Sorry it took so long to update, but this bloody chapter just would not work for me. Eventually I just decided to go with what I had, so be warned: this may not be exactly up to scratch. Hopefully, though, with it out of the way I can get back on track. Anyway, enjoy. By the way, to make things clearer, 'Severus' refers to young, memory Snape, while 'Snape' is the present-day version.
Chapter 9
Memories III
'Before we begin,' Snape commented softly, 'I would like to ... apologise, I suppose, for these memories.' They both looked to the swirling silver in the penseive. 'You must understand, I left these in Dobby's care to reveal should I ... meet an unfortunate end.' He laughed slightly, borderline hysterical, and Alastor felt a moment's true concern for what they were about to witness, and the effect it so obviously had on this man. 'I wanted ... I don't know ...' But Alastor did. 'Everyone should have someone to remember them?' Snape glanced up, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. He nodded. 'They haven't been edited. For anyone's comfort.' 'Good,' said Alastor, shortly.
The scene was of what Alastor vaguely recognised as a Hogwarts bathroom. A young boy, about twelve, stood over by the sinks, scrubbing futilely at his robes. He kept up a vicious stream of invective during the process, damning one James Potter, and another Sirius Black, with inventive cruelty. Alastor snorted. 'Some vocabulary you got there, Snape.' The adult Snape looked over at him. 'Yes. A rather crude usage, but I was young yet.'
His younger self seemed utterly focused on his task, yet the moment the door slammed open he spun, wand held firmly in soapy hands. Lucius pulled back, hands raised defensively. Alastor was mildly impressed. The boy lowered his wand slightly to assess the intruder. 'Lucius,' he greeted coolly. The older boy stepped cautiously into the room. 'Severus,' he acknowledged. 'Look, I can see there's been trouble, but you need to listen to me. It's your mother!' 'What about my mother?' Severus answered calmly, but both Alastor and Lucius caught the flicker of concern. The blonde's expression softened slightly. 'Severus, I'm so sorry,' he whispered. Alastor sighed as realisation hit the boy, and wand and head dropped.
Neither he nor the young Severus were able to assimilate what Lucius intended before the boy acted, launching himself across the floor to latch onto the smaller boy. Alastor, Auror reflexes reacting to the sudden movement, lunged forward to intercept, but was pulled up short by a grip like steel on his arm. He looked up into the stony face of the adult Snape, and subsided, turning his attention back to the two boys.
Severus struggled wildly in his captor's grasp. Because of Lucius' position, he couldn't bring his wand to bear, and physically he was no match for the older, stronger boy. Lucius was muttering a string of spell-words, arms clasped firmly around his victim from behind, head poised over the right shoulder. As he spoke, a soft glow surrounded them, sourced in Severus' breast and extending to link the two. The dark-haired boy stilled, going rigid, and as the struggles ceased, Lucius opened his mouth and plunged his teeth into his captive's neck. Alastor yelled, leaping forward, but the arm that held him didn't budge. 'It's a memory, remember?' 'What is he, a damned vampire?' Alastor snarled. 'Watch,' Snape instructed.
Lucius pulled back, lips stained. He smiled. 'Your blood, mine. Your magic, mine. Your will, mine. I claim you, Severus Snape, all of you, mine to command, till death. Know your master, slave.' He released his victim, stepping back to watch as shudders of reaction shook the thin frame. As the black eyes slowly cleared, one hand reached dreamily up to touch the wound. 'What have you done, Malfoy?' Severus asked hoarsely. Lucius smirked. 'Exactly what I've said. And you will address me as 'master', slave. Show some respect.'
Alastor watched as the black eyes hardened, and the hands firmed around the wand. Grimly, he hoped the child would kill the bastard, but knew he couldn't. He knew of the slave bond. All senior Aurors did. There was no darker magic that the chaining of one will to another. 'Look away,' came a soft voice. Alastor ignored it. The hand around his arm firmed its grip. 'Look away,' Snape repeated. 'For Maria, look away.' And Alastor knew what was coming. Resolutely, he watched as Lucius moved in, as his daughter's torture was reinacted before him. And though his natural eye blurred with tears, the dispassionate gaze of its magical counterpart never wavered.
