Disclaimer: FAN-FICTION.
Notes: I'm so, so, so sorry for the long, long, long wait. It's just I've been ever so busy with school... I kept postponing writing with the excuse of "next long weekend"...towards March I wrote part of the chapter but abandoned it till April...and then till July. I considered not continuing the story, for I do see it is terribly exaggerated... But how could I with such encouraging comments I have received! Thanks to all reviewers (to the new and old which still remain) and I sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter.
By the way, there are only one or two chapters left and I hope to finish them before October at the latest.
Once again: thank you, and enjoy!
'May I use your bathroom?'
Severus asked faintly, staring at Dumbledore through the net of multicolored points that adorned his vision.
"Yes, of course, just down the corridor.'
Albus said gravely, motioning for Snape to proceed.
Severus climbed out of his seat, blinking and shaking his head slightly to clear the ringing in his ears as his hands slipped, drenched in cold sweat.
Legs carrying him unsteadily down the corridor he leaned against the wooden door briefly before pushing it open. The bathroom was gloomy, but the bleary winter sunlight filtering through the openings between velvet curtains hurt his eyes. Upon entering he immediately turned around swiftly and locked the door securely behind him. He could see a blurry reflection of himself in a mirror hung on the opposite wall, his skin corpse-like white in the pale sunlight, the rest of his form a black shadow. His mind was in a tumult after the complete exploration of his memories; he could still feel the pressure of the Muggle gun on his back, the cool touch of the blade on his skin, the ringing screams of the Muggle children and the chilling voice of the Dark Lord.
Then, in one awkward and jerky movement he was on his knees, heaving weakly in an attempt to expel the non-existent contents of his stomach. Coughing hoarsely and feeling distinctly lightheaded, Severus bent down until his forehead was resting against the cool marble floor, eyes closed, he breathed raggedly, head still spinning.
He tried to think, but the formation of coherent thoughts was constantly interrupted by painful twinges of his head and haunting echoes that seemed to reverberate through his very skull. Severus felt disoriented, not only physically, but mentally. In the space of a few hours his life had taken a sickeningly violent turn. He would not be receiving the death he had longed for, but would be returning to the folds of the Death Eaters... as a spy.
Ironically, even through the painful and loud pounding of blood in his head and the churning of his stomach, he noticed vaguely that there was a distinctly pleasant aroma of soap, feathers, and somehow, magic, in the air. Dazedly, he turned his mind to more pressing matters. Snape had always possessed a secretive nature, having been forced to lie and conceal certain aspects of his life since a tender age, and he had mastered Occlumency laudably. And yet, this was the Dark Lord he was pretending to fool, a wizard of countless abilities and unimaginable powers. He felt foolish now, having dared to believe once that a semblance of that long-desired peace could be achieved by death, but he had not taken into account a bothersome conscious, and a wish for redemption he had not even known was there before. But when he had come to Dumbledore, in an attempt to right some of his previous wrongs, he had never expected the Headmaster to suggest him a spy. He could discern the usefulness of the ploy with painful clarity; it would be so terribly benefactory to have a spy within the midst of the Dark Lord's inner circle. He did not believe it would tip the balance, which unfortunately was dipping in favor of the Dark side, but it might just help somewhat. The prospect of facing the darkness once more, however, was...frightening. Severus opened his eyes and stared at the marbled floor, where a shaft of early morning sunshine was slowly expanding; he was no stranger to pain, recipient and distributor of it he had had his fair share of both emotional and physical agony; and neither was he a stranger to darkness, witness and participant of some unnatural atrocities his eyes, were ill accustomed to the light. But returning now, now that he had for a few moments believed himself free... He was going back, with the intention of staring right into the Dark Lord's fiery red eyes and lying, concealing...slowly but surely stealing away information. Like a mouse who braves entering the mouth of a snake only to rescue fragmented illusions of his already dead comrades.
