Chapter 14:
He stood up from the table, leaving the food he had gotten relatively untouched and made his way towards the doors. He had to think. He had to think about what he'd say to Dumbledore. He had to think of a way to get him out of this. He was not rational nor did he think of the consequences the night he first went to Hermione. He had made a mistake and let his emotions get to him. That's why he refused to feel or let emotions show. Bad things happened. And this was the worst of the worst.
He had to sell out the woman he loved which would lead to him probably having to kill her, or he would deal with the consequences of admitting that he wasn't just with her to spy on her. That would lead to both of their deaths. Merlin. Either way, he was fucked. Fucked. Utterly fucked, for lack of better terms. But no. He couldn't think that way. That wasn't a rational way of thinking. If thinking irrationally had gotten him into this, thinking rationally would get him out. Dumbledore. Yes. Dumbledore would be his solution.
The old man was demented; he was utterly crazy. He was driven by love and emotion and colorful things running happily together through a meadow while former Deatheaters gathered in a circle to sing folk songs. But he was brilliant. Severus would give him that. He was probably a lot more powerful than the Dark Lord, but he had a lot of flaws (one of which was to not use his power). So, he'd go to Dumbledore and tell him he had made a mistake. He would explain how Hermione had changed him and how his lack of better judgment endangered both of their lives. Dumbledore, doing his part, would tell Severus how to handle Deatheaters or something. Anything. As long as Hermione was safe, he didn't care if he died.
Death would probably be his only escape though it'd be a coward's way out.
He grabbed his head. He was thinking too quickly, and it was giving him a headache. His head was spinning, and he felt himself getting dizzy. Then, he felt his forearm burn. He rolled up his sleeve and noticed the normal blackened and charred skull glowing brightly in the dim light of the corridor he had now walked into. Fucked, he was. Yes. Utterly fucked.
He leaned against a door opposite of a torch that was magically lit. He closed his eyes for a second, willing the glow, whose source was his Dark Mark, to disappear. His beady black eyes opened and shifted, noticing that it was still there. He stayed still for another few seconds, clearing his mind. He breathed deeply, all images of Hermione and Dumbledore disappearing. He felt his mind being searched, and that was probably the reason for his thoughts going so quickly. He was glad that he had learned to mentally block things from outsiders. He knew that You-Know-Who was likely to distrust him because he was so different from the other Deatheaters. He had a conscience, a soul, and he didn't want to kill.
He closed his eyes for a second again before taking a passage out of the castle. He walked swiftly towards the gates, noticing people in black robes heading that way too. Severus' stride sped up to meet with them. He noticed them disappear in black flames the second they stepped outside the gates. He took a deep breath and braced himself before he followed.
He felt his body burning as it seemed to travel in a fashion very different from apparation. Then, a second later he felt his feet roughly make contact with the ground. He blinked, feeling the familiar feel of a mask covering his face. He looked through the slits of it, noting he was in the front of a very large circle of Deatheaters. Briefly looking around, he noted that they were in a forested area. The moon was bright, in an early phase. They looked to be not far from Hogsmeade judging by the stars he could see. Bracing himself, he waited for another few minutes in silence before he saw people next to him begin to get onto their knees.
He followed suite, his eyes noting a hooded figure he knew to be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named now gliding into the center of the circle. Severus let his gaze drop to the ground, willing himself not to be disgusted at the wizard before him.
"Welcome, my followers. You have all been called here unexpectedly because I have suspicions that some of you are not as loyal as I previously thought." He stopped there for a second, and Severus saw his robes moving around among them. There were gasps among the group. "Silence. I've given you all what you wanted. Power and fame. But there are people among us who dare to betray me."
He felt himself being lifted to his feet in a standing position and was glad to see that everyone around him was doing the same. There was silence once again in the circle as the Dark Lord came into the center again. He spun on his heels until he looked in the direction opposite of Severus. Sighing a breath of relief, Severus watched as a young man who wanted out was tortured mercilessly while surrounding reactions varied from laughing to cringing.
He put on a blank face, and it didn't change until he felt his feet touch outside of the Hogwarts gates. He couldn't go back.Not tonight. So, he summoned his broom and mounted it. He flew in the direction of Hogsmeade, but he wasn't quite sure that's where he was going. That was because he wasn't sure in general if he was even going anywhere or if he was running away from something. He threw his deatheater's mask from the sky in disgust as he was passing over thick foliage.