'Your mother?' he asked when it was done. Snape looked at him. 'Oh yes. She was dead. The Headmaster thought that my ... strange behaviour was due to shock and grief at her death. Quite clever of Lucius, really. Just in case, and all that. He had to be sure.' Alastor listened, and the urge to murder Malfoy grew powerful. The bastard should have been killed long ago. Though it was obvious now that they had not known how long.
Images blurred together, a lost child becoming a hard, determined man over years. Alastor watched Severus grow towards his twenties, walking in a world oblivious to his torment. He witness the construction of the man's unshakeable defenses, the iron hard will that formed the Order's spy. And, scattered among those early memories, touches of tenderness. A disguised friendship with a worldweary house elf. A fragile trust with a young healer. Glimpses only, but they eased Alastor's fearful heart.
Then came Voldemort. Then came the first upset of the fragile balance between master and slave. 'My Lord,' Lucius whispered reverently. 'My Lord, I've brought you a present.' Severus, nineteen now, knelt beside him, looking unusually well dressed. Alastor spat. 'He prettied you up to sell you on?' Snape looked at him wryly. 'That would be difficult. I'm not exactly pretty material. You have to give Lucius credit for talent. He did quite well with a bad hand.' Alastor snorted. He wasn't about to admit it, but Lucius hadn't done such a bad job. But more of the appeal was the air of damaged dignity that, even then, the spy had drawn around him like a cloak. Something undefinable about the reserved, calm figure drew all gazes. Not least the hungry stare of a younger, more human looking, Dark Lord.
'What a gift, yes, Luciusss.' A hint of the serpent, even then. Put on, perhaps, but with Nagini curled about his feet, one was inclined to let the deception go. You did not argue with the hunger in the red gaze, or the loving way the pale hands stroked the snake's head. Alastor shuddered. Even still, that gaze sent shivers through him. He'd had some nighthorrors after the first war, dreaming of that voice. What young Severus felt, kneeling there, knowing that that voice and those hands were his future ... The calm was really quite impressive.
Voldemort raised himself, and moved sedately towards the kneeling pair. A flicker of his eyes, and the other Death Eaters left. Alone with them, the Dark Lord stood over his new acquisition. One hand reached out and prisoned Severus' chin, raising the head. Red eyes stared down into expressionless black, and for a long moment, neither moved. Then a spark of defiance kindled briefly in the darker pair, there and gone again, and a faint smile touched thin lips. 'My Lord? Is something wrong?' Severus murmured silkily, subservient and respectful, yet with an undefinable air of mockery. And the Dark Lord laughed, rich and loud, and swooped down to crush the slave's lips in a vicious kiss. 'Severus,' he purred, drawing back. 'Yes. You will do, love.'
Alastor, sickened already by the implications of what had been said, did not watch the partial transfer of bond. He'd asked for evidence, and he was getting it, but damned if he was going to stare at every grisly spectacle. The flicker of scenes that passed now, glimpses of the Dark Lord's inner sanctum, frankly disgusted him. He flinched slightly as a hand landed on his arm. 'I did warn you,' Snape said softly. 'The Dark Lord's sex slave is not a pleasant position. I became quite talented, but it is not a skill I would advertise.' 'There's a word for what that worm is!' Alastor snarled. Lots of words, heard in the darkest alleys. Snape smiled sadly. 'There's a word for what I am, too.' Whore. The thought was unspoken, and Alastor rejected it out of hand. 'A slave is not a whore. A slave is a victim of rape. Don't say anything different.' A watchful silence, then the hand squeezed his arm in gratitude. Alastor resolutely did not look at his companion's face, allowing him time, returning an earlier courtesy.
Then a familiar image returned, and Alastor looked once again on the ancient majesty of Hogwarts. Nighttime, with a watchful moon, and a sillouetted figure standing still on the lawn. Severus' face was calm and composed, eyes hard and determined as he looked on the quiet keep. He gazed at the window of the Headmaster's tower room, and a wry smile flickered over his lips. Alastor tensed. So. This would be what Albus had hinted at. The young Death Eater's redemption. The birth of the spy.
