Disclaimer: I wish..in vain.

Note: Sorry for the long delay, I've been rather busy. Anyways, this is the last "memory" chapter in Snape's POV. By the way, Natsume, Snape gave himself in to Dumbledore before the Potter's death... Thanks a lot for all the wonderful reviews, most encouraging. I hope you enjoy this one, even if it's rather strange(if I may say so myself) and if you do, please continue reviewing. Thanks.

The room was dark and messy, the air heavy with dust intermingled with the poignant smell of alcohol. Glass shards and broken bottles littered the ashes of the empty fire grate. A dark figure could be distinguished, lying on the couch, clutching a half-empty bottle of whisky and snoring slightly. His eyes opened suddenly, darting around the shadows nervously. Two white, bony hands descended upon his shoulder in a vice like grip, fingers twitching as though eager to slide up to his neck and strangle him.

'Ah, you've come back have you?'

He had not been very surprised to find the state of disrepair the house had fallen in after he had left, nor had he truly cared. As it had been nothing but the reminder of the nightmare he had experienced within it's walls. His father had sunk lower into his alcoholism, and only one house-elf had remained to take care of the cooking and little else.

Sibilius drawled, disentangling himself and struggling up, swaying slightly as he surveyed his son through dull eyes.

'Come back for money? Or perhaps for a beating, you missing them?'

Snape wore a mask-like expression though his eyes were glittering sinisterly; his hands twitching and trembling and a vein pulsing rapidly in his throat.

'Actually, I just came to see you one last time.'

'Are you dying then? You were always a sickly little thing.'

Snape felt his upper lip curl in disgust and anger. If he had been so sickly, as his father claimed, it had been his own fault. A small part of himself was actually started he had managed to survive all those years with the abusing, heartless imbecile; especially after she had abandoned him.

The man asked indifferently.

'No.' Severus replied shortly. 'You're the one who will be leaving.'

Sibilius raised his hand as though to throw the bottle at him when it fell to the floor with a sickening thud, blood gushing from his severed wrist. A dense silence descended, disrupted only by the trickle of blood and sudden low, guttural laughter as a cloaked figure seemed to emerge from the shadows, wielding a bloody axe. Sibilius gasped finally and let out a strangled moan as he fell to his knees, clasping his stump.

He grinned, but it was without mirth and somewhat unpleasant. His insides writhing as though burning snakes were traveling through his veins and setting alight his blood until it boiled. Vengeance had been sour; in a way both acid and acrid, like the taste of vomit in his mouth as nausea engulfed him and he struggled to force it down.

'Would you like to meet my new friends?'

Severus asked pleasantly, his bitter anger betrayed only by his ghostly white knuckles as he gripped his wand tightly.

Lucius had offered to accompany him, as it had been he himself who had suggested it after all- had used it as the first incentive to cajole him into joining the Death Eaters. And he had brought Mcnair along, seeing as he was rough and without any kind of scruples, always eager to brandish his admired weapons.

'More slimy, worthless brats like yourself?'

He said, the words slurring with pain as he squinted at them. Lucius stepped forwards, eyebrows raised in amusement, though when he spoke his voice was cold and menacing.

'Are you insulting me sir?

'Why yes, I am, if you're a friend of my good for nothing son.'

'Well, father I found something I am really quite good at.'

Snape reached inside him robes and extracted a small vial filled with a plain looking dark green potion. Mcnair grabbed the older man's jaw and forced it open roughly, Severus tipped in the contents swiftly. Sibilius doubled over, a scream forcing it's way through his throat, tears spilling down his sallow face.

Who had been true weakling, in the end? When Sibilius had taken on but a child, with no way to defend himself.

'That was just a simple pain potion. Now this one...' Severus shook another vial of clear turquoise potion, glimmering like thousands of microscopic pieces of glass liquefied. 'This one has a rather interesting effect.'

That was a potion he was particularly fond of, modified from the original he had once discovered in one of the countless books of Dark Magic he had read through the years. Instead of only the sensation, the effects were real, although the pain was greater than the true injury.

Sibilius screamed as black flames enveloped his body after consuming the potion, his skin seemed to be melting before his very eyes which were dulling with pain. Snape watched silently, his face impassive, though his hands were trembling so violently he dropped the empty vials which burst in showers of glass at his feet.

