyone except me and Severus about what I am about to tell you. It is not that I don't trust you, you know that, but..."

Marya mutely nodded. She leaned back into the pillows, relaxing a bit, waiting.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, putting his fingertips together, gathering his thoughts.

Taking a breath, he began. "Let me tell you a story, Marya. About how once, there was a miserable, angry young man who turned to the Dark Lord, and became on of his devoted followers. For years he did the Dark Lord's bidding, and bore the Dark Mark with pride. He did and saw some horrible things. But then something happened, something that made him have a complete change of heart. He now regretted all the terrible things he had done. And he came to me, and offered something that was very hard and carried great risk – to keep by the Dark Lord's side, and spy for the Order, provide information that would save many lives and help to bring Lord Voldemort down.

Then, through a miracle, Voldemort was defeated. The Death Eaters were arrested or scattered. The young man was cleared of all charges against him because of the invaluable service he had rendered. He retreated into a normal life, with hardly anyone even knowing or remembering what he had been and what he had done, both for better and for worse.

Many years went by. And then Voldemort rose again, and regained his body, and called for his Death Eaters. The Dark Mark started burning again. The man had a choice now – he could run, disappear, live safely somewhere far away. Instead he chose to go back, to pretend to be one of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters again, to again spy for the re-formed Order.

It cost him dearly, for Voldemort did not take kindly to those Death Eaters who had deserted him when push came to shove, those he thought had betrayed him. And it has cost him dearly ever since." Dumbledore's face was stern. "He may bear the Dark Mark, but he is truly no more a Death Eater than I am. He is putting his life on the line every day. The scars he bears are no less battle scars than the scars of the Aurors you so admire. And that Mark on his forearm is and has been his greatest source of shame." Dumbledore paused, and looked at her. "Did he not tell you any of those thing?"

"I didn't let him talk," she whispered, barely audible. Dumbledore sighed. Marya noticed all of a sudden how much he had aged in the last three years – he looked tired and worn out.

"I am sorry that you did not give him a chance to explain, Marya. I truly am."

"But he is a murderer. If he didn't take my parents, he took someone else's. How can anything ever explain that away?" Hot tears were spilling over her face again.

Dumbledore patted her shoulder. "He is not the same man he was then. And he has paid for what was then over and over again." He looked at her lovingly, patiently "Go to bed now; think about what I told you. He is a good man, Marya. I would vouch for that with my life."

Rising, he led her to the door. Before letting her leave, he wrapped her in his arms, holding her in a tight embrace. Using a forefinger to lift her chin up, he looked down on her tearstained face. "I love you." Giving her another light squeeze, he let go of her and watched her leave with a heavy heart, heavy for her and for Severus. He knew Severus well enough to know how much it must have cost him to go to her. With all that was within him, he hoped that she would be able to let go of the hatred she had nursed for so many years, and that her heart would heal in the process.

Back in her room, Marya sat awake for hours. Images kept replaying themselves before the eyes of her mind, changing like a slide show, juxtaposing what she remembered from that night in her childhood with what had happened in this room tonight. Images of the Dark Mark, etched on the background of a sooty black sky, and on a background of flesh. The face of her mother filled with fear, and Severus' face, white and drawn, with that look of terrible pain.

As she sat there, she remembered stories her mother had told her, and later Aunt Hannah. When she had been christened, the day Dumbledore had stood up as her god-father, it had not been a day of meaning less ritual for her mother. She had found great wisdom in the stories of her faith.

And now, unbidden, those stories came back to Marya. The story of Moses, a murderer, who had a heart-change, and who became the leader of his people. Of David the king, a murderer, who had changed direction so much that God called him a man after his own heart. Finally, of Saul, a murderer many times over, whose life had changed so completely he was given a new name, and who became Paul, the greatest of the teachers of the faith. Redemption stories. Forgiveness stories. But, as well, stories of broken people, who had to live to the end of their lives with regret, with the knowledge of the monster-that-was.

And something broke within her, and the tears came, this time not tears of anger. Tears for herself, tears of loss, tears of grief. Tears for him - tears of lost dreams, of lost years. Tears of regret. How she wished she could have the moment back, to let him explain.

She would talk to him tomorrow. And with that, she was finally able to go to sleep.

A/N I am not really too thrilled with this chapter, but I tried to rewrite it several times, and it wasn't getting any better, so I thought I would post it and move on with the story...anyways, here it is, tell me what you think!