Chapter 9: Give Me Vengeance

September 17, 1995

Harry Potter

'I'm about to thank Severus Snape for saving my life… It'll be simple… easy. And I'm totally not nervous. Not at all.'

At least, that was what Harry kept telling himself as he made his way down to the dungeons, wiping his palms on the back of his robes.

"You've put it off long enough." Hermione had sharply told him one Sunday evening, two weeks following their conversation up in the Northern Tower.

"But do you really think he'll even accept my thanks?" he'd protested, a knot forming in the pit of his belly. "He's more likely to blast me out of his office before I even tack the 'you' onto 'thank'. Anyway, my father saved his life, and I doubt Snape ever thanked him. If Snape still hates my Dad after that, why can't I still hate Snape?"

"I never said you had to like Professor Snape. Just thank him." Hermione had lost her patience by that point. "Honestly, Harry, stop being such a big baby. He saved your life, you haven't thanked him… you probably owe him a life debt too. Now go to the dungeons before I hex you."

As Harry stood before the door that led to the foreboding office, he couldn't help but reflect that he'd never voluntarily gone to the office of the dungeon bat. 'I'm probably the first non-Slytherin student to ever do this.' He thought, more than half-serious.

Harry knocked.

And waited.

Finally, he heard Snape's smooth cold voice- "Enter."

Snape was standing over his desk, wandlessly levitating piles of papers into different desk draws. Harry supposed he must have been doing tidying up of a sort, as Snape's desk was entirely white with papers that were covered in the Potion Master's distinctive spiky script.

A brief look of surprise crossed Snape's face as he regarded who his Sunday evening visitor was, but that expression was quickly replaced by one of supreme repugnance.

"Potter." His tone was flat and cold. "What are you bothering me for?"

Telling himself that Snape was just being Snape, Harry took a deep breath. "Ijustwantedtosaythanksforsavingmeand… yeh."

"Bone-brained though you be, Potter, I had believed you to possess a basic understanding of the English language. Would you care to repeat that?" a tired shade of irritation pulsed through Snape's voice.

"Um… I just wanted to thank you for conjuring up that Patronus… uh, and warding away the dementors."

Snape blinked at him, and it occurred to Harry that the Potions master was looking much paler and greasier than usual.

"You do realize that incident occurred weeks ago, Potter?"

Harry could feel a flush rising in his cheeks. "Yes."

"That's 'yes, sir', I believe, Potter." Snape said automatically, but his dark eyes were narrowed, scrutinising Harry's face.

"Ah…" a look of gleeful realization crossed his face. "This was Miss Granger's idea, wasn't it? I thought it unlikely a Potter would develop any semblance of manners on their own. Tell me, did I make her feel guilty? Is that why you are here?"

'He's loving this.' Harry thought, indignation flaring in his chest. "She said thanking you was the right thing to do." He retorted aloud.

"Gryffindors are ridiculously sentimental." Snape mocked, donning up his heavy outer robes.

"Yes, well I can't quite see her point…" Harry bit his tongue. He'd just blown the whole purpose of the ordeal, and he couldn't quite feel bad about it. Snape was such a git!

Snape smirked. "I thought not. Harry Potter, displaying actual humility or gratitude? I've never believed in miracles. As you have nothing important to say, please remove your presence from my office. I have somewhere to be." With a final wave of his slender hand, the remaining papers swooped into the desk draws, which closed with a 'snick'. Then, Snape stared imperiously down at Harry, obviously waiting for him to get out of the doorway.

But Harry just stood there, feeling embarrassed and very angry. He knew it had been a bad idea. Given how angry he'd been of late, it should have been obvious what Snape's presence would do to him. No one could quite rile him up like the greasy git could.

"Where are you going then, sir?" He ignored his inner-Hermione and pushed on, sarcasm heavy in his voice. "Off to meet your master?"

"If you are referring to Dumbledore, then yes, Potter, I am going to meet him. An Order meeting, you know…" Snape's thin lips twisted upwards in scorn. "Oh… but that's right. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

How was that man so good at finding sore spots? Harry would have given anything to know what was going on at the meeting, but he knew it was pointless to ask Snape.

He settled for a resentful glare. "Why do you keep saving my life, if you hate me so much?"

"That is the question, isn't it, Potter?" Snape wasn't looking him in the eye.

Harry clenched his fists, heart pumping. "I mean it! Why? You didn't need to be there that night. Were you doing it so the Order would trust you? Did Voldemort set that whole thing up?"

"Do not say the Dark's Lord's name, you arrogant child!" Snape snarled, real anger finally shining in his eyes.

"Well, did he?" Harry snapped.