But the decision was taken, he would be returning to the Dark Lord that very evening, even if it was with a very different intent than the first time he had bowed before Him. His thoughts strayed through a foggy haze into absurd matters, like how he would manage to brew a successful potion when knowing he was concocting a person's death, or how he would continue eating when his insides were being burned by acid-like guilt. He wondered dimly if Malfoy would notice anything awkward in his behavior, or if perhaps the very moment he looked into the Dark Lord's eyes He would see through the lies with humiliating ease...and then everything would be lost.
Snape made his way down the corridor back towards Dumbledore's office leaning heavily against the wall, the ringing voices fading into oblivion with every unsteady step he took. Upon entering the room, Dumbledore graced him with a kindly, even if small, smile and motioned for him to return to his seat. Severus' eyes traveled over the tray of biscuits and the steaming mug of tea that sat on the table, the smell of sugar and herbs making his head spin even as his stomach clenched and unclenched with long unattended hunger.
"Are you feeling better Severus?"
Dumbledore asked as Snape lowered himself gingerly onto the chair, averting his eyes against the blinding glare of the sunlight reflected on the silver tray. Throat parched and sore from pointless vomiting, Severus hesitated a brief moment before answering.
"Fine, thank you."
He responded finally, even as he felt a throbbing pain stab him in the back of the head, making his vision swim for a heartbeat. The Headmaster surveyed him gravely before the barest shadow of a rather grim smile crossed his face.
"I'm afraid you'd need a few strong glamour charms for that statement to be plausible."
Snape scowled slightly, hands groping in his robes futilely for the comforting presence of his wand before he remembered it was currently in the old man's possession. Chancing a quick glance at the Headmaster Severus saw the wizard was seemingly adding further information to the notes he had begun taking earlier, the wrinkled and yet agile hand flitting across the parchment leaving a trail of graceful ink lettering at it's passing. A drowsy silence reigned in the office for uncounted minutes; the only sounds those of cloth rasping against parchment and the rapid scratch of the feathered quill. Severus' gaze rested on his lap, hands twitching restlessly in an unusual way. Eager to be gone, and yet slightly fearful of doing so. The knowledge that once he crossed the threshold of the Dark Lord's mansion and bent before Him, he would be a spy and there would be no turning back predominant on his mind. Never had he thought he would end up like this. Dead, had been his favorite guess, taking twisted delight in imagining different scenarios of a tragic premature death; he had envisioned himself in prison, a vagabond... and even, on the rare occasions when he had been feeling especially bold, he had dared to hope that he would somehow achieve fame and glory as a renown Potions Master, and in later years, as a Master of the Dark Arts. But never had he imagined he would become a spy.
"Your tea is getting cold."
Albus' voice broke through the silence, shattering his thoughts and making him start in surprise.
"I'm not hungry."
Severus stared quickly, the mere thought of eating making his stomach writhe, although if it was with longing or disgust he could not ascertain.
Dumbledore gazed at him calmly, quill still held pensively between gnarled fingers, his unwavering stare making Snape uncomfortable.
"You cannot go on indefinitely without eating."
The old wizard still finally, his blue eyes still fixed on the young wizard before him. Severus gave a small sigh, wanting nothing more than to collapse in a bed after a cupful of the Draught of Living Death. He was weary. Deciding that any further protest was futile, he extended a bony hand and picked up the lukewarm tea, cursing to himself as he brought the cup haltingly to his lips, hand trembling slightly.
"We must speak about the next step of action."
Snape nodded before taking a small sip of the tea, which he could very nearly feel burning down his throat even though it was barely warm, finally settling in his stomach. The acrid taste of vomit filled his mouth and an acute pain in his insides made him double over slightly, hands trembling worse than ever so that a few drops of tea spilled, trickling rapidly down the porcelain cup.
"But I think it wise that we put aside the conversation until you are rested."
"I am fine."
Severus insisted, reluctantly reaching for a biscuit as Dumbledore waved aside his words and motioned at the sweets encouragingly. He took a bite, the taste of ginger making him wonder when he had eaten his last sweet; he found he could not recall.
"As soon as you are finished eating I shall lead you to a room, where you'll be able to take a bath and afterwards sleep. I shall proportion you with a Dreamless Sleep potion."
