CHAPTER 21
The Reckoning
Harry was aware of an odd feeling of...he wasn't sure what--boredom? Restlessness? Something left undone? Perhaps it was a combination of all of these. It nagged at him during the last weeks of school until finally he mentioned it to Ron and Hermione, thinking they might be able to offer a solution.
Late one pleasantly hot afternoon in early June, the three of them sat at the foot of a jumbled pile of boulders that stretched down to the lake's edge. Their trousers were rolled up and they dangled their legs nearly to the knees in the numbingly cold water. Conversation had stalled and they half-drowsed in the heat reflecting off the rocks.
"Mmm," sighed Hermione, "this feels so good!" Lazily she swished her feet back and forth, mesmerized by the sunlight sparkling on the little waves she was creating. Ron had laid back on his rock and, nearly asleep, merely grunted in reply.
Harry stirred. "Hey, you guys?" he said. Hermione glanced at him inquiringly. "Do you feel like there's something we were supposed to do?" Harry asked. Ron shaded his eyes with one hand and turned to look at Harry for a moment. Then he dropped his hand and grunted again.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. "Did you forget to turn in an assignment or something?"
"No." Harry shook his head; a lock of black hair fell across his forehead; impatiently, he shoved it away with a sweaty forearm. "I don't think it's anything like that. It's just--well, I dunno--school gets out soon and it feels like we've forgotten something. Or like something's...missing."
Hermione swished her feet some more. "Well, I can't think what it could be, Harry. Sure you don't just have end-of-term paranoia?"
He chuckled. "Ha ha, very funny." He stared out across the lake. "Doesn't it seem awfully--peaceful--for the end of a school year?"
Ron finally sat up. "You know what it is?" he said. "It's You-Know-Who."
"What?" Hermione said. "But Harry hasn't even seen him this year. So--"
"Well, yeah, that's it, don't you see?" Ron broke in. "You-Know-Who hasn't done anything to Harry all year. That's what's missing." Harry and Hermione looked at him blankly and he tsk'd loudly. "Oh, buck up, you two. Every year Harry ends up having a go at vanquishing Vold--er, You-Know-Who--but this year nothing's happened. It's like he's hiding out or something. I mean, where is he, anyway, d'you suppose?"
Harry looked thoughtful. "I suppose you could be right," he said slowly. "Not that I miss Voldemort, or anything, but it does seem odd that he hasn't tried anything this year. For a change!"
"No, well, don't forget about your aunt, Harry," Hermione reminded him. "Maybe that was an attempt to get you to go looking for him."
Harry shook his head. "Not me--Snape." When this drew puzzled looks from Ron and Hermione, he went on. "I think that was to lure Snape there so Voldemort could get revenge on him for being a traitor." He grinned. "I sort of...overheard him talking to my aunt about it."
"So what's up with them, anyway, Harry--do you know?" Ron asked, distracted by speculation about Harry's potential relation to Snape.
Harry grimaced and shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like I can just ask her, is it? She already gave Snape and me what-for just for not getting along--I'm afraid to even bring it up." Ron chuckled, and Hermione looked pained.
"Well, it can't be easy for her," she said. "Everyone knows you and Snape are practically mortal enemies. And if she loves both of you--well, it's got to be an impossible situation for her, hasn't it?"
Ron snorted, but Harry looked thoughtful. "I--I suppose...maybe," he said finally. "But look here, Hermione, it's not easy for me, either. I mean, Snape as my uncle? How awful would that be?"
Now it was Hermione's turn to tsk. "But how much more awful, surely, if he's the only man your aunt could ever love and she were made to feel like she had to give him up because you and he don't get on. Harry! That's the most selfish thing I've ever heard of!"
Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Actually, as much as he hated to admit it, he did see. A tragically romantic picture came into his mind: his aunt and Snape parting sorrowfully--forever--for the good of...him? He sighed. Put like that, it did sound selfish. He still couldn't understand in the least what there was about Snape that could make anyone--least of all his own aunt, and in a romantic sense, at that--want him. But it seemed she did.
Harry looked at Hermione, his face reflecting the misery and conflict he felt. She patted his arm sympathetically.
