This is a look into Snape's character after HBP, and it assumes that Snape murdered Dumbledore on the headmaster's orders and that he was innocent.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, and the quote at the beginning and the joke at the end are from the Batman issue "The Killing Joke", written by Alan Moore. That comic was also the inspiration for this fic.

The Killing Joke
A Harry Potter fanfiction by Bowles

"It doesn't have to end like that. I don't know what it was that bent your life out of shape, but who knows? Maybe I've been there too. Maybe I can help. We could work together. I could rehabilitate you. You needn't be out there on the edge anymore. You needn't be alone. We don't have to kill each other. What do you say?"

"No, I'm sorry, but… No, it's far too late for that, far too late. Hahaha. Y'know, it's funny… This situation, it reminds me of a joke…"

- Batman and the Joker, The Killing Joke by Alan Moore

- - -

As the hour hand of the clock above the bar had drawn closer and closer to the two, Utley's Pub in the south end of London had grown less and less crowded. Even those that were perpetually drunk had left to go to bed (although some hadn't even made it that far, and had just gone to sleep on the counter). Yet still several remained, but they were at least wasting their wages at the bar. One man, however, was sitting to himself in a table in the middle of the pub. After it was clear the man had no desire to leave anytime soon, Mr. Utley found himself approaching the man, intending to get him paid and out the door so that he might close up.

"Hello?" The man didn't even offer him a glance. His thick black hair hung around him like a barrier, and he stared ahead at an empty bottle with an expressionless face, not acknowledging Utley in the slightest. "Er, hello?"

The man looked up, his glare icy. "Hello."

"You look like you could use some company," Utley said brightly. The man made no move to agree with him, and he very carefully took the seat opposite the man. "I'm Quagmire Utley, by the way. What's your name?"

"Snape." Utley could tell that the man's teeth were gritted; his words came out as a hiss. "My name is Snape."

"Just Snape? No first name?"

"Yes," he growled. "Just Snape."

"I see." Utley eyed the bottle warily. "You done with your drink?"

"Yes." Snape pushed it from him and straightened in his seat, sweeping his hair back from his face. "Why?"

"Just asking," Utley replied as casually as he could before changing the subject. "If you're done, why don't you get on home?"

Snape flashed him something that was between a frown and a smirk. "Home's very far away."

"Oh." He scooted his chair up closer to the table, careful not to aggravate the man, who was looking more and more dangerous by the second. "What're you doing so far away from home?"

"It's complicated."

Utley smiled with all of the warmth that he could (although Snape didn't seem to care). "I've got plenty of time," he lied.

"I really wouldn't want to waste any of your time," Snape said with underlying malice; Utley knew instantly that he was already toeing the line with this fellow.

"Oh, I really have nothing else to do." He hoped that his eyes were portraying more honesty and less fear than he felt at the moment, although he severely doubted that they were. "Go ahead. I've got time."

For a brief moment he thought the man was going to leave, but instead he merely leaned back in his chair and eyed the bottle distastefully. "I don't like your beer much," he commented dryly. "Not enough alcohol."

"That's not the strongest stuff," Utley agreed. It was a run-of-the-mill beer: enough to knocker someone up after a few drinks, but not frothing with alcohol. "You want something stronger?"

Snape sneered at him. "I'm still sober, aren't I?"

"That's the ticket," he said, glad that at least something would be made of this. He waved his hand high in the air and turned to the bar. "Jack, my boy, get us both a Scotch, if you don't mind!"

"Aye, Mis'r Utley," the old bartender called back happily. Evidently he'd had something to drink as well. "Two blended Scotches comin' right up!"

"There we go." Utley sat back in his chair as Snape had and took a deep breath. As soon as the drinks came this man would loosen up. Who didn't loosen up after drinking a Scotch whisky? "So, Mr. Snape, where are you from?"

His eyes were little beads in the darkness, yet he could tell that the man was still leering at him. "Scotland."

"You don't sound Scottish."

"I was born here," he explained monotonously. "I currently reside in Scotland."

"Ah." Utley rapped his fingers on the table nervously. Those drinks couldn't arrive quick enough for his tastes. "Why do you live in Scotland?"

"That is where my job is," Snape said in a low voice. Seeing Utley's inquisitive gaze, he continued. "I am a professor at a school in Scotland."

"Really?" replied the barman, who was doing his best to be polite. "Which school?"

Snape shrugged casually. "It is a small school. Quite obscure, really. I doubt you've ever heard of it. It doesn't really matter." He smirked darkly. "Going to tell the headmaster that I've been out drinking, are we?"

"I would never dream of it," Utley replied in a light banter. Snape's expression gave him pause, though; he all of a sudden looked quite sullen, bitter even. "If you teach in Scotland, Mr. Snape, then what are you doing over here?"

"Just passing through." The answer was not very satisfactory, though. Something about it seemed as if it was concealing something. "There are several people that don't like me very much in Scotland that would not be very pleased to see me at the moment. I am only too happy to acquiesce to their wishes."

"So you're telling me that you're here because a few people back home don't like you?"

"That…" He shrugged back into his chair and closed his eyes. "That is one way of putting it, yes."

