Part 11 – VOLDEMORT'S BARGAIN
but you can't, like me, turn inside out entirely,
« Lucius, » Voldemort said, keeping his glare on Snape, « You will forget today's events. »
« My Lord-»
« You heard me. »
There was a very final tone in his voice, and Malfoy dropped his head towards the floor again.
« Severus – walk with me. »
Without speaking, Snape followed him outside, and as they paced through the ruined garden he tried to keep his thoughs as far away from his mind as he could.
« I know you are a spy, Severus, » said Voldemort quietly. « The way you managed to hide it even from me during all this time…clever. Very clever. »
He was actually chuckling, but Snape waited to be addressed more directly. Speaking out of turn could have unpleasant consequences.
« Turn your coat again. »
« My Lord? »
« Come back to me, and you will be rewarded. »
« The situation is currently unclear, my Lord. What would I gain from switching sides now? »
Voldemort looked at him appreciatevely.
« Your life, for one. »
« You know I don't care about it. »
« You are a complicated man, Severus. »
He didn't reply.
« And you have complicated passions. She will never be yours. The old fool will never allow it to happen. »
Snape knew he was referring to Hermione, and wasn't surprised. There were very few things the Dark Lord wasn't aware of.
Why he wanted Hermione Granger in the first place, though, was one of them.
« I could give her to you. »
« It wouldn't be such a tragic loss not to have her, » he said, playing for time.
« There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. »
« You shouldn't read too much, my Lord; it creates a stain on one's reputation. »
« Oh, I believe that mine has too many stains already to care about one more. »
« I meant Oscar Wilde's reputation, Lord. »
Voldemort laughed, and stopped under the shadow of a dead tree.
« So tell me, Severus: which one do you choose? »
Snape walked slowly away from him, the snow creeping under his feet, and thought about it.
He tried to concentrate on the Dark Lord's proposal – he had to focus, to think about it, if he wanted to live through the night – but it had started to snow. No, to rain, Snape decided, looking up to the black sky. A soft, silent, wet rain, which came down to die on the dirty snow.
Cynthia's tears had been that wet on his face.
But Cynthia was dead.
She's dead, thought the boy. And, though it was obvious, though he knew it, though he still felt her silky skin under his fingers, it took him some minutes to understand that he himself had killed her. That she was dead by his fault.
The boy didn't look at her again. He walked away from the bed, half-naked as he was, and he sat down against the door, on the floor, trembling from shock and cold.
He had killed her. She'd said that she loved him, and he'd killed her.
Why had she trusted him in the first place? Why?
The stupid Mudblood.
As in a dream, he heard a noise of keys outside, and the front door open. Lucius had arrived.
« Severus? » he called, and Snape didn't answer.
Lucius closed the door – but the door opened again with a bang.
« Don't move! » a voice shouted.
« Stay where you are! » said someone else.
« Is there a third way to say it? » drawled Lucius' elegant voice. « It would be delightful to hear it. »
« Shut up. Were are you hiding it? »
Snape moved slightly, his thoughts fighting to form a logical sentence.
Aurors, he thought finally, and he passed a hand on his sweating forehead.
« What gives you the right to be here? » was saying Lucius from the entrance hall. « I'll speak to my father about this. »
« Your father will have to waste half of his fortune to buy your way out of Azkaban, sonny, » growled a third voice, and Snape felt some of his consciousness return.
Alastor Moody.
« Take him away, » said Moody, and Lucius' sarcastic comments faded.
« Doesn't he live with someone, sir? » asked the first voice. « It's three in the morning. Where is his room-mate? »
« Wait, » said Moody, and Snape heard him flicking through some papers.
« Severus Snape, » he growled eventually.
« Old Snivellus? » said the voice again, and this time Snape knew to whom it belonged.
Sirius Black.
He knew that he should go out of there – his room was hardly a place where he wanted to be found by Aurors, especially now, with a corpse on his bed – but he simply couldn't move. He leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes.
