Disclaimer: I wish...in vain.

Note: First of all, thanks for the reviews! I'm not extremely happy with this chapter, just ...parts of it... Anyways, sorry for the "it's" thing, I haven't fixed it, I just realized...There's probably like two chapters left, one of each POV. Hope you enjoy it, and 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?'

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.

Dumbledore looked around the room rather morosely, though not at all surprised to find the large dent that decay and neglect had made in the house. As his eyes fell on Severus' father, it was also clear the man had fallen with the house, consumed by his growing alcoholism. The old wizard frowned deeply at the acidic exchange, feeling weary and somewhat sick at the rage and hate that permeated nearly every memory of this youngster who sat before him. His eyes, though now closed, were ever guarded- a black veil to hide the pain, to stifle the agonizing shrieks, to shelter himself from the unknown and untrustworthy world. It was truly sad to see.

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

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

The man asked indifferently.

Sickly? Albus thought wryly. He could not deny the boy's appearance had been somewhat haggard: thin, pale, with greasy dark hair and unnerving black eyes. But considering what he had been forced to endure, he kept his broken pieces together quite well.

'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.

Through the years of fighting against the evil forces, he had inevitably steeled himself against the horrors of torture and untimely death. As it was impossible not to have encountered them in more than a century of turbulent wizarding time, and yet he felt himself recoil slightly at the sight. A twinge of sadness and regret; that the son should torture the father, who had in turn, tortured him for years.

'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.

'More slimy, worthless brats like yourself?'

He had undoubtedly had the closest insight to Severus' life anyone would probably ever get, and though he had come closer to understanding him, he pondered on what truly hid under the dark mask he wore. He had cracked it, undeniably, seen a sliver of the truth. Yet he could not help but wonder; if under that porcelain cover tears were streaming, black with regrets and anger or clear with simple sorrow? If carefully guarded eyes flashed red with pain or decayed in soul's death?

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.

'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.'

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?'

Albus watched the scene with a grim face. An incredibly raw, hollow feeling in his chest as he saw, close up, to what awful purposes Snape had been putting his indisputable potion genius.

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.'

In that, Dumbledore could not find it in his heart to dispute him. But he also believed in second-chances and redemption, if not, he would not be sitting here with Severus.

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.'

Dread and uncontainable pity came over him as he observed the excited, awful smile- if the usually kind, mirthful expression could be compared to that travesty of momentary insanity and blind hatred- crawl over his face, revealing yellowish teeth and lighting his eyes.

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.

For a moment, Albus felt his blood run cold at the thought, that he had locked his father underground and left him to die. But then, he could not help but wonder if the murder of his own father had come as a relief to Snape, if it eased his pain. He thought it probably didn't.

SsSsSsSsSsSs

Dumbledore felt his brow wrinkled in pain as fleeting images crossed mind, of the old Potions Mistress in the acute throes of torture, of pools of blood and flailing limbs and muted screams. He was over going this inspection to judge the worthiness and security of admitting Snape into the Order of the Phoenix, but he would not witness this. He knew, of course, that the young man seated before him shared a bond with the most evil wizard of their times and was a criminal, a murderer. He did not need these memories to prove it. He flipped through them quickly, pausing to select these last few.

'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.

Life as a Death Eater had clearly not favored Snape.

'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.'

Eyebrows white with age rose in a mixture of surprise and indignation on behalf of the young followers it appeared Voldemort had employed as whores for his more useful Death Eaters. He felt his disappointment increase, which he thought odd for a moment, considering this female degradation seemed pale by comparison to all he now knew about Severus. It was then that he realized the chagrin he felt was aimed truly more at life itself than at the wizard, who had simply chosen wrongly among the thorny pathways life had offered him.

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 did not know exactly what she had meant with that comment, but seeing her obvious relief Mcnair must have had some bad reputation.

SsSsSsSsSs

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-'

'Crucio.'

Albus sighed glumly, blue eyes devoid of their usual merry twinkle as they surveyed the group of cloaked and masked figures. He could not distinguish their identities, but he knew who they were in his heart: former students, once "his children" as he had fondly caught himself referring to them in his mind once or twice. He felt failure, raw and rather painful. Minerva had argued and consoled him more than once, steering his sight to fall upon the triumphs instead. To relish the loving friendship of the Marauders, the bravery and bondage of the Prewett brothers, the kind Longbottoms... The whole Order, who stayed together, bearing candles amid the darkness. But he could not ignore the shining red eyes that glowed through the shadows, the harsh whispers and deathly green light... He could not avoid the fact that he was fighting against his own pupils, wizards and witches who, though children no longer had once been under his tutelage. And he had let them stray, fall into darkness.