"Hm," grunted Utley. "Doesn't sound like much of a reason to me. Sounds more like you're running away than anything. You've gotta fight back. All those people that tell you to 'take it like a man'… what a load of shite. What kind of man just stands there and is quiet when people he doesn't like are bothering him? No man does that; I guarantee it. A real man starts fighting back and doesn't stop 'til there's blood."

Snape did not appear to be perturbed, although his eyes were open once more. "I've fought back. Trust me." Strangely, this only seemed to damper his mood. "I'm a bit tired of fighting at the moment. England is nice in the summer."

"Agreed. But so is Scotland."

They were interrupted by the clattering of drinks upon the table. A few drops of the whisky landed on Utley's arm, and he looked up in annoyance at the waitress. She was a new girl – she'd only been on the job a few days – and her shift would be over in a few minutes. Good riddance.

"Thank you, Lucia," he said in what he hoped was a kind voice. She smiled wearily and quickly disappeared into the back of the pub.

"Pretty girl," Snape commented.

"Yes." He took a sip of his drink. "But it's too bad she doesn't have the head to match."

"In my profession that seems to be the case far too often."

"I imagine it would be," Utley replied, pushing the glass away from him. Snape had not yet touched the drink, although his hand was drawing closer to it. "So, if you don't mind me asking, why would some people be unhappy to see you right now?"

"We have never been great chums," Snape drawled coldly. He brought his glass to his lips and swallowed a small amount of whisky. "They have never much liked me, and I have been happy to return the sentiment. But something I did recently… I think it annoyed them very much."

"What'd you do?"

He glared into his drink. "I did what I was asked to do. I imagine they feel I betrayed what little trust they had in me."

"Did you?"

"Of course not," he said coolly. "But I can't particularly blame them, either."

"Hm." Utley wiped the droplets off of his arm with a paper napkin. "You must have done something really horrible to make you run away to England."

Snape did not deny it; he merely shrugged. "I did what I was asked to do."

"And what was that?"

The man did not answer for several seconds, and Utley could tell that he was trying to think of the best way to reply. "I did a favor for an old friend."

"I don't see what they got so angry about, then. What's so bad about helping out a friend?"

"It was a bit controversial." Needless to say, that statement was as vague as the previous ones, although Snape did not appear willing to fully answer his questions.

"And that means…?"

"It's a bit of a private matter, really, and it's very hard to explain." His tone was icy now, and for a moment Utley was afraid that he would stop. Instead he took a large sip of his Scotch and continued. "The favor he asked of me was not only difficult and somewhat questionable; it was also ridiculous. At first I thought he was joking. I actually laughed."

The memory of this seemed to pain Snape for a second, but Utley blinked and his stony demeanor had returned. "It was that ridiculous?"

"Yes," Snape said, nodding. "It was. But he thought it imperative that I do it… he thought it may be the most important thing that would ever occur in his life. I disagreed. I fought with him over it for months. He was a dear friend who showed me mercy when I deserved none, and I would do anything for him, but this was too much. He knew I would be a bit hesitant, I think…" He paused and took another sip of his drink. "But he said that I must do it. I did not want to. I thought it was foolish. He thought at one point that I was afraid of how the others would react if I did do this favor for him, but that was not why I was hesitant. I was hesitant because I thought it was the wrong move, and that it wouldn't help my friend."

"Ah." This was certainly unexpected; his counterpart's words were slurring a bit now, and perhaps this was why he had revealed so much. It was not uncommon for Utley to hear such a somber tale from his patrons, but this one was different – it seemed sincere, and even sinister, in a way. "But you did the favor?"

"Yes. He had to beg me to do it, but I did it." Snape leered bitterly at the glass. "And look at me now."

"Hm." Utley smiled in the most sympathetic manner he could. "Another Scotch, then?"

"It's funny," the man said suddenly, as if not hearing Utley. He laughed darkly and shoved his drink towards his companion. "This situation… how everything's happened… it reminds me of a joke my friend once told me. But I guess that I'm being a bit stupid, aren't - ah!"

Suddenly he clutched his arm, as if in extreme agony. Utley looked at him worriedly, not sure what to do – should he call the cops? Ask for an ambulance? "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Snape growled, standing up. "Just a muscle spasm. I'm so sorry to have wasted your evening, but I'm afraid I'll have to be leaving now. The money is on the table."

He was almost to the door before Utley gathered up his courage and called out to him. "Wait! Just wondering, what was the joke?"

Snape smiled – not a bitter smile, but a pure smile, and for once he did not appear so angry. A chuckle escaped his lips, and as he opened the door his hand twitched in his pocket, and Utley thought for a moment that he was brandishing a knife.

"Look at the receipt on the table," he said mysteriously before he vanished into the night.

Confused, the pub owner scrambled to find the receipt (which was under Snape's money). On the back were a few short lines, written in neat, almost girlish handwriting:

"Two inmates are trying to escape a mental institution. When they're trying to work out how to get over the wall, one inmate says 'I'll turn on this flashlight, and you can walk along the light beam to get over the wall.' The second inmate replies, 'What are you, crazy? I'm not falling for that; you'll turn the flashlight off when I'm halfway across.'"