"I do understand, Harry--really I do. After all, I'm not any fonder of Snape than you are. But--well, I just think something's got to give. You know?"
He sighed gloomily. "I know. And that something is me." He stared morosely into the sparkling water. "You know, sometimes I really hate growing up."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
On the far side of the boulders, well within earshot but invisible to the threesome who were staying within reach of the water, Snape sat in glorious solitude. The pile of boulders rose from the water's edge forming a series of seats where Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat, but at the top of the heap, some little distance above them, was a sheer drop down the back side for a distance of about twenty feet to a small patch of sand. To reach this idyllic spot one had to swim or wade in the waist-deep water round the lake side of the boulders or, as Snape had done, walk some distance round the landward side where there was an easier place to climb down.
At the first sound of approaching voices he had pounded the sand in annoyance at having his lone retreat interrupted. When the voices came closer and he realized just who the intruders were, he gritted his teeth in impotent fury. How far did he have to go, he wondered, that Potter wouldn't sooner or later show up and destroy his peace?
When he heard the sound of shoes and socks being removed and feet splashing in the water, he relaxed a little. If no one was actually going to be swimming, his presence would probably remain unknown. Soon it was clear from their desultory conversation that they were continue to stay where they were, and he relaxed a bit more.
Until he heard what they were talking about.
At mention of Voldemort's name, Snape's eyes flew open. What was Potter saying--he wondered why Voldemort hadn't tried to attack him this year? Snape snorted to himself. The nerve of Potter, to suppose Voldemort had nothing better to do than think up new ways to try to kill him! What rot. Despite his own hatred of the Dark Lord, Snape was momentarily insulted on his behalf by Potter's overblown idea of his own importance.
Then he heard his own name, and Voldemort was forgotten in Snape's new indignation at Potter and his friends indulging in speculation about his love life. He positively seethed, and his agitation was all the greater since he knew he could say nothing, lest they discover him listening there like a common eavesdropper.
When Hermione reproached Harry for his selfishness, Snape pumped his fist in the air. You tell him! he cheered silently. He waited for Harry's reply. When it finally came, Snape was surprised to hear him take on the responsibility for smoothing relations between them. He hadn't thought Potter had it in him to take on responsibility for much of anything, let alone improving relations with someone he had--with good reason--hated since first meeting him six years ago. It was tempting to dismiss it as a fluke.
Then again, how blissful it would be to spend a lifetime with Trillium without the constant spectre of his disastrous relationship with her nephew hanging over them. The only other way he could see that happening was for Potter to--well, not to put too fine a point on it--to die. And how likely was that to occur any time soon? Snape sighed glumly. Under different circumstances--a lifetime ago, it felt like--he mightn't have been so squeamish about ridding himself of Potter. It would be so easy--a little accident in Potions class, a fatal fall during a Quidditch match, or merely luring him to one of the many long-forgotten, hidden spaces in Hogwarts castle and leaving him there to rot--a natural enough thing to happen, considering how often he'd been caught wandering places in the castle he had no business being. But then, Snape comforted himself, the man he had been back then could never have had a future with Trillium Lovejoy. What harm was there in acquiring a few scruples, really, if it was for a good cause like that?
After a while, the conversation on the other side of the rocks having died down, Snape lost himself in pleasant daydreams--an indulgence he didn't often allow himself--and gradually fell asleep. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered their scattered bits and pieces and returned to the castle for dinner, Snape slept on unaware.
He woke very suddenly just before dark in about as unpleasant a fashion as possible: Voldemort was Summoning him. Just him? he wondered as he rubbed his arm where the Dark Mark burned. Or were all the Death Eaters being gathered? For a moment he considered not answering the Summons--after all, considering Snape's part in the recent raid on Malfoy Manor, Voldemort could no longer mistake where his loyalties lay. But he decided rather to present himself as ordered and see if anything at all could be salvaged of the situation.