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.

In spite of himself, Dumbledore felt something akin to pity stirring in his chest. Heart beating rapidly in distress as he watched Severus being subjected to the Cruciatus curse once again, although this time in hands of his new Master. His mind berated his heart, however, reminding him harshly that Snape had cast the curse before himself, had tortured and murdered and it was only fair for him to suffer the same.

'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.'

Rather unnerved and disturbed at the manner in which Snape quietly opposed the curse, Dumbledore's mind traveled quickly to the first time the Slytherin had been exposed to the horrid curse- he had shrieked then. But it seemed age and experience had made him more resistant to pain. It was not a happy or comforting idea.

'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.

Dumbledore eyed the scene suspiciously, finding it strange indeed that Snape would not have noticed that obvious fault in the ingredients, being the expert Potions maker that he was. He also suspected Legilimancy, by the intense state between the two wizards.

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.'

For a brief moment, Albus could not help but ask himself if he was doing the appropriate thing, sending Severus back into the Death Eater folds as a spy. He had just witnessed Voldemort killing one of his own followers for no apparent reason (although it seemed to him as though He seemed to have known about the ingredients being faulty- perhaps he had set it as a trap? It seemed like something Tom Riddle would do), and it was obvious Voldemort was not worried by the idea of torturing or killing off his followers at whim. Dumbledore dreaded to think what would befall Snape if he was ever discovered as a traitor.

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.

Dumbledore was momentarily surprised to hear the subtle hint of sincere concern in Malfoy's usual haughty drawl. Their somewhat unusual relationship and Lucius' cold demeanor had led him to consider friendship and real disinterested feelings above the blonde wizard.

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.

A frown crept over his face as he watched the older man, feeling disturbed and rather sad about the fact that Malfoy could have become so perverse and deranged as to even consider harming a baby.

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.

That must have been the episode Snape had told him about when under the influence of the Veritaserum. Truthfully, Albus could find nothing different in this situation; it was painfully clear he had murdered before, stolen into muggle and wizarding houses alike and experienced what Death Eaters denominated fun. Severus' eyes were veiled, as they nearly always seemed to be; empty, when not filled by anger or hate. And yet for a moment, Albus thought he could distinguish a flicker of deep emotion in the black orbs, a feeling of acute clarity- as though something had clicked and fallen into place.

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.

Dumbledore recognized the Hog's Head, with it's small rooms with old furniture of undeniable inferior quality to those found in more decent place within Hogsmeade. Undoubtedly dodgy and of bad reputation, it was a frequent meeting place of the more lowly sorts of magical creatures, an excellent place to gather information inconspicuously therefore. Consequently he was not surprised to find it was where Snape had been staying these last years.

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.

He shook his head slightly, silvery white moustache bristling in a mixture of alarm and pity as he watched Snape running the gleaming blade over his flesh, calmly tracing undistinguishable figures that would have been painted red had he put forth but a little more pressure.

'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.

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

Albus closed his eyes for a minute, though the image continued playing in his mind. He wondered what it felt like to have countless murders hanging on your conscience; like a rope wound around you neck, of which you can only loosen the noose but never truly rid yourself of. From the abundance of empty alcoholic beverage containers that polluted the floor and his alarming behavior, it was most likely that Snape was drunk in this memory and though Dumbledore was not truly surprised to see the young man had taken one step lower in the stairs, he could not help but feeling sad that it was so.

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.

The Headmaster passed eagerly onto the last memory, weary. Tired of sorting through the memories of this dementor-like creature who was plagued by tragedy; carrying no candle in the darkness and blind in the light, who wore a mask of frozen black tears seeping blood from it's jagged crack, showering crystal sharp pieces on which he trod without heeding the cuts.

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.'

Dumbledore assumed this memory belonged to a day not far from the present one, as Snape had the same (rather intimidating) appearance, similar to a vampire who had not fed in days. It came as unexpected to see him wandering through the muggle world, even more coupled with the pouring rain and wintry season.

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.'

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...'

He had probably thrown back the muggle with accidental magic, liberated by his agitation- fortunately he had not made the man explode. With a final nod, he lifted the spell as the memory ended. Flexing his cramped fingers and watching Severus with mounting concern as the young Slytherin's hands flew to his head, skin paler and with a faint tinge of sickly green.

'May I use your bathroom?'