"If he did, I would hardly tell you, Potter, would I? If you want the truth rather than your dim-witted assumptions, I'd advise you to use your brain… although in your case, that may be a lost cause. Now this is my last warning- remove yourself from my doorway!"

Knowing that Snape's patience was crackling fearfully short, Harry bit back his next words and stepped aside, feeling a cool rush of air as Snape swept past him.

'Hmm, that went well.' He thought despondently.

September 17, 1995

Severus Snape

Snape was used to unfriendly receptions at Order meetings, but it was a new experience to find himself with a split lip and a bruised jaw within moments entering the Grimmauld Place kitchen.

He hadn't said a word, but the minute his presence was observed, he heard an explosion of expletives, the sound of chairs scraping against wood, and caught a vision of a frenzied Sirius Black hurling himself in his general direction. Next, Snape saw stars, then found himself pushed up against a wall, with another fist bearing down towards his nose.

By that time, however, he had sufficiently recovered his wits enough to deal with the situation. One well-aimed upwards jab of his bony knee, and Sirius Black was howling painfully on the floor, clutching his groin.

Dabbing at the blood spilling from his lip, Snape winced. "Muggle techniques? Really, Black? I understand you might have forgotten how to use your wand after Azkaban, but what in the blazing hell was that all about?"

Of course, he knew exactly what it was about, but it wouldn't hurt to put on a show.

Black was too busy whimpering to give an intelligible answer, so Snape turned an arched eyebrow to the rest of the table, which was filled with faces either concerned, embarrassed, or angry.

Predictably, Moody was the one to speak up first, standing up and staring Snape down with his whirling blue eyeball. "This, you filthy Death Eater, is about you sneaking around and collecting our body samples! What were you intending to do with them? Put us under a dark long-distance Imperious?"

Given what he'd just spent the two weeks researching, Snape couldn't resist letting out a short, hollow laugh. "Quite the opposite, in fact, Moody. Although, thank you for the suggestion. I'll be sure to remember it next time I want to control you."

Letting Moody curse and splutter, Snape turned to meet Dumbledore's gaze. The old man looked rather stern- and singularly unbothered about Sirius tearing into his tame Death Eater. "Enough jesting, Severus. Why did you not tell me about this action you have taken? And what were you intending to do with our DNA traces?"

'Ah, Dumbledore. Not so happy with your spy taking some initiative, are you? Of course not… you are the general of an army, after all. However, you aren't very good at allocating your resources.'

He did not say what he thought. He instead shrugged, and, leaving Sirius on the floor, walked over to one of the kitchen's dark corners. Leaning against the bench, he said carefully, "If you must know, I have been attempting to create instant communication devices… to be used by the Order. They should be much faster than owls or Patronises."

"Like a Muggle phone?" Lupin, who had been hauling Sirius to his feet, suddenly looked in Snape's direction, voice sharp with interest.

Snape inclined his head. "Rather it was from a mobile device that my inspiration was taken."

"What a mound of hippogriff-shit!" Sirius, red-faced and snarling, made to pull out his wand, but Lupin restrained him. So instead, he jabbed a furious finger at Snape. "As if you'd do anything to help the Order, or get ideas from Muggles! You're a Muggle-hating, Dark Arts-loving Death Eater, and now we all know it!"

"Now, now, Sirius, I trust Severus-" Dumbledore began, but Snape interrupted him with an impatient flick of his long hair.

"You pack of utter fools. Do you honestly think that if I had malignant intentions, I would have informed Auror Shacklebolt about my actions?"

Snape let that question hang in the air for a few moments before turning to the man he had just mentioned. "I assume it was your information that launched this little rigmarole?"

Shacklebolt nodded regretfully. "My apologies, Master Snape. I had not intended for things to get so heated. The revelation of your DNA collection was unavoidable… you see, I was informing the Order about your hitherto undisclosed skill in inventive charms."

'Perfect.' The outcome of his letter was certainly worth Sirius's muggle punch. This, though making the Order wary, would alert them to his skills, and eventually, to the nature of his true loyalties.

But, remaining in character, Snape allowed a faintly scornful expression to cross his face. "The privacy charm? It is merely a filler until I am able to complete the instant communication devices."

Shacklebolt looked like he was about to ask a question when Dumbledore spoke up again. "But Severus, you might have asked us for the samples instead of-"

"Stealing them." Fumed Moody, looking thoroughly unnerved. Snape allowed himself to once again feel smug about getting one over the paranoid old bastard.

"Well, if you want, you can have your body samples back, Mad-eye." He said coolly. "It will just mean that you won't have a communication device."

