And touched me as I walked alone,
Thorns and blood within his eyes,
A place the coldest winds have blown.
Delicate and undisturbed,
He spoke to me in frozen words.
A brittle wisp of winter wind...
I found myself alone again.
Hermione awoke with a start and a racing heart.
Her breathing was as quick as her pulse and the satin nightgown she wore was drenched in sweat, sticking to her thighs and chest with a suffocating dampness. The sheets were strewn across the bed, pillows tossed along the floor.
Raising herself so that she rested her weight on her forearms, she realized that she was all turned around and that her head was where her feet should be. Craning her neck before her head heavily hit the pillow topped mattress, she shivered from the draft of the window she had left unlatched.
The bed-table clock read 4:08.
Whatever had plagued her dreams she could not remember. Even without conscious memory of the event she had concocted in her mind as she slept, her heart still pounded like a hammer.
A nightmare… Only a nightmare.
Serenely twinkling stars met her eyes as she pulled the latch closed on the bay window. Almost jealous of the peace they emanated, she watched them as they glittered with infinite magic.
Hermione reached for her composition book, keeping an old thought in her mind that a bad dream could be cured with a poem, or a song.
She did not feel compelled to fall asleep again, even though it was Saturday.
Crookshanks crept along the wall near the hearth, his shadow tall and fluffy on the opposite wall.
Firelight was soothing, and, sitting at the window ledge, Hermione let the world fall away. Early Saturday morning was forgotten and replaced by a place between sleep and awake… a daydream.
I am inspired, she thought.
Humming to herself, low and throaty, the early hour was apparent on her vocal chords. But the sound moved with a natural smoothness, the tune so elegant and at first unrecognized… capturing the melancholy that was so familiar.
His song.
She did not realize, at first, that her voice could mimic the sonata with such grace. But it was becoming so much more than a piano piece.
It was becoming a melody.
"I can't be writing a song to this!" Hermione exclaimed, aghast at the thought, in the dim room.
Crookshanks jumped and howled at the sudden outburst, knocking candles over and scattering parchment over the spilled wax on the floor.
Hermione stood and snatched her wand from the nightstand. Clearing the wax from the floor with a murmured spell, she picked up the cat and placed him on the bed.
"I'm sorry, Crooks," she murmured. "I just surprised myself, that's all."
But that wasn't all… She felt that now familiar tug at the back of her consciousness. Ever since that night she had been trapped, she couldn't free her mind from the melody.
Crookshanks moved to the center of the jumbled comforter. He smoothed his paws between its folds with soft crinkling sounds and settled again into a snoring ball of fluff.
Hermione sighed.
The truth was beginning to scare her.
There was a storm brewing inside her that was gathering speed. A storm that threatened to destroy everything she believed in. And though it existed without the force of wind or rain, she thought, for a fleeting moment, that it might have been fueled by something stronger… Something like love.
"That's absurd," she said again to the still room. "An awful thought, Hermione. Snape of all people!"
But as she moved into the bathroom and lifted her nightgown to step in the bath, an all too familiar tune found its way again to her lips.
She stopped walking halfway to the water tap.
"To hell with it," she snapped, and hummed louder, hoping that like finishing the bath, the end of the song from her lips would bring her peace.
Snape stood in the center of Dumbledore's office. A few nasty bruises were visible again on his forehead and around his eyes, and an angry gash was making itself painfully known on the apple of his cheek.
"Severus, your charms are wearing off again," Albus said and flicked his wand to replace them with a whispered incantation.
"I don't care about the charms, Albus."
"Well, we don't want anyone worrying."
"You mean throwing a 'Snape's been beat-up' party? I hardly think the students would be able to contain themselves."
The headmaster chuckled.
"As I have told you. I care little about my appearance in this war. These are bruises that I have earned and deserved. I have a debt to you and so I will again stress the importance of keeping an eye on the castle wards. These plans of an attack--"
"Yes, Severus, we've been over this."
"They are targeting you, Albus."
"I know, you've said-"
"I have not said it enough!" he shouted.
"Severus."
"The Dark Lord's next move is to destroy you. The weakness it will cause to our side is a triumph I do not believe the Order is prepared to deal with."
"When the time comes, my boy-"
"No." Desperate anger was plain in his voice.
Albus sighed. His fingers brushed the tip of his beard in thought.
"Come sit here." Dumbledore patted the other cushion of the sofa and nodded his head its direction.