The night's air was crisp. It was cool. It was refreshing. It was exactly what he needed. He hadn't had room to think. All of his thoughts were consumed with Hermione and the situation he had gotten himself into. What was wrong with him? He was usually so in control of his life. That's the way he liked it. He'd block out emotions and think things through logically. He didn't think with his heart. Love was a weakness. A WEAKNESS. And yet, he was succumbing to it.
What exactly had come out of him loving Hermione? His thoughts had become so scattered that they were hard to decipher at times, and to be quite frank, sometimes even random. He couldn't calculate through situations anymore to see what the probability was of him getting what he wanted to see what course of action he could take. He hadn't gained that back until just that night. He had been consumed. It echoed in his mind, realizing that no matter what path of thoughts he took, it always led him back to one place.
So, why was he thinking more clearly now than he had in weeks? It was because she was not present. He didn't have to play the hero for her anymore or make sure that everything in her life was going well. He didn't have to watch for her being hurt or killed nor did he have to blame himself for every thing that went wrong in her life. Why had this particular night cleared him, though? Why was it that it took a three hour Deatheater meeting to clear his mind?
Severus found himself flying to a coast of some sort. Had it really been long enough to where he'd be by an ocean now. He found his answer as he noticed a lighthouse on a rocky part of the shore. He felt attracted to the bright light, and he flew over to it, landing on the rocky part it was situated on. He sat down, feeling a light mist washing over him.
Why was his life so different now than it was before her? Why had she had such an effect on him? Why did he come out of his shell and stop being the cold, heartless bastard he was before? Why was he sitting on a murky shore in some random Muggle city?
He discarded his robe when he started to gather sweat beads on his forehead. It was quite humid. He closed his eyes before leaning back, letting the spray of the ocean wash on him. His broom rested on the side of his body, some of the twigs snapping as they roughly hit the rock. He absorbed the smell of the water. It had been so long since he had been near an ocean. Too long.
And then found the answer to all of his problems. It wasn't a solution. It was an answer. He let himself. He let himself be manipulated, duped into falling for the witch. He had been dumb enough to abandon his principles. He didn't think twice before rushing out to see her in the hospital wing. He didn't think twice about sharing his past with her. He didn't think twice about kissing her. That wasn't like him at all. He always thought everything through so thoroughly that even his thoughts were organized.
And that was her fault. How she had managed to get through skin as thick as his, he didn't know. He realized that she knew everything about him, and he knew nothing about her. That took a talented spy, a good manipulator. Which is what it came down to. She manipulated him. There was no question. She let him come to her each time even when she was at fault… even when she was being a harlot off with the bloody werewolf. Every time, she'd said nothing, and he'd said everything.
This murky, damp spring evening was proof that she had manipulated him. Severus had to go to a Deatheater and see someone tortured to realize his place. His place was with the Deatheaters. His place was with his fellow heartless, cold bastards like he once was. Severus was meant to live his life torturing the weak and exploiting fears for his advantage. He was pre-destined to live a life of solitude except when he came out to play.
And play he would. Muggle raids and wizard torturing. He would strike fear into the souls of everyone whose path he crossed. That's how Severus would get the power he so desperately desired. That's what he truly wanted. He wanted power, and power he told himself he would get.
That decision left him in quite an awkward position. What would he do with Hermione, and how would he handle the Slytherins? He couldn't deny that he loved her, but that would soon change. He would distance himself from her, no matter how much it hurt him. He would make sure that she wasn't to be hurt by the Dark Lord, but first he'd have to work himself up in the ranks. He'd have to use every ounce of wit and talent to get him exactly where he needed to be. For his own sanity, and for hers.
He'd participate in every raid with enthusiasm and kill as many people as he could. He would work this conscience he had developed out of him, and he would once again enjoy killing. It was inevitable that it would happen anyway. She was bound to get tired of him or frustrated with him and move on. She would find a nice, attractive Gryffindor boy who would satisfy her needs and look good on her arm as she displayed him to her friends.
She could do a lot better than someone with hair that was just a little too long, skin that was a little too pale, and eyes that were a little too dark… and a heart that would only cause pain in the end. So, he would end it slowly, for the best of her. And maybe if they both survived this war, in thirty years, they could maybe form some sort of understanding and see what happened.
But for now, he knew what he had to do. For himself.
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