'That didn't hurt so badly, did it?'

He said finally, pointing his wand at the shaking form at his feet. He kicked it viciously, his breathing growing more excited as his father writhed agonizingly at his feet.

'Nothing can repay nearly seventeen years of pain.'

It had been a strange feeling; he had certainly been pleased to see his father at his feet, to see him being the one to writhe on the floor, to see the fear in his eyes instead of the reflection of his own. But he had also felt a sort of frustration and unquenchable rage, that he would only be suffering this once, for a few days at most. When he had been battered and hurt for years, broken... and nothing could change that.

He whispered, igniting the bleeding stump like a grisly, macabre torch.

'Severus, son...I'm your father, please.'

The man rasped, gripping the hem of Snape's robes, the burnt skin seeming to peel and fall apart.

'Are you begging, Daddy? Crucio.'

'Now, what to do with you..' Severus said, still holding the curse. A horrible smile crept on his face, he jerked his wand upwards and kicked his father.

'Get up.'

He hissed, pulling him up by the scorched hair. They walked to an old black door, Snape threw his father down the dark staircase and into the dungeon after another bout of Cruciatus.

'I learnt to hold onto the rail, Dad.'

Lucius snickered while Sibilius crawled back up.

'S-someone w-will find me...'

He stuttered.

'I don't think so, no will notice you're gone.. And even if they do- I don't think anyone would care.'

He shut the door in his father's face and locked it.

Sibilius was still there for all he knew. His slowly decaying body, it's putrid flesh probably consumed by worms and rats. Severus found he couldn't care less.

SsSsSsSsSsSs

'Erm...sir, where should I leave this?'

A young woman, barely above eighteen entered the dungeons, levitating several packages before her. She cast a slightly fearful glance at Snape and fidgeted nervously in place as Severus surveyed her silently. He looked unkempt and somehow older, pale with dark shadows under his eyes and hollowed cheekbones.

'You may leave them there.'

He said finally before turning his back on her and bending down over the cauldron he had been working at. She set them down where he had indicated and went towards the door, her head bowed. Severus walked to a wooden table and carefully selected what appeared to be salamander scales when he saw she was still standing at the doorway.

'May I help you with anything else?'

Snape asked her politely, though his tone was cold and sharp. The woman bit her lip and coughed uncomfortably.

'I was told to... offer my services in any way you may desire, sir.'

She said after a few moments, blushing furiously. Snape raised an eyebrow and smirked, his eyes traveled from her crown of coppery hair to the hem of her robes.

'Be here at ten.'

The Dark Lord had done that frequently, he found it amusing to send the ingredients and materials with some of the younger and stupider of his supporters, eager for acceptance. He found it somewhat degrading, but he could not deny he had taken the services offered occasionally.

He said indifferently and returned to his work. The girl nodded and cast another glance at Snape.

'At least it's not Mcnair.'

She muttered to herself as she left.

He could easily guess the reason she had been relieved, Mcnair was known for rather bloody and rough encounters.

SsSsSsSsSs

There was a tense silence in the room. Voldemort sat in his throne-like chair, surveying a cloaked figure which was kneeling at his feet.

'The potions failed, Severus. They were useless, worthless. Do you understand what that means?'

The high-pitched voice asked, the red eyes flashing with anger. Snape did not raise his bowed head.

'I have analyzed the potions, Master and-'

Severus felt his eyes stinging beneath his closed eyelids as he fought his own tears of relief. Dumbledore had passed through memories of attacks, of celebrations of victorious poisonings and, most importantly, the torture and death of his old Potion teacher in which he had been a witness. It was enough that these memories would haunt his dreams forever, wasn't it? A heavy weight that would lie on his mind, crushing it. A thorny vine that wound around his heart, tearing it.

'Crucio.'

He was interrupted as Voldemort suddenly pointed his wand at him and watched through merciless eyes as Severus hands clenched into fists and he seemed to fold into himself with the pain, a quiet, strangled moan escaping him. The Dark Lord grinned unpleasantly before lifting the spell.

'Continue.'

He ordered calmly, though he still looked quite wrathful. The Death Eaters around them were standing stock-still, cloaked and hooded.

