Dumbledore was pretty firm with him
Chapter 2: Severus Snape
He's exhausted, exhausted and cranky, he could teach Potions in his sleep, but it was hard work putting together the Defence Against the Dark Arts coursework, it's not like there was anything to build on, he had to start from scratch, and it's frustrating, he knows so much more than Dumbledore will let him put in the curriculum, and it's nearly all theory and no practical application, he's almost missing Potions, at least the hands-on aspects of it.
He grumbles to himself, the student texts are piss-weak, written by people who've never even cast an Unforgiveable …. they give the impression that the Unforgiveable Curses are the be-all and the end-all of the Dark Arts, you just have to point your wand and say the words, and it's not that simple, OK they are powerful curses but they do have their limits. The Imperius is not reliable, it's fine for Muggles and the weak willed but a strong witch or wizard can throw it off, you need to constantly monitor the subject and renew the curse. The Cruciatus is fine if you have the time and the inclination to kill someone slowly and painfully, it's also useful for interrogation but you need a light touch or you'll destroy the subject's mind before you get any useful information - pity Bellatrix could never grasp that really effective interrogation requires a skilful cocktail of pain, humiliation, Veritaserum and Legilimency – but it's not an effective curse in a firefight because you've got to hold the curse and it doesn't cause enough physical harm to disable an opponent if it's quickly lifted, which is likely to happen in a pitched battle. The Killing Curse is a precision weapon, it's a stiletto not a club, and not to be thrown around like confetti as so many idiots do. You've got to have focus to use the Killing Curse, it's ineffective and a total waste of energy unless you score a direct hit, and you're better off using something that will really do some damage even if it's only a glancing blow - a bone-breaking curse is his personal favourite - unless you're sure of your aim, straight to the heart or between the eyes. He muses, the Killing Curse is a lovely elegant curse, used skilfully it'll punch through any Shield charm, oh it's deadly alright and a buzz to use. He whispers to himself Avada Kedavra … he doesn't have his wand in his hand, it won't do any harm …
Yes, he knows so much more than he's allowed to teach the brats, he'd come close to telling his seventh years about Lust Potions when he discovered a couple of the Hufflepuff girls wasting class time giggling over the WonderWitch Love Potions in a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes catalogue. Love Potions are fluffy, romantic things compared to Lust Potions, designed to operate on the mind and the heart, OK the consequences of using them can be unfortunate but they're not intended to hurt the subject, quite the reverse …. Lust Potions, on other hand, are designed to operate directly on the genitals, leaving the subject's mind and heart unaffected, and they're intended to cause suffering, humiliation, even a cruel death. Oh yes, even Amortentia, the most powerful of the Love Potions, can't do one tenth of the harm that even a mild Lust Potion can.
Amortentia, still one of Slughorn's party tricks to impress his NEWT students! He remembers walking into his first Potions class in seventh year, and finding that Slughorn had teamed him with Lily Evans. He knew exactly who she was, of course, the new Head Girl, a Muggle-born Gryffindor, outstanding in Charms and Potions, and although he'd never talked to her much - they'd never had a Potions class together before - he'd spent years quietly listening to her conversations with her friends in the library, the table she habitually used was close to his favourite nook next to the Restricted Section, and she'd always been civil to him, even after he'd called her a Mudblood. He'd scowled a little, listening to old Slug enthusing over "my two most brilliant students, I'm sure you'll be doing a lot of extra credit work together, I can see outstanding NEWT scores for both of you," but he couldn't help noticing how she'd changed over the summer break. She'd always been attractive but now she was gorgeous, as beautiful as Narcissa Black and just as unattainable as Lucius' fiancée, his position as a half-blood – if they ever found out about his filthy Muggle father - was too precarious for him to risk getting involved with a Muggle-born even she could overlook the Mudblood insult, but he'd been close enough to catch the scent of her hair, she used some brand of Muggle shampoo, and it smelled pleasant. They'd walked up to Slug's desk together, to get a closer view of the Amortentia, and he'd thought, what a waste of time, a complex potion, yes, but we won't be allowed to have a go at brewing it, Love Potions are banned, anyway this stuff only works on weak minds, I can't smell anything different, just Lily's hair, I could smell that before, mmm, nice ….
Slughorn! He can't say that he's pleased to have Slughorn back at Hogwarts, he was a bloody useless Head of House, OK he looked after his favourites, the Slug Club, but he didn't do much to keep the Gryffindors in check, well now he's Head of Slytherin and he knows how to take care of his students … what he would do if a gang of Gryffindors started picking on a lone Slytherin doesn't bear thinking about ….