"I don't want anything that comes from your Death Eater mind." Moody spat.

Snape merely smiled. 'Just you wait, Moody.' "Very well then, but you must be aware that in order to retain my position as spy for Voldemort, I am required to create new spells for him… spells that are more on the destructive end of the spectrum. I just thought that you might not want to give Voldemort an advantage. For a Patronus is hardly as fast as the burn of a Dark Mark."

"Thank you, Master Snape, for reiterating my point." Shacklebolt said in his deep voice.

Molly, who had previously been chewing her lip anxiously, breathed out a sigh of relief. "There, you see? He's just trying to help."

Snape cringed a little inside at the infantilizing manner in which she defended him, but he appreciated it all the same.

Unexpectedly, Lupin and Tonks murmured agreement.

Dumbledore frowned at Snape, his blue eyes piercing.

'He's trying to figure out my game; he knows this was a set-up. Wily old Slytherin-soul.'

A tense moment passed, then Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Yes, well, in any case, I think we can agree that Severus meant no harm, for as he reminded us, he did indeed inform Kingsley of his collection."

"No." Moody swaggered belligerently over to Snape, leering into his face. "I want to know what spells you have created for Voldemort, and why you haven't told us about them yet."

"This is ridiculous." Snape turned on heel towards Dumbledore. "Headmaster, surely you have informed these people that since I began my work as a spy, I have supplied you with each curse and counter-curse that I invented for Voldemort?"

Dumbledore merely shook his head, and said with a wry smile, "Severus, my boy, until today, I saw no need to."

Shacklebolt swung his head sharply towards the Order's leader, surprise registering in his usually tranquil features. "You know he was a spellcrafter, and didn't tell us? Surely that could be useful…"

"I was not aware of the privacy charm's invention." Dumbledore said evenly.

Snape quirked a crooked smile. "What the Headmaster means is that he was only aware of my capability for inventing dark spells. It was all that was relevant in my early days as a spy."

Now, this was not strictly true, as Snape was sure that Dumbledore had to have been aware about the charms he'd sold as a graduate. However, as Snape did not make a habit of talking about his private life and personal projects, Dumbledore did not make a habit of asking about them. Oh, over the years, they had had long intellectual conversations, but Dumbledore had never been curious about the source of Snape's knowledge. He did not ask him how he understand complex transfiguration, genetic theory or neurology, he just accepted it. The only creative subject on which Dumbledore had ever encouraged him to expound upon was Potions, as discourse befitting the Potions master of Hogwarts. Although he was aware of and approved of the newly invented potions that Snape would periodically present in potions circles, Dumbledore never knew that after Snape completed his Mastery, he began studying in Muggle universities. Snape was by nature a creature who lived on knowledge… he was not one who could just stop learning. It had taken nearly five years, what with teaching and other projects, but he had just attained the degree two years ago. As it turned out, having a Graduate's Degree in Neurology had proven quite useful to potion creation and mental magic…. In fact, it was 'his understanding of neurological science that had helped the Imperious project along so swiftly.

"Knowing your twisted Death Eater mind, I'm not sure I want to know what your dark spells do." Sirius growled.

"No." Snape agreed, looking down his prodigious nose at him. "I'm sure your stomach is much too delicate these days to take it. What was it they fed you in Azkaban? Gruel?"

"That's enough, Professor." Tonks piped up bravely. Snape turned an arched brow at her, but she glared steadily back.

"But of course… Nymphadora." He smiled wickedly as she scowled at him.

Moody spoke up once again, before his protégé could begin an argument with her former Potions teacher. "Very well, very well, if you're even being half honest about this all, Snape, I want to know what this communication charm does."

Snape smirked. "I thought you didn't want anything that came from my Death Eater mind."

"I, however, am quite intrigued about that mind." It was Shacklebolt.

Snape couldn't believe his good luck… it seemed Shacklebolt, while perhaps not trusting him yet, was at least alert to his value. He had not expected such a little charm to have sparked such a reaction. But so as to not push it… a bit more play-acting was required.

"Very well. As I have stated prior, the communication charm was modelled off the piece of technology that Muggles call a 'mobile phone'. But do not be fooled into thinking it as simple as a mere handheld device. No, it is a subtle, underplayed, but ever-present charm, grafted under your very skin and operated using a combination of mental and motor tactics. It-"

Suddenly (or not so suddenly) he paused, and with a deep frown, exclaimed, "Just one moment. Should I really be reciting a dissertation when I've got a report to make? My role in this Order is a spy, not…" and at that, he waved his hand in an exasperated gesture before gently brushing at the blood at his chin, making it seem like an unconscious action, which, of course, it wasn't.