The Potions Master, in all his black swirling glory, moved to oblige. He bowed his head a little, the dark shield of his hair falling from behind his ear. He sat as far to the edge of the couch as possible.
The headmaster sighed.
"Albus." Snape's words were much softer than normal. "You will live to see the end of this war. You must."
"Severus." He paused, regarding the stern look on Snape's face. "If I decide to die it does not mean you will have failed me."
Just the way he had worded it was amusing: "If I decide to die."
"Then it will mean that I have nothing else to live for," Snape replied with disgust.
"Now that is selfish, Severus, and you know better," Dumbledore said with a frown.
"Perhaps I don't want to know better, Albus. What I want more than anything is to die as well." Snape shifted uncomfortably. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was surprised that he had said what he had said.
The heady feeling of confessing such a thing sent his mind reeling back to a night that he wished had turned out differently…
The chill of rain stung Severus' skin and the sleet that drove like a storm was powerful enough to penetrate even the thick wool of his cloak. Discomfort served only to distract him from what was to come.
Voldemort stood in the shadows of ancient oaks on the outskirts of a
clearing in the dark forest. Patches of previously fallen snow and
frozen brush were glistening with the ice, which shook in the whipping
wind. He did not bother to hide his face, and his sunken cheeks and
serpent eyes pierced the windy cold. Moonlight barely touched his
figure, and his tattered cloak splayed haphazardly around the
immaculate ground. Evil was on display in a winter wonderland. The
shadowed demon wizard stood alone in the sleet, turned to snow. A sight
grandly macabre, disturbing.
A violent paradox.
Severus slowed his pace, quietly separating the twigs and overgrown dead tree limbs that rotted below the snow. His already wind burned hands scraped against bark and bladelike icicles. What he wouldn't give to return to his dungeons to read in front of his hearth. But he would only be avoiding the inevitable. He would be avoiding what he grandly deserved.
The Firewhisky in his blood swirled low with his pulse, his breath became short, decorating his surrounding space with small misty clouds. He could smell the alcohol on himself. And once he neared the clearing he sneered, snapping his knuckles and fingering his wand, making sure it was still in place. Why exactly, he didn't know. He cursed under his breath.
Voldemort turned ever so slowly. Severus stumbled half drunk into the edge of the clearing. His raven hair tossed to one side. His cheeks a rare red, and a bright cut on his jaw. Upon eye contact he sputtered, almost sobbed. His black eyes brimming with what for all intents and purposes were tears. He fell to his knees. The ice stung his hands, streaks of red smeared into white. Voldemort's cloak was inches from his lips.
The pain of years past flooded back. Two tears fell to the ground.
"My lord." A whisper, barely audible. "My lord," he repeated.
A moment passed. Voldemort stood watching him writhe, no emotion in his face. His eyes narrowed. He was thinking.
Severus heard what he thought was movement. Though movement quickly turned to laughter. The Dark Lord was chuckling. Every cackle deep in his dry throat.
A cold bony hand reached down and splayed itself upon the younger man's soaking head.
"There, there, Severus." Voldemort sinisterly patted his head. The Dark Lord knelt beside his fallen colleague.
"There, there," he continued. "Tears have never suited you."
Severus turned his head slightly so that he could see him. Voldemort grinned with evil glee. He lovingly petted Snape as though he was his dog.
"I… I came back to you, my lord..." Severus coughed.
Voldemort's hand violently fisted a handful of Snape's hair. He stood, dragging Severus to his feet. Snape staggered drunkenly.
"Severus, Severus... my... tut tut. You sicken me." Voldemort threw Snape's face dramatically to the left. "You're playing the adoring beggar, the needy one that begs for mercy... but I know as well as you do that you feel nothing but fear and despair. You are as cold and unfeeling as I am. Do you take me for a fool, Severus?"
"No, my lord." Snape had regained his balance and his eyes widened. An eyebrow slightly raised... "Never..."
"Never? Why… aren't you noble?" he laughed. Severus glanced at his feet quickly, then forward; his eyes focused on the tree furthest from him in the clearing.
"What have you been up to all these years, Severus? What could you have possibly done to amuse yourself in your position? Surely, torturing students has been rather looked down upon since I've last been around...hmm. Tell me Severus, how did you ever survive without... satisfying that... signature lust for blood...?"
"I--" Severus began.
"You— are a fool... and it's a shame... Crucio."