The Headmaster informed him, the finality in his tone was clear, no protestation was valid. Snape had no option but to nod in submission and take another biscuit.
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Snape followed Dumbledore hesitantly through the carved wooden door, wincing slightly as shafts of bleary sunlight hit sensitive eyes. Momentarily dazzled and still victim to a persistent headache which had not yet abated, Severus leant weakly against the doorway, letting his hair fall on his face as a shield against the assaulting light. Through the curtain of black hair he watched as the Headmaster reached into his flowing robes and extracted a small vial filled with clear purple potion.
"Here is the potion."
Albus said, setting it on the bedside table. Severus nodded vaguely, even though the old wizard's back was turned to him, and the small movement made his head pound fiercely. Dumbledore turned around, and eyed him critically for a few moments, his eyes thoughtful but not unkind.
"Rest, we shall talk afterwards."
His voice was gentle, somehow soothing, and yet it only made Snape uncomfortable, a feeling of unworthiness enveloping him, reminding him that he was unworthy of such kind treatment.
"If you need anything the house elves will attend you."
Were his last words before he was gone, in a whirl of colored robes and silver hair, the door shutting behind him with a snap.
Snape sighed passing a hand over his eyes shakily before making his way across the room towards the windows. He gazed outside for a few minutes; the world painted in different shades of watery gray, with a bleak yellowish sun casting wane light on still snow and swaying trees in the distance. Leaning against the glass panes he could feel the reverberation of the chill wind blowing just outside, even though its howl was muted to a hiss.
The air within the room felt strangely heavy, oppressive in its stillness and dusty silence. Feeling a sudden desire for cool wind he searched for the window latch, only to find it would not open. Severus reached into his robes impatiently, fingers aching for the feel of wood and the comforting warmth of magic, before he remembered once again that his wand was yet with Dumbledore, who had not returned it. The fact was frustrating. He felt vulnerable and hopeless without it. Pulling the curtains closed angrily he stood still, breathing heavily and staring moodily at the opposite wall. Limbs suddenly weak he collapsed in a heap of black robes on the floor, the thick carpet muffling his fall.
"What am I doing?"
He whispered softly at the empty room, mind reeling with thoughts that seemed to blur into an empty blank. Letting his head fall forwards with a dull thud on the carpeted floor he closed his eyes wearily, the dark crimson of the rug bringing to mind the unpleasant image of a Gryffindor banner drenched in fresh blood. Unbidden a curse came to his lips at the thought of the locked windows, the lonely whistle of air that slipped through the glass panes making him think of underground dungeons where the only breath of fresh air slithers beneath the rotten wood of an unbudging door, only to mix with the reek scent of decay and pain and imprisonment that governs the cell. Severus was shaking his head slightly in an attempt to expel from his mind the shadows of hallucination when a high voice spoke suddenly very near his ear.
"Is sir being alright?"
Snape raised his head and found himself staring straight into the protruding green eyes of a house elf, its carrot-like nose a hair's breadth from his face. Severus nodded and lifted himself from the floor, eyeing the unblinking creature warily.
"What is sir wanting to drink with potion?"
The elf, presumably a female, asked with a benign smile, usually reserved for mischievous toddlers.
"Tea, milk, juice..."
She continued at the lack of response, ears twitching with every drink named.
"Water is fine."
Snape answered dryly, walking towards the bathroom. The creature frowned, lips set in a pout as her ears drooped.
"Very wells sir." With an extravagant courtesy and a flick of her fingers a jug of water appeared in the air before her, ready to be caught between thin yet strong arms and set on the bedside table along with a cup.
"Sir may call Wooty if he be needing anything."
Wooty said with another bucktoothed smile and then promptly disappeared with a crack. Severus stared at the empty space which had mere seconds ago been occupied by an elf, a strange sensation arising in his chest, reminding him of lighter air and brighter suns which did not burn, of popping green and red bubbles; though he could not name it.
The bathroom was comfortably gloomy, a flickering candle burning low the only source of light. He discovered with some surprise that a bath had already been prepared for him, the water pleasantly warm