He sighed deeply. "I'm not Hephaestus.* If you want to know about this invention, you can seek me out and ask." And he crossed his arms over his chest, scowling defensively at the Order members. It was an attitude well-suited to Snape's typical character, for he was quite used to people acting with the intention to attack or humiliate him.

'Let them think they are the ones in control.'

Tonks pouted. "A pity, Professor. I could see you were just about to get going." She turned to Bill, a gleam lighting in her eyes. "Bill, you remember how he'd wax poetic in Potions class? The delicately shimmering surface of a simmering cauldron, etcetera? Always my favourite part of the class."

"Not relevant!" Barked Moody, eyes still glinting at Snape with yet barely restrained fury. "I want answers, Snape!"

"You will get them." Snape returned contemptuously. "If you can be buggered to wait." His little touch of profanity showed the rest of the Order just how thin his patience was wearing. Just as he intended, that, combined with his unobtrusive reminder of the physical violence done to him, caused some of the softer Order members to look ashamed and concerned.

"Yes." Molly spoke up with feeling. "Let him alone for now. You've treated him badly enough."

"Did they?" Snape sneered. "I really didn't notice. Now, shall I make my report?"

"Yes! Make your report, and then get out of my house!" Sirius bayed viciously. "I don't want you here a moment longer than you have to be."

Silence.

Snape truly loathed the man.

Turning snapping eyes on the mutt, he hissed back, "I utterly reciprocate such feelings. I have no desire to be here either."

He turned to Dumbledore.

"Headmaster, if there is no objection, might I be permitted to make my report?

At Dumbledore's nod of assent, he quickly launched into the dispatch he had prepared. There was little to tell- Voldemort continued to lie low, his influence was growing among covert parts of the wizarding population, Ministry plants continually spreading lies about Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy being responsible for Imperiousing Podmore… it was mainly mundane things that most of the Order had already heard, for his last meeting with the Dark Lord had unearthed few items of interest.

"From what I understood of my last encounter with the Death Eaters yester-evening, the Dark Lord allowed several of his more blood-thirsty brutes off the leash, attacking a few Muggles. As the Dark Lord does not want to draw attention to himself, of course, his murders will remain, for the time being, rather un-momentous. And as that is all the information I have at my disposal, I shall take my leave, as per Black's hospitable invitation."

Without waiting for an objection or expression of appreciation for his exit, he swept out of the kitchen with an air of dignity, his robes billowing behind him.

And as he left, he again repeated the line in his head that had become his internal cry.

'You can all hate me. I don't care anymore. But use me. Give me vengeance.'

Vengeance for Lily, vengeance for his wasted life and for his tattered soul.

The night before, he had stood before the Dark Lord, bowing low with all outside show of respect, while within, a chill of revulsion laced its way down his spinal column. The gates of his Occlumency rattled and shook as he stared into the bloody eyes of his master- and like dark embers of brimstone, they burned into his mind, memories charring and flaking before the Dark Lord's plundering force.

Oh, but Snape had handed them up willingly, nudging selected memories through the bars of the iron gate. He stirs a cauldron with a counter-clockwise motion, silver wisps of smoke curling from up from the surface… he enters an Order meeting, slick with hatred and disdain as he watched faces turn cold and mistrustful… he listens, pulsing with scorn at Dumbledore's blithe insistence that he 'didn't really care about losing his position on the Wizengamot'. He stood before the Dark Lord, on the night of his Lord's return, feeling exultation and joy despite the torture he had endured…And the sparks of the Dark Lord's Legilimency took the images, branding them with malignant glee, then casting them back into Snape's mind, where they were left to smoke and char at the edges.

As the flames of Legilimency cooled from the Dark Lord's gaze, Snape once again felt a jolt of terror crash down on him. He let it now show, but cast it as the kind of healthy fear that an acolyte might feel upon tasting the power of his god. The fear turned Snape's limbs to stone as he had continued to stare into the eyes of his lord. Frozen blood in a viper's gaze... intelligent, deadly, and forever unpredictable. The Dark Lord needed no Occlumenic shields to fill Snape with uneasy trepidation... for who could know the mind of a beast?

He may have fooled his lord the last time, but what comfort was that? He was locking eyes with the most powerful Legilimens of the century. Who was he to think he could keep fooling the Dark Lord? Did the Dark Lord see how the emotional memories were twisted and morphed, exaggerated and taken out of context? Did he look the beyond the smoking memories to sight iron barred gate that protected Snape's secrets? While he sensed Snape's thirst for vengeance, would the Dark Lord realize that it was for his demise that his servant lusted?