He trudged to the edge of the Forbidden Forest and cut across a corner of it to the road, avoiding the main gates of Hogwarts where he might be seen by Hagrid and have to answer a lot of silly questions--where had he been, where was he going, didn't he know he was missing dinner, and the like. A chilly breeze sprang up, raising gooseflesh on his arms. He stood for a moment and savored its freshness, and wondered when--or indeed if--he would again stand here, a free man within sight of his heart's desire, savoring the evening wind.
Then, reluctantly, he turned on the spot and Apparated to the place appointed for him to meet his fate.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Harry, Ron, and Hermione noticed Snape's absence at dinner and wondered where he was.
They were not alone in their curiosity which, as dinner wore on with no sign of him, seemed unlikely to be satisfied.
Professor Lovejoy said quietly to a concerned Professor McGonagall, "I can't imagine where Severus has got to, can you? I know he was going to spend some time out by the lake this afternoon--it's usually where he goes for a little solitude, he thinks I don't know about it--but surely he's not still out there. And I certainly can't find him anywhere in the school. I confess I'm a bit worried, Minerva."
"There, there, not to worry, Trillium. It's likely he just got caught up in one of his books or something," Professor McGonagall reassured her. Privately, however, she too thought it was odd that Snape should have disappeared quite so thoroughly, especially considering his tendency of late to spend most of his free time with Professor Lovejoy. And not even appearing for dinner? Heavens, as gaunt as he sometimes appeared, the man never missed a meal! She glanced at Dumbledore and, seeing him looking back at her, tipped her head at Snape's empty place with an inquiring look. Dumbledore replied with the merest of shrugs. Then he stood and raised his hands for silence.
"The end of another year is almost upon us," he said solemnly. His lips twitched the barest amount. "I'm sure you'll be glad to see the examiners arrive tomorrow morning." Groans followed this announcement. He waited for the noise to die down before continuing.
"It would be best if you were to head off to bed directly. Prefects, please see that your house members return promptly to their dormitories. There will be no evening activities tonight, and the Library is closed; you'll want to be well rested for your examinations tomorrow. So--off you go, everyone. Sleep well."
The fifth- and seventh-years who were due to sit, respectively, their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams the following day looked a bit haggard as they filed out of the Great Hall. The other students thought with relief of the normal year-end tests that were all they had to endure and felt thankful.
Professors McGonagall and Lovejoy approached Dumbledore as he was leaving the Great Hall.
"Albus, have you a moment?" Professor McGonagall asked, her tone urgent. He stopped and turned with an inquiring look. "It's Severus," she blurted before she could stop herself. "That is--he seems to be--missing," she went on hurriedly. "No one has seen him since lunch. He was going to the lake this afternoon--" she looked at Professor Lovejoy, who nodded in confirmation-- "but no one has seen him since. Trillium is somewhat worried--and so am I, Albus." She rattled to a halt.
Dumbledore regarded her gravely. "Ah," he said at last. "The situation has a touch of déjà vu about it, does it not? It feels very like the evening when Severus came to me about a missing Professor Lovejoy." Professor McGonagall's eyes widened, and she gasped.
"Oh, no. You don't think Severus has been--taken--do you, Albus?" she breathed. Professor Lovejoy, noting with alarm how pale Professor McGonagall had turned, put an arm around her quickly, afraid the shock might prove too much for the old lady. She glanced at Dumbledore in dismay.
"What are you saying, Headmaster?" she asked. "Do you think it's possible that Voldemort has got to him somehow?" Her voice shook.
Dumbledore sighed. "I think it extremely likely, my dear. After you both gave Voldemort the slip recently, I would indeed be surprised if Severus were not called to account for his treachery." He held her gaze for a moment. "I must say, Trillium, that I am not overly hopeful about the outcome of such a meeting. But," he said, smiling faintly, "I'm getting rather used to miracles happening around here, so...let us not lose hope completely."
"What do you think we ought to do, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked. "Should we alert the Min--"
Just then they heard footsteps pounding up the staircase toward them, and Harry burst into sight.
"Professor Dumbledore!" he shouted. "Sir--you'll never believe this! I've just got a message from Professor Snape!"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When Death Eaters responded to a Summons from the Dark Lord, they didn't necessarily know where they were to go. They only had to concentrate on being where Voldemort was, and they arrived at the right place.