Silent as the shadows he walked among, Severus moved into the school, determined and purposeful. He slipped up the warded stairs, and into the office of the waiting Dumbledore. Alastor smiled. No matter how stealthy the intruder, the school had always alerted its headmaster to incoming guests. Albus was seated behind his desk, sipping tea, watching the young man warily. 'Mr. Snape,' he greeted evenly. 'Headmaster,' Severus replied, bowing gracefully. Alastor stared, struck by the rightness of the gesture, despite its faint ridiculousness. Albus raised a surprised eyebrow, and gestured to a seat. Instead of taking it, Severus knelt in front of the desk, bowing his head so that his curtain of hair disguised his face.
Albus stood, now severly discomfitted. 'My boy, there is no need for that!' he exclaimed, moving to raise the young man to his feet. Severus' sure voice interupted his movement. 'Oh, but there is, Headmaster.' The subtle emphasis on the last syllable struck both Alastor and Albus. 'You can't mean to ...?' Alastor whispered. Snape smiled knowingly. 'Child, what do you mean?' Albus asked. Without answering, Severus slipped his left arm free of his robe, baring the dark mark. Sadness flashed across the Headmaster's face, but not understanding. 'Child?' he pressed gently.
Severus raised his head to look the old man in the eyes, a faint smile in his. 'I am a slave to the Dark Lord. I've come to offer you one of two things. When you understand, you may choose between them. May I speak?' Slowly, Albus nodded. Severus stood, and gestured to the same seat Albus had offered him. The Headmaster sat, a wary look on his aged face.
'I am a slave,' Severus repeated quietly. 'Do you know what that means?' He ignored Albus' nod. 'You don't. Not fully. It means I am bonded, blood, bone and magic, to the will of another. Two others, actually. I serve the Dark Lord, and Lucius Malfoy, with my body and my power. Anything they ask of me, I must give them, or die trying.' He watched as the horror grew on the old man's features. 'You understand now. Good. Then listen. What they have, I offer you. Do not speak! Listen. I serve them, yet my will is yet my own. I do not wish to continue this. I do not wish to allow them victory, so that they can bind others as they have me. To that end, I make my offer.'
He captured the other's gaze in his own, measured the will he found there. He nodded slowly. 'A portion of the bond, yours to command, to counteract in part what they would have me do, and to give you a foothold in their encampment. Or, should you dislike this choice, I offer the ready destruction of the body and magic that serves them. I surrender that to you, willingly. Take what you will from what I have. The others took me. You, I choose.'
Albus stared. Alastor stared. Such a great thing, to be offered so lightly. A soul, already wounded, already divided, offered up again to counter a sin it had not committed. A spirit, a will, bowed willing to another's purpose. And Alastor understood why Albus had so vehemently defended his spy. His slave. Such a great gift, such a great trust, could not be ignored. The obligation to repay, to guard what was given, was overwhelming. And yet, Snape didn't see it that way. He saw only that a tool had been offered, and accepted. He thought of himself as something to be used, not treasured. No wonder Albus was always so sad when Severus was mentioned.
As the scene faded, Alastor turned to his companion. 'Do you know what you are?' he asked softly. Snape ... Severus ... cocked his head to one side. 'Of course. Slave. Spy. Sacrifice, but willing. Your weapon, your tool.' Sadness washed over the Auror. So innocent, to see so much, and yet not understand. Ah, child. How Albus must have loved you, and how much it must have hurt him. We cannot change what has been. But we can change what will be. 'No. You are comrade. Brother. Welcome back, Severus, to the Order of the Phoenix.' He smiled wryly. 'And I apologise for the belated nature of the welcome.'
He held out a scarred hand, mismatched eyes locked on their black counterparts. Counterparts that glistened for a moment, then lit with a rare warmth. A slender, bony hand was placed in his, and he clasped it firmly. 'Brother,' he murmured.
'Now, lets get back so I can grovel before your wife. We waste any more time, and she'll skin me before I can get a word out of me!'
AHHH! Finally! Note to self: DO NOT DO THAT AGAIN! Lsten to me. If you're going to have a memory sequence in a fic, break it up. Lump it together, and you get a dragging, confused mess of a chapter. IT'S NOT FUN! Sorry, but by gods did that take it out of me! By the by, last Moody ch for a while. Sorry, all Moody fans.