'You can all hate me, I don't care anymore. But use me. Give me vengeance.'

In a way, the first time he'd lied to Voldemort had been easier, for, while Severus had sought to protect Lily, he still retained his fanatical admiration for the great and powerful wizard. At the time, he'd privately lamented the necessity of betraying his Lord, although he did not once regret it- not if it would keep Lily safe. But once she had died... once He had killed her... words could not express the burning hatred that newly marred Snape's soul. Not only had Dark Lord had destroyed Lily, but he had taken Snape when he had been a lonely but talented boy, and turned him into a shell of darkness.

'You can all hate me, I don't care anymore. But use me. Give me vengeance.'

And now, looking into the eyes of the one who had murdered an angel and had left great black gouges throughout Snape's own soul, he had to summon all his strength of will and mental powers to shackle down his hatred and anger. So he instead shrouded himself in darkness, and offered up the dark shards of his soul for his dark master's inspection. But he gave the Dark Lord no more than that. For hidden, behind the gates, beyond the dungeons, buried rights into the depths of his being, the silver doe guarded the remnants of his soul. The part that Voldemort would never have.

Then his lord's slash of a mouth stretched across his elastic face- a terrible and unnatural smile. He saw all, he, the world's greatest Legilimens. Nothing could be hidden from him.

So he thought.

This time, Snape knew he could breathe easy. His lies were undetected.

As Snape left the dreary townhouse, chased from the meeting by a few sharp words, he couldn't help but feel a stab of frustration. His plan had gone off without a hitch... he should not have let his temper get the better of him with regards to Black. To be kicked out of the Order's meeting place when it was he who did more work than any of the whole useless lot! He should have held his ground and sneered at Black without removing himself. If he'd stayed, perhaps curiosity would have led the Order members to open a conversation with him… that had been why he'd stopped the lecture on the communication charm network. But he had overplayed his hand. Black demanded that he leave, and so he did. What a fool he was!

But it wasn't a total loss. In fact, his plan had actually gone off relatively smoothly. Better, even, then he had originally hoped for. Now the Order as a body knew of his inventive abilities. Though some were suspicious, and others furious, they all had been impressed… he could tell. There was much of himself that he knew they would not be ready to know about. They did not want to know of his duelling skill or magical power… they trusted him little enough as it was. Snape had never been able to count on his looks or temperament as a way to endear him to people; his intelligence was his one personal asset among wizard-kind. Surely now as with the return of the Nightmare of Decades Past, scruples against his character would fade in the face of actual need.

'You can all hate me, I don't care anymore. But use me. Give me vengeance.'

Was he to listen to Dumbledore, like a good soldier? He'd been loyal to him these past fifteen years, despite the fact that the old man had let Lily die. He remembered the night he renewed his Vow, the terrible night in which he broke down in Dumbledore's office. Like a mad man he'd wept, screaming, howling, cursing... When he'd quite finished, Dumbledore spoke to him with no sympathy, as a general should do to a soldier. With his Slytherin words, the wily old wizard used his broken emotional state to bound him once more to his side.

At first, Snape had wanted no part in Dumbledore's saccharine offer of a 'second chance' and his empty promises of 'redemption'. No, all Snape wanted was death...

But how could he die with Lily's death unavenged?

At the time, he'd believed three people responsible for her death.

Lord Voldemort.

Sirius Black.

Severus Snape.

Voldemort had been blasted into nothing, Black rotted into insanity in a wave-washed prison… but as for Severus Snape?

Redemption? Really?

No, punishment was what he deserved, and what greater punishment was there than to live? He deserved to suffer the pain and heartache, the disdain of his fellow wizard. He had betrayed Lily to her death... he had betrayed her memory with his darkness.

So, all those years ago, he set himself to live, waking up alone each morning, bitter, hating himself and everyone else in the whole world. His one remaining goal- to protect Lily's child, Potter's brat though he be.

And with the Dark Lord returned... Snape longed to help bring Britain's most powerful dark wizard to his knees. It was an illogical folly, Snape knew it, of course… but there is seldom logic in the strongest of passions. If the Order would just let him, Snape would do his utmost to rain hellfire down on Voldemort and, Salazar, how he longed to be there when the monster was sent straight back into the oblivion he had spawned from.

'You can all hate me, I don't care anymore. But use me. Give me vengeance.'

And if he lived to see that day, then and only then would he put an end to his limbo of penance, and release himself to the death that had been tantalizing him for the past fourteen years.

*For anyone not a Greek Mythology buff, Hephaestus was the Greek god of blacksmithing and invention. He was also very ugly and because of that, his mother threw him off a mountain. Yeah, I am a veritable source of random information.