« So he found someone who can stand the smell of his hair. »
« Let's find him, Padfoot, » said another voice, laughing, and Snape knew it was James Potter.
I should have known, he thought. He'd heard those two voices often enough in his nightmares, he could have recognized them blindfolded at any time.
« Do you know him? » growled Moody, and Snape heard a noise of heavy steps moving around.
« Same year at Hogwarts. Greasy git, » said Black, dismissively.
« Clever, though, » added Potter.
« Snape…» Moody's voice was meditative. « Wasn't his father some Communist scum? »
« So he was. And he was also, » said a new voice, a deep one, « a dear friend of mine. »
« Professor Dumbledore, » said Potter, surprised, as Moody sniffed disapprovingly, « We didn't know you'd come. »
« I was leaving the Ministry when I met a furious-looking Chief Warlock, » Dumbledore explained, and Snape heard a secret laugh in his voice. « Did you really arrest his son? »
« We've been tracking down Lucius Malfoy for weeks, sir, » said Black.
« He's just made arrangements to obtain an illegal hybrid creature, » continued Potter.
« A unique specimen, half Basilisk, half Runespoor. Highly dangerous. Non tradeable, of course. »
« He was probably fetching it for-»
« I know how arousing blood is, but you kids are babbling about classified informations. This Snape guy could be listening to all this right now, » said Moody sharply.
« Snape? Severus Snape? » asked Dumbledore, just as Potter said,
« Blood? »
« I can smell it from here. It comes from this room, » said Moody, and Snape heard him move and his fingers tap just over his head, on the other side of the door.
« Alohamora, » cried Black, and Snape was thrown forwards by the violence of the spell.
He landed painfully on his knees, and had to fight to keep everything in his stomach. He found he didn't have the strenght to stand up. Slowly, he raised his head. Four sets of eyes were staring down at him – three of them despising, one sad. Mercifully, it was clear to everyone that he was not up to a fight. He didn't need to pretend.
« God, » breathed Potter, circling him and going towards the bed. « God. »
« Sir – sir, she's dead, » whispered Black from the other side.
Moody approached them warily, his wand pointed at Snape.
« I'm sure you have a good explanation for this, » he growled.
« I'm sure you'll find one, » answered Dumbledore, taking Snape's arm and forcing him up gently.
The other three turned to look at them.
« Severus Snape is working for me. As a spy, » Dumbledore declared. « Young mister Malfoy didn't know about this girl, and no one else should. »
Snape closed his eyes again. He felt like fainting.
« Alastor, » continued Dumbledore, his voice very far from him, « Please sort this out. Boys, yours has been a long night. You'd better go home. »
With that, he dragged the nearly unconscious Snape out of the room, out of the flat, and Disapparated.
Snape had never known why Dumbledore had saved him. Maybe it was simply because six years before, in a night as cold as that one, he had not moved a finger to help him. Snape had spent the night in the Hospital Wing, shocked and scared to his wits, a sixteen-year old boy who'd seen death for the first time, and Dumbledore had been too worried about Lupin to find a minute for himself.
Snape had never forgot this. And he'd never worked for him before the day Cynthia died, had never intended to. But he had since. He had a debt towards him.
And where had joining Dumbledore got him to? A wretched job, people distrusting him wherever he was, and the skill gained in years of training wasted to terrify teenagers.
And the one thing he wanted had been taken away from him.
Dumbledore would never give him access to Rasputin's Diary, if the way to it laid across Hermione Granger's body.
And he wanted that knowledge. He wanted it badly. That was why he had come to Voldemort in the first place – to learn. Dark magic was fascinating, but good people stood away from it, they even refused to study it. Cowards.
And his betrayal wouldn't mean anything. Hermione would be safer as his lover than she'd ever been as his student, and the Order – well, he surely wasn't the only one spying on the Death Eaters, and once he got his hands on that book he could got away from both sides and find a quiet spot to read it.
The Dark Lord would find a way to give him the girl untouched. She would be safe.