'I have come to the conclusion they failed because some of the ingredients were not adequate. The oak roots were-'

His voice died in his throat as he was hit with the curse once more. His knuckles whitening, muscles contracted painfully as he fought to remain silent though a keening moan issued forth from his clenched jaw.

'were- ' he went on breathlessly, ' old and the tarantula blood was rancid.'

'Why did you not notice this before?'

Snape swallowed nervously, but raised his eyes to Voldemort's.

I believe they were somehow charmed, my Lord. I assure you, and hope I have given you enough proof of my abilities, that I would have noticed had they been handed to me unmagicked.'

Voldemort did not respond, staring at Snape thoughtfully.

It was the truth, of course, and the Dark Lord had already known. It had been one of his cunningly set traps, subtle attempts to reveal any possible spies within his midst. And now he would be returning as a real one, a traitor.

Without warning he sent a jet of green light towards one of the cloaked figures who fell to the floor dead, her coppery hair escaped from the within the hood and glassy eyes open in shock stared at the high ceiling.

'May it be left clear I do not tolerate incompetence. Nor will I tolerate anyone trying to deceive me.'

He said softly, his tone icy.

'Retrieve the body.'

SsSsSsSsSs

'Severus, are you alright?'

Lucius Malfoy asked, with just a hint of concern coloring his voice, gray eyes searching black in the sallow face. Snape nodded absently and stared at the door he had been about to open, it held a little wooden plaque announcing it's inhabitant in crooked, sloppy handwriting. He turned the handle and pushed the door open, as he entered the room he felt something crush beneath his boot and looked down. It was a porcelain doll with skin the color of pearls and rosy cheeks, glassy blue eyes and golden curls. Malfoy was bending over a cradle, which turned out to hold nothing but a baby doll. Severus inspected the room swiftly and with a knowing smirk walked towards the closet. He slid the door open and looked down at the girl, she looked about six-years old, almost like the living doll he had stepped on. With rosy cheeks, her face flushed even further with fear and her desperate weeping. Glassy blue eyes crowned by golden lashes stared up at him, swimming with tears as she sobbed and hiccoughed, drenching her brown fluffy teddy-bear.

He raised his wand, but his lips remained still. His eyes were locked on hers, they suddenly darted to a point just above his shoulder. A jet of green light illuminated his face and landed on the girl who hit the wall of the closet with a dull thud before lying completely still. Snape did not move, his eyes still gazing into hers, though the tears were congealed and held no life. Lucius Malfoy shook him by the shoulder, unusually bewildered.

'Severus. Come on, there's no one left in the house, let's go.'

Snape jerked away as though he had been burned and stared at Malfoy, but his eyes were vacant.

'Yes. Let's go.'

He agreed suddenly, shaking his head and ignoring the confusion reflected on the blonde man's countenance.

He didn't know why it had affected him in that way; it had been no different from the usual raids. He had murdered before, he had already seen muggles with the same ignorant gaze, that had understood their sudden deaths no more than she had. And yet, as he had gazed upon her face... it had been different somehow. Her tears seeming to cut into him like crystal blades. Snape was rather astounded to notice now how little he had actually been contemplating the child, it had appeared much longer to him then. As his mind raced ahead and the veil that had obscured his thoughts and conscious finally slid away from his eyes.

SsSsSsSsSsSs

The bright yellow light of a lamp post filtered through the shutters, flickering as the bulb threatened to extinguish. The room was dreary; dull gray wallpaper, damp, ripped and cracked at the corners. The only furniture was a broken-down closet with musty old wood, a table of rusting iron and a lumpy bed with tattered green sheets.

The Hog's Head as a rather disreputable place, but it had been the best he had been able to arrange after leaving his father. It was lowly and dirty, perfect for him anyways. He had sometimes spent the night in Voldemort's dungeons or occasionally in Malfoy's Manor, but he had usually preferred to come here when his cureless insomnia lost the battle to sleep.

A metal gleam shone through the room as Snape played with a knife, sliding the blade lightly over his pale skin as he lay on the bed. He positioned it over his wrists, his eyes were glittering as he stared unblinkingly at the ceiling.

'Dead, dead, dead...'

He muttered quietly, his impassive expression unwavering.

'Black roots have taken hold, feeding on blood from the poisoned heart.'

The whisper seemed to meld as though dust with the air in the room, he blinked once.