Snape, Apparating to the Dark Lord now, found himself somewhere that was all too familiar: in the main hall of Malfoy Manor. He supposed he should have known Voldemort would choose this venue; the Manor boasted one of the most spectacularly dank and gloomy dungeons anywhere in England. He smiled faintly, wondering if he would live long enough to see it again.
"So," Lucius Malfoy said from the doorway. "You do still answer your master's call, then? I rather wondered if you would show up." He came very close and, with a furtive look round, whispered in Snape's ear, "Come with me." Aloud, he said, "Since you're the first to arrive, you'll have a bit of a wait, I'm afraid. The Dark Lord doesn't wish to be disturbed until everyone has gathered. Come, I'll have a servant show you to a room where you can rest."
He walked to the doorway and ushered Snape out of the room. Rather than call a servant, however, Lucius motioned him across the cavernous stone entry to a staircase that rose majestically to the floor above and accompanied him up the stairs. Snape looked at Lucius oddly and opened his mouth to say something, but Lucius shook his head in warning and said softly, under cover of their footsteps on the flagstones, "Wait."
They reached the top of the staircase and Lucius led the way down a corridor extending off to the left, stopping before one of several doors that all looked alike. He opened it and motioned for Snape to enter. Lucius followed him in and, with a last cautious look down the hall in both directions, he closed the door.
Snape raised one haughty eyebrow. "And what, may I ask, is all this about? Creeping round like a thief in your own house--no servants--what's going on, Lucius?"
Lucius eyed him measuringly. "Tell me something," he said, ignoring Snape's question. "Just how loyal are you to the Dark Lord, Severus?"
Snape stared at him, taken aback by the question. He answered with one of his own, voice tinged with suspicion.
"Are you questioning my loyalty, Lucius?" Outwardly calm, he did an admirable job of hiding his tautened nerves behind a supercilious mask.
"I fear you've--er--misunderstood me," Lucius said. He looked into Snape's eyes seriously for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh and looked away. He paced about the large bedroom--picking things up and putting them down again, twitching the draperies over the window, and returning at last to where Snape stood watching him, mystified and growing impatient.
"Can I trust you, Severus?" Lucius asked him bluntly.
This was ominous. Snape wasn't certain he liked the sound of it. "With what?" he asked cautiously. You could never be too careful with some people, and he was well aware that Lucius was as close as anyone could be to the Dark Lord.
"Oh, nothing much," Lucius said with an offhanded wave. "Merely...my life."
Snape stared at him, thinking that a more appropriate question was whether he could trust Lucius. What game was this?
"I don't understand," he said at last. "What do you want from me?"
Lucius bowed his head, then met Snape's eyes squarely. "I want your help destroying the Dark Lord." He said it as casually as if he'd just indicated a preference for treacle tart for dinner that night.
The longer they stared at one another, the more Lucius' smile grew--with Snape becoming increasingly uncomfortable. How could this be? Lucius Malfoy was the Dark Lord's most faithful follower. Why would he even consider such a thing?
"Why would you even consider such a thing?" he blurted. "Are you mad?"
Lucius shook his head. "I was mad to ever follow him in the first place, Severus. Mad and greedy and arrogant. It's a bit late to admit that now, I realize. But it's not too late for Draco. There's still a chance for him to avoid this hellish servitude."
"A chance? To do what, pray tell?" Snape demanded. "What exactly are you up to, Lucius?"
"Ah, but you never answered my question," Lucius reminded him, shaking an admonitory finger at Snape. "Can I trust you, Severus?" He laughed. "Although I suppose it's a bit late to ask, now--since you've already heard my secret."
"You're serious, aren't you?" Snape breathed. He looked as if he might faint.
"Never more so," Lucius assured him briskly. "Oh, come now, Severus,'" he continued mockingly. "It's not like either of us is a green student. We're men of the world--wizards with a great deal of power at our command. And--" he added slyly-- "it's not as if we've never used the Killing Curse before. Think of it, Severus. What could be easier? With both of us acting together, we'd almost certainly be successful. Can you give me one good reason not to do it?" he asked, since Snape remained silent and brooding.