She will be safe.
She will be safe with me.
He didn't care about her, of course. But she would be safe all the same. He would be kind. With Cynthia he'd been…He didn't know. He didn't want to.
He was not a fighter.
Lucius Malfoy – yes, that must have been during his psychological phase, which had come right before his psychopathical phase, the last one to date – Lucius Malfoy had once said that Snape didn't like war because it had been the cause of his parents' struggles and unhappiness.
But Snape thought he didn't care about that. He just didn't like the mess and the strong feelings it brought to surface.
When he came back towards the tree, his wet hair dropping icy water in his eyes, his choice was made.
« Let's get it, » he said, and the Dark Lord licked his teeth.
A/N Thank you everyone for your reactions after chapter 10, I know it was tough. And, again, yes, it was the worst you'll find in my story. I thought it was useful to show the complexity of Snape's personality as I conceive it, and apparently so did you. Thank you again.
Ok, so Snape was about 21 when Cynthia died. Lucius Malfoy was 27, and the Aurors could not find any further evidence linking him to Voldemort. His father's gold helped, of course, but for the last time: rumors about corruption became wilder and wilder, Malfoy sr had to go abroad and Dumbledore was chosen as Chief Warlock at his place. This is partly why Lucius hates him so. The dangerous hybrid creature was, of course, dear Nagini – I cannot believe that she's a normal snake, can you? And I trust Voldie to come up with something like this…What else? Oh yes, the mystery of the title is finally solved…oh, I love Wilde so much…what a wondeful blogger he would have made, LOL…
Circe la Fay, hurray indeed...and I don't like fluffy Snape...really isn't like him...
June, bet Dumbledore would love to, LOL
Drusilla3, that's probably why Snape is so sour about everything...his life is so filled with things he just has to do...oh, and Lupin...
rainbow fuzzlez, you're not nosy, I'm always happy to talk about myself (isn't everyone?), lol! And that's what's funny about being Swiss, nobody know what the hell you do speak! This country is such a mess...My first language is Italian, but as I study in the French part, I'm practically bilingual. That, apparently, explain the very strange accent I have in English. Well, « horrible » describes it better...
Natsuory, thank you! Here it is, soon enough?
duj, I know, I know...but please don't call me that, it makes me feel like the One Ring if you do, and I hate that thing... shudders . Anyway, JKR is way nastier than I am – Harry hearing his parents die for him, and at 13? Who tried to sold them as children books, again?
Nore, ma langue maternelle est l'italien, et c'est vrai que je n'ai choisi anglais qu'à l'uni. J'avais beaucoup voyagé avant, alors je savais dire « Where is the airport, please? » et ce genre de choses, mais c'est vrai que ça a été un saut à couper le souffle de se jeter sur Shelley sans être passée par la case I am, you are. J'ai du écrire pour l'uni, j'imagine que ça aide. Et lire des masses aussi, ça aide plus. Enfin, faut se lancer. Et le latin et le grec...ooh, simplement magnifiques, bien que j'ai le sentiment que plus je les étudie, moins je les comprends. J'imagine que ça fasse du sens...
heather, of course, you're right. I see it partly as an exercice in style, Romans always had this inferiority complex towards Greeks (and right they were), and the poem is a translation in the sense that it follows an identical path, the same metaphors in the same order, and all that. But of course the context is so different, and Catullus has a talent of his own...poor Catullus, it must have been hard to write a love poem for a woman like Lesbia...sigh...
Satia Entreri, thank you for wanting more after chapter 10. I won't show more horrible things, but I think Snape is really like this...he's always so mean with everybody...and, he didn't enjoy it sooo much, after all...
Portia, yours is possibly the sweetest thing anyone said about my writing, I'm so happy...I'm more or less confident about my skills in Italian, I've been doing it for some time now, but English...and at the same time it is a very strange language, deceptively simple and rich of tasteful possibilities...oh, love you!
Next update: March 2th