'Fettering wounds, bleeding scars... corpses in the shadows.'

The light caught on the glass of numerous alcohol bottles that littered the floor, growls and grunts were heard suddenly from the adjacent room, something banging onto the wall. Snape tensed at the noise, a fearful look coming over his eyes which darted around the room. Silence fell once more after a vicious snarl.

After months of denying himself; of attempting to pull the blindfold over his eyes once more, to cover his ears against the ceaseless murmuring of his conscious. He was a murderer, had spilt innocent blood and he had just taken one step lower as he took to drinking like his father. He was drunk in this memory, he remembered clearly. He had not drunk since that night, however.

'Filthy. Dirty. Murderer...' he paused, his voice breaking abruptly, 'Murderer.' he repeated.

He increased the pressure of the knife, which bit into his skin, bright red droplets of blood blossoming on the nearly translucent pale skin. His veins throbbing as his fingers twitched, he led the blade to his neck. His breathing became harsher.

'Worse than dead already... Dead, dead, dead...'

He whispered feverishly, knuckles white as his grip on the knife tightened. He threw the knife across the room; it hit the wall and fell to the floor with a clatter. Severus took a deep breath, although slightly ragged which turned into a dry sob. His eyes closed tight as he fought the tears which threatened to spill from his eyes.

'Dead...'

He rasped, gripping his hair in a convulsive moment.

'Then why does it hurt so?'

Snape rolled to a side and curled up, his finger nails digging into his scalp as the lamp outside went out enveloping the room in darkness.

That night in which he had seeked the easy escape that death poised: away from guilt and pain. But he had managed to resist, he had not commited suicide. He did not regret it, in a way, for this was his only chance to redeem himself- and he did not think he would last long as a spy, anyways. But if he could help, his death was too low a price; his life or death were worth nothing, but his services as a spy did, and he had to be alive to perform them.

SsSsSsSsSsSsssS

The streets were empty as silvery sheets of rain clashed noisily with tiled roofs, dark except for the dim, watery lights that shone through closed windows. Snape strode aimlessly, water dripping from his hair and soaking his cloak. He walked with his head bowed, stumbling as numb feet struggled against the chill, wet wind.

'Azkaban, Dementor's Kiss...'

He mumbled, coming to a sudden stop. He stood still for a few moments, the rain drumming against his figure, the hem of his robes immersed in the puddle of water. Snape took a few steps and dropped onto the nearest bench.

'Anything has to be better than this.'

Snape let out a sighing hiss, this was a day before he had come here. They were nearing the end of the exploration of his mind, and he was inexplicably fearful. He did not wish to look upon those knowing blue eyes, from which now nothing was hidden and which would surely be condemning after what they had seen.

He suddenly felt something hard pressed against his back and a gloved hand covering his mouth.

'Spit out yer money now, quietly. A word an' I'll blow up yer insides, ye hear me?'

Snape smirked and laughed hollowly against the rough fingers that covered his lips. The muggle seemed slightly unnerved and hit his side with the gun.

'Come on.'

'Go ahead. I haven't got any money that will be of use to you anyways.'

He didn't think he'd ever had any muggle money at all.

Severus spoke as clearly as he could, though it came out slightly muffled.

'Don't play with meh, you.'

Severus felt a tingling sensation shoot through him as he grew impatient and a loud thud as the man fell behind him. He stood up and gazed at the muggle disdainfully.

'Indecision is often deadly.'

He told him in a slightly disappointed voice and continued walking down the street, the robber staring back at him with wide, fearful eyes.

'The Ministry are a set of incompetents.'

He muttered after a while, jerking away from a muggle police car which passed by with it's blinding red and blue lights. He looked up at the sky, noticing suddenly the rain had stopped and a gray, dirty dawn was approaching.

'Albus Dumbledore. He's the one the Dark Lord fears...most of all... yes...'

It had seemed (and still did) the perfect decision, to hand the information over to Voldemort's greatest antagonist, the one he feared and hated above all others. Severus gulped as he felt the spell being lifted abruptly and clutched his head as a sudden blinding pain seared through his mind. The blood pounding through his temples was loud and roaring and he felt the nausea that had visited him frequently during the ordeal overcome him completely. He opened his stinging eyes.

'May I use you bathroom?'