Voldemort had no need for wands with Unforgivables. He had basically invented them. Although he was no stranger to witnessing this torture, his eyes still widened with delight as Snape fell to his knees crying out in pain.
Once Voldemort had a sufficient laugh and Snape's eyes began to roll to his skull, he lifted the curse. Severus slumped but immediately spoke.
"My lord, forgive me. It has been my intention to return since the day I left." He let his jaw go slack a bit, attempting to quietly spit saliva and blood to the side. "I thought... I thought that I could trick them... as I have... for you. They think I'm with them, my lord. Fighting for them." He coughed. "They are the fools." Another painful cough. "My allegiance is to you. Only you, my lord. And I only wish I could have returned sooner... but that bloody Potter boy... I… please, forgive me."
"Please?" He chuckled darkly. "Years with those of poisoned blood have certainly had an effect."
Severus shifted his weight to his elbow and began to rise, squinting against the moonlight that invaded his pain-filled face.
"Oh but, Severus, you know me well enough to remember. I haven't seen you in years. We must to make up for lost time... Crucio."
This time, Snape remained on his stomach. He was too weak to even curl to the fetal position.
Voldemort lifted the curse and smiled. "I had quite missed you as a colleague. I thought you would never return."
"I wanted to return..."
"Crucio," Voldemort whispered.
Severus flopped to his back. His ribs were crushing and his spine was cramping... He was pleading.
Voldemort lifted the curse and swooped down on top of Severus his nose inches from his face. His eyes were dark and blood red, narrowed into slits. "I'm in such a mood for killing right now, it's so lucky you dropped in..."
At this point Severus had had enough. He didn't care. He was in so much pain that dying seemed nice.
But no... he couldn't… he somehow couldn't... there was too much at stake. He wasn't unfeeling. He wasn't the empty shell that he had been. He would prove The Dark Lord wrong. He would do what Dumbledore had asked of him. He owed his life to Dumbledore. And he wasn't about to give it up now.
Voldemort flung his bony calloused hand across Snape's face sending a splatter of blood across the clearing. "Now… Severus, I have your blood on my hands, I have your fate lying at my feet," he took a deep sour breath and lowered to an evil whisper... "and you have a sad, sorry life to remember..." His voice lowered still. "I'm quite interested... give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you now."
Snape closed his eyes to calm his breathing. He slightly turned his head so the gash could cool against the wind. He drifted a little into reverie.
He was at Hogwarts and it was spring, the year before Potter's arrival. The final Quidditch match of the season had come and gone. Slytherin had won, putting his old house on top. He walked along the lake in the evening sunshine with Albus Dumbledore while the rest of the school supped in the Great Hall. The giant squid moved a little and the water of the lake glistened and rippled. Dumbledore looked at him and his eyes were as kind and glistening as the scene before them. For that reason, he was content...
His eyes snapped open. Voldemort was studying him, sickly admiring his prey. He dramatically widened his eyes as Snape began to speak, at first only mock listening.
"Because, my lord. I live to serve you. You will have the whole world bow before you. You are right. I am a fool. I deserve death… But now, death is a gift. Wait to kill me until you have achieved what you began. The most powerful wizard needs all the souls available to bring them to the top. I serve you now and forever, my lord." And Snape slipped into unconsciousness.
Voldemort rose to his feet. He reached for his wand and pointed it toward Severus' chest. "Avada..." The beginning green light grew then dimmed.
Something about the look of the fallen Potions Master, like a dead raven, gaping wounded in the snow, caused him to lower his wand.
"No, he will not die, the fool is right, I need him... He will not die… yet."
"You don't want to die, Severus," the old man said as he rose from the sofa with a focused annoyance. "You are being very self-centered for a man that wishes to say good-bye to the world. You may feel that way. But actually wishing it upon yourself is as wasteful as your days as a Death Eater."
"Albus-"
"Severus, I am an old man! I have seen enough in my lifetime to last a thousand years, and I am only 152!"
Snape had grown very quiet again.
Dumbledore calmed himself rather quickly. He had not intended to become so upset.
"The more I watch you battle your inner demons, the more my heart goes out to you, Severus. But you must get rid of this idea that you have failed at life."
Snape snorted.
"I will not be around forever. It's about time you listened to yourself and realized how much of this life you've missed…"
At that moment the sunshine parted the clouds outside the window, and the golden beam of it fell in through the pane, pervading them both in bright warmth.