He snarls a little, he's not sleeping well, no wonder he's so irritable these days, the magic of the Vow has worked its way into every fibre of his being, it persistently nags and worries at him, drives him to restlessly prowl the corridors, watching out for Draco. He thinks, fucking hell, Lucius, why did you have to stuff up so badly in the Department of Mysteries and dump this shit on me? Now that he knows – suspects – what the diary was, he's amazed that the Dark Lord didn't kill Lucius out of hand, but no, he was given a second chance - ha, it isn't only Dumbledore who gives second chances – but Lucius had to screw it up didn't he? He thinks, damn you Lucius, I miss you, all my close friends from the old days are dead or in Azkaban, and now I have to look after Draco. Draco is up to something, I don't know what, but something a bit smarter than that ludicrous business with the necklace, of course he was involved, that necklace was priced by Borgin and Burkes at 1,500 galleons, that's serious money, Malfoy money! He thinks, Bellatrix has been poisoning Draco against me, if only he would trust me … and I can't break into the little twerp's mind, the Vow gives me a fucking migraine if I even try. He snarls again, Bellatrix, you're really pissing me off, it's going to be a pleasure to take you apart when the chance comes.
Snooping around after Draco Malfoy reminds him of Potter's first year at the school, when he shadowed his steps constantly, guarding the ungrateful brat against Quirrell, against the Dark Lord's instrument. Potter, Potter, always bloody Potter …. He remembers how Potter challenged him in that first Defence Against the Dark lesson, Potter's Shield charm had been surprisingly strong and he'd been so angry he'd had to really struggle with himself not to lash out, smash the Shield, and show Potter some seriously Dark magic, not the pathetic jelly-legs curse Weasley had been mumbling, something vicious …. Sectumsempra, for enemies ….
His temper is getting hard to control, even he would admit that, and it doesn't help that he's drinking too much, definitely drinking too much, smoking too much … bugger it, he really feels like a cigarette right now, but Dumbledore only lets him smoke in his private quarters, funny how both his masters think smoking is a filthy Muggle habit. He sneers, yes Headmaster, I know what it does to my teeth and my lungs, big fucking deal, like I'm going to live to a ripe old age and die in my own bed surrounded by a bevy of grieving grandchildren anyway.
He thinks, again, I'm tired, I'm not getting enough sleep, especially on the weekends, I shouldn't nick off to London so often. He winces a little at the memory of last Saturday night, screwing some woman whose name he doesn't even know in the back of a taxi, they'd both been so drunk and desperate, they'd started pawing at each other as soon as they got in the cab, not that a Muggle's name is important but usually he at least knows their names. Then he pushes away the little prickle of shame, hell, he's only 38, Dumbledore can't expect him to live like a monk, and he feels resentful, the Headmaster is keeping him on a leash, he has to ask every time he wants to leave the castle, and Dumbledore looks at him … he doesn't like the way Dumbledore looks at him. What he does in his free time is his own business, shit, there are some nasty things in his Ministry file but rape is not one of them, he's never even used the Imperius Curse on a woman, so why is Dumbledore looking at him like that? OK, his behaviour lately has been a bit … immature … but Narcissa hasn't been near him since she tricked him into taking the Unbreakable Vow, and it's better than curling up alone in his quarters in the dungeons, when he can't help fumbling under his nightshirt and thinking of red hair and green eyes, why is he thinking of Lily, she's been dead for fifteen years, but of course he can't stop thinking about her, she's the reason why he's in this awful mess.
He remembers the last time he saw Lily, it was just before Halloween, McGonagall had mentioned that the Potters were staying at the Leaky Cauldron for a few days, and he'd suddenly remembered that he urgently needed some Potions supplies from Diagon Alley. Well, he'd been glad of an excuse to get away for a while, it was as boring as batshit at Hogwarts, and while Hogsmeade might be the only purely wizarding community in Britain it was also a dull little village with no kind of social life for a guy in his early twenties, if he so much as put his hand up a girl's robes she acted like it was a marriage proposal. He'd been pretty resentful about being stuck at the school, like he'd ever want to come back to the place where the Marauders had given him hell for seven years, teaching snotty brats for god's sake, and not even Defence Against the Dark Arts! OK, he was well qualified to teach Potions but it didn't exactly enthrall him … but if the Dark Lord gave you a job to do you bloody well did it and you didn't bitch – well, you were careful about who you bitched to, anyway.
Yes, he was stuck up at Hogwarts, out of the action, spending his time trailing round after Dumbledore, it had been a coup overhearing the prophecy, the Dark Lord had been very pleased, but it didn't look like anything that good was going to come up again anytime soon, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore was on to him. But how? His Occlumency was superb, even the Dark Lord couldn't always read his mind, that's why he had been picked for the job. So, the war was hotting up, and he wasn't getting much of the serious action, not that he missed the Muggle killing raids, too easy, it was like shooting fish in a barrel, and he didn't like the way the others sometimes amused themselves with Muggle females before they killed them … but he wasn't getting much of a chance at the kind of action that won praise and reward from the Dark Lord, taking down Aurors or members of the Order of the Phoenix.
He'd cancelled his classes for the day and Flooed straight down to London, and he'd run into Lily as soon as he walked into the Leaky Cauldron. The last time he'd seen her she'd told him that she was pregnant but it was still a shock to see her holding James Potter's baby, Merlin she was as gorgeous as ever, she just looked a bit tired, thank god that prick James wasn't anywhere in sight, they might get a chance to talk for a bit, maybe have lunch together, he can have lunch with an old friend can't he? It's not like there's anything between them, ha, Severus Snape and James Potter's wife, well if she offered he wouldn't say no, she's a beautiful woman, but the idea is laughable. She'd smiled at him, but he'd seen fear in her eyes, surely she wasn't afraid of him, she must know that he'd never hurt her, his quarrel was purely with James, yes, he'd kill the bastard as soon as look at him, and then he'd realised that she wasn't afraid of him, she was afraid for him, he'd caught the thought, "Sev's clever and he's a powerful wizard now, He will want him, and Severus is a Slytherin, lots of Slytherins have gone over to his side," and he'd thought, yes, I have gone over to the side of the Dark Lord, and when he's won I'll be rewarded. And then he'd realised that he'd never really thought about what it will be like when the Dark Lord wins, when he's Minister for Magic, and he'd thought, he wouldn't really kill all the Muggle-borns, that's just propaganda, it sounds good, purifying the blood, but there are just too many Muggle-borns, killing them all would be crazy, the Dark Lord wouldn't kill Lily and her child just because she's Muggle-born? But he'd felt a twinge of fear for her, and he'd looked at the baby again and had the absurd thought, with all that black hair and green eyes, the brat in her arms could be mine, and for some reason that thought had hurt.
He'd sat with her and chatted for a while, and Lily had told him that the child was three months old and he'd worked it out, born at the end of July, born as the seventh month dies, and then he'd been really frightened. He'd thought, "I should tell the Dark Lord that the Potters have a son born at the end of July but he probably already knows …" and so he hadn't told the Dark Lord, it was the very beginning of his betrayal of his master, and it was less than two weeks later that the Dark Lord called them together and told them – it was the Potter child, he was the one, the one referred to in the prophecy, the one that must die, and so he'd gone to Dumbledore. He'd gone to Dumbledore, and blurted it all out, and he'd thought it would be Azkaban, but Dumbledore had other ideas …
Yes, he'd chatted with Lily for a while, it had been ages since they'd seen each other, she told him about the research at St Mungo's she'd been assisting with before the baby was born, a werewolf treatment, something to help soothe the pain of the transformations, really complex stuff. He'd kept his opinion of werewolves to himself, Lily had a soft spot for that animal Lupin, she had to believe the best of everyone, that was her weakness, but if she'd ever seen the brute transformed she'd have a different opinion.
She couldn't have lunch with him, though, because Sirius Black was coming to take her home to Godrick's Hollow, James was tied up at the Ministry – urgent business of some kind – and he'd cursed to himself, didn't she know what that arsehole Black was after? Oh, he acted like he wasn't interested when they were all at school together, he always had a different girl with him every Hogsmeade weekend, but he was hot for Lily, he was sniffing around her, waiting for his chance, waiting for Lily to tire of Potter. He thinks, viciously, wouldn't it be delightful if precious Harry Potter found out his dear departed godfather had leched after his mother, he wouldn't be mourning the mutt quite so extravagantly if he knew that. Maybe he could let this drop sometime … but even he is shocked at the nastiness of that thought, and he thinks, maybe I'm going a little mad, maybe Albus was right to keep the Defence Against the Dark Arts position from me for so long.
It's ironic really, he'd wanted the job so much, but it's turned out to be dust and ashes, since Slughorn came back to the school and started teaching Potions again, time seems to be surging out of control, he feels as if he's gone back twenty years, to his last year at school. He's seventeen again, a god-awful time in his life, NEWT exams at the end of the year, Rosier and Wilkes - the last of his gang, the last of his close friends – have gone, Lily has started going out with James fucking Potter, and his parents are still alive.
His parents! Merlin's beard, he hasn't thought about them in years, his father's drunken rages, how he called them "freaks", thought all magic was Dark magic – serve him right, the ignorant Muggle, for snooping through his mother's spell books - and shouted about wizards interfering in Muggle affairs, he was obsessed with the war against Grindelwald. His own father had been killed in the Muggle version of the war, he seemed to think it was all a conspiracy by wizards, what crap, OK, Grindelwald had stirred the Muggles up to fight amongst themselves, but it was mostly their own doing. He flexes his fingers a little, remembering how he'd hated his father, hated him for the blows and insults, how dare a filthy Muggle raise his hand to a wizard! And he'd despised his mother, that Muggle psychology book called it "co-dependency", she could have hexed his father to hell and back again but she wouldn't raise her wand against him, the only time she'd stood up to his father was when she insisted that he go to Hogwarts. Oh, when he was a teenager he'd spent hour upon hour upon hour, lying on his bed in that dark little bedroom, planning to kill his father by some incredibly baroque means that the Ministry or the Muggle police would never discover – and then the old man had the nerve to fall down the stairs, dead drunk, and break his neck, just before he graduated from Hogwarts. The anger causes the vein to throb in his temple - great, now he's getting another fucking headache – oh yes, when he was seventeen he'd thought the Dark Lord was on the right track when it came to the Muggles, killing them all was bit extreme, but they needed to be shown their place.
A Muggle saying pops into his head, those who do not learn from the past are condemned to repeat it, well he certainly feels like he's been condemned to repeat the past, Potter is looking more and more like his father as he grows up, if that could be possible, and Ginny … Ginny is like Lily in so many ways, he'd bet a stack of galleons that there is Weasley blood somewhere in the Evans family tree. He's seen Potter looking at Ginny in the Great Hall at mealtimes, how much longer will it before they're together, before Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley are inseparable, before Potter is gloating over his prize like his odious father gloated over Lily? He remembers James and Lily, hand in hand everywhere around the castle, kissing in the Restricted Section of the library. Not that he was going to pine after Lily, sure, he fancied her, fancied her a lot, who didn't, she was the favourite wet dream of half the boys at Hogwarts, but it wasn't like he was in love with her or anything, there were plenty of other girls around, and some of them didn't stop at kissing, no, it had been more than kissing with Florence - with Florence, he can't remember her surname now – behind the Hogwarts greenhouses.
He thinks, what an idiot I've been, why did I stay at Hogwarts so long, in a dead-end teaching job, I could have got out when the fuss died down. People were pretty quick to start forgetting about the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, I didn't need Dumbledore's protection any longer, I could have got out, but I stayed, I stayed until Potter came, and now it's all churning around in my head again, all the things that I don't want to remember, my last year at Hogwarts … and what happened after I left school. I'm trapped, and it's all happening again. But he couldn't explain what he means by "happening again" – all he knows is that he's rushing towards the brink of the precipice, it's as if he's being swept away by one of those Andean rivers he's seen on the wildlife documentaries he likes watching on Muggle television, a raging torrent full of meltwater, rushing to join the mighty Amazon, and suddenly it's tumbling down the side of a mountain in a waterfall as high as the Astronomy Tower, white spray flying everywhere. And when the moment comes he will fall, fall all the way down into the darkness, fall into the arms of the Dark Lord again.
And suddenly he's angry with Dumbledore, he's staring into the Headmaster's calm blue eyes, and he's really angry, and he never gets angry with Dumbledore. Sure, sometimes he disagrees with the Headmaster, he certainly disagreed with him over appointing Lupin to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, and sometimes he gets a bit snarky with him, it's practically a game between them, he snarls and grumbles a bit, sometimes he even threatens to resign, and then he lets the Headmaster soothe him, calm him down, offer him one of his blasted sweets. And with the anger comes fear, Merlin, if he showed his temper to the Dark Lord like that, he'd be punished, favourite or no favourite, he'd end up a sticky patch on the floor, the Dark Lord does not tolerate insolence, and then he's really frightened, what if Dumbledore is angry with him? Dumbledore is never angry with him, Dumbledore never punishes him, but now Dumbledore must be angry because he is punishing him.
His head is aching, hurting, and his throat is closing up, he doesn't understand why until he realises that he's blinking back tears and he thinks, Albus, why are you doing this to me, why are you hurting me like this? I did the right thing, I came to you and I told you about the Unbreakable Vow, and I told you I would break it, I thought you'd be pleased because I was doing the right thing. God damn it, Albus, I was going to do the noble thing, the Gryffindor thing, do what Potter would do, and I thought you'd be pleased. But you weren't pleased, you wanted me to keep the Vow, and you mocked me, you laughed at what Phineas Nigellus always says about Slytherins – given the choice, they will always choose to save themselves. I don't understand, it's in my Ministry file, in the confession you made me sign, "I enjoy killing. I don't do it any more. I know it is wrong," you told me it was wrong, but now you want me to do it again.
And now he's panicking, he knows he's panicking, a part of him is standing off and watching from a distance, commenting nastily, "Watch it, Snape, you're cracking up, cracking up big time, you'll be in St Mungo's before midnight, in the same ward as Frank and Alice Longbottom, better hope they don't recognize you, Snape," but he can't stop it, he can't stop his thoughts from unraveling, becoming an irrational, childish, chaotic flow of fear and pain. Albus, don't you understand what it means if I fulfil the Vow, Draco can't do it, he'll never do it, and I'll have to do it, and you're abandoning me, you're leaving me alone to face the music, how big a reward will the Ministry offer for my head if it was ten thousand Galleons for Black? They'll print my Ministry file in the Daily Prophet and dig up all the old muck about the Prince family, the Aurors and the Order will hunt me down like a dog, I'll die anyway, and they'll bury me in an unmarked grave at Azkaban, and say you were a fool to trust me, a fool to trust the spawn of a shameful family, a fool to trust the half-blood Prince, and if the Aurors and the Order don't get me, I'll belong to the Dark Lord again. Why are you punishing me like this, Albus, why are you giving me back to him? Is it because I don't matter, I'm just a filthy Slytherin, I'm not one of your golden Gryffindors? I've been good, Albus, I haven't touched Dark magic for fifteen years but it's not enough, what do I have to do to please you? The things the Dark Lord will make me do, I want to do them, but I don't do bad things any more, I don't want you to be angry with me, Albus, and if I do bad things again, you will be angry with me, and that hurts. And suddenly he's six years old again, and his father is angry, he's crying, "Dad, don't be angry, I've been good, I didn't do any magic today, I didn't do any freaky things today," but it wasn't enough, it was never enough, he still got the back of his father's hand, and often worse.
He stands with his arms folded, he'd asked Dumbledore to meet him in the Forbidden Forest but now he can't say a word, he's struggling not to lose control, struggling to keep his barriers up, he's paralyzed with fear and the only thought he can hold on to is, if I crack up like this in the presence of the Dark Lord, I'm dead.
Finally, Dumbledore breaks the silence, asks, "How are you going with Draco?"
He gets a grip on himself, somehow musters one of his legendary sneers, and with a tremendous effort he answers calmly, "Aunt Bellatrix has taught him both to distrust me, and the rudiments of Occlumency. I must say, Headmaster, Draco seems to have quite an aptitude for Occlumency – unlike Potter. I can't break into Draco's mind without using techniques of which you would not approve, and which in any event the Unbreakable Vow precludes me from applying."
But just speaking of the Vow aloud is enough to break him, it's as if a dam has been breached, he's completely out of control, he can't stop the tears and he's shouting, "YOU TAKE TOO MUCH FOR GRANTED, DUMBLEDORE, AND I WON'T DO IT! I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANY MORE!"
Somehow his wand is in his hand, it's an instinctive action, a reflex, he reaches for his wand whenever he feels threatened, green sparks are showering from the tip of his wand, he can feel his magic building around him and when it discharges there's going to be one hell of a blast, and it will be over, he'll be dead and it will be over, he'll be free, free of the pain and the fear and the gnawing hunger that never stops, no matter how hard he tries to feed it.
But now the Headmaster is shouting, his master is shouting, he can't understand what his master is saying but his master is angry with him, he has dared to defy his master, drawn his wand in his master's presence, and some deep survival instinct wells up in him. He drops to his knees, cringes like a dog, and kisses his master's robes, trembling and whimpering, "Master, I am sorry, do not punish me …"