"But--why take such a terrible chance?" Snape asked. "You have so much to lose."
"I, Severus? I have so much to lose--or we have so much to lose?" Snape didn't reply. "Truly," Lucius said softly, "there's not so very much left that I mind losing." He looked at Snape. "Not with Narcissa gone."
Ah, so that was it. Of course, Snape thought. Lucius' mind was temporarily unhinged by the death of his wife, that was it, and he was nursing some grievance against Voldemort because of it. Well, as things were, Snape could certainly sympathize. Now that Trillium was in his life, he didn't know what he would do in Lucius' place if--
"Well?" Lucius snapped. "Will you help me or not?" He folded his arms across his chest and waited impatiently.
Snape's mouth opened and "Of course," he heard himself say. He felt a bit dazed and shook his head slightly to clear it. Had he really just entered into a pact to kill the Dark Lord?
"Don't worry," Lucius said, amused. "It gets easier the more you think about it."
Little by little, Snape's practical side reasserted itself. "Wait," he said desperately. "Are you--"
Whatever he had been going to say was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Lucius put a warning finger up to his lips. "Not a word, mind," he said softly. "This is just between us. I'll let you know when it's time." Snape looked after Lucius helplessly as he strode to the door and opened it.
McNair and Bellatrix Lestrange stood in the corridor. They looked at Lucius curiously, then turned cold gazes upon Snape.
"So he did come," Bellatrix purred. "And you doubted him, McNair."
McNair advanced upon Snape and took his arm. "Out," he said curtly, nodding at the door. Snape jerked his arm away.
"Leave off," he snarled. He aimed a Look at Lucius that clearly said, Traitor! Lucius gave a tiny shake of his head and frowned.
"Not a word from you," McNair ordered. "The Dark Lord wants you, now. Look sharp." Snape walked out of the room with head held high, refusing to be led like a recalcitrant child.
They proceeded down the staircase and into the main hall, where now there stood a large group of Death Eaters, all masked. Snape was sure if he could see beneath the masks, all of the Death Eaters not captured and taken to Azkaban would be present here tonight.
It was, after all, something of an occasion: the execution (he wondered) or torture (at the very least) of Severus Snape, former Death Eater, Hogwarts Potions master, and now--
"Traitor."
The word hung heavily in the air. All heads turned to the doorway, where Voldemort had entered unnoticed while all eyes were on Snape. The better to effect a grand entrance, Snape thought irreverently.
Voldemort circled Snape. Lucius and the others fell back to a respectful distance. Snape watched them move away. He still didn't quite believe Lucius had been serious--destroy the Dark Lord?--but he had known all along what the purpose was for this Summons. At long last the Dark Lord had decided it was time for Snape to pay for his duplicity over the years. The others were here to witness his punishment--some would enjoy it, while others would be intended to take warning for any waywardness of their own.
Snape tried to relax and not think too much. It didn't really matter whether Voldemort gave him a chance to speak or not--there wasn't much he could say in his defense.
No, Snape was certain that the end--his end, to be precise--was near. The only thing he didn't know was how Voldemort was going to do it. All at once? No...no, that would be too easy. No doubt half the fun would be in watching Snape suffer. Ah, then torture it would almost certainly be. He stifled a small sigh. Suddenly the Dark Lord's posturing and taunting seemed endlessly tedious--why didn't he just
"Get on with it!" Snape roared, his patience at an end. A collective gasp went up from the onlookers at this foolhardiness. Hearing himself, he thought with grim amusement that he really must curb his alarming tendency, so frequent of late, to say such things aloud the minute they came into his mind.
Voldemort stiffened. Then he chuckled. "Why, if you wish it, of course, Snape," he said almost gently. "Anything for my...faithful servant." He raised his wand and thundered, "Crucio!"
Snape's last conscious act was to hurl a hasty mental image at the one mind he knew from experience was unlikely to be guarded against such intrusions, and he imbued the communication with every ounce of desperation he could summon up. He had little hope that he would be saved; but with death so close at hand, Snape suddenly realized he was not ready to let Voldemort snatch away what little life he did have.
His last thought surprised even him:
Gods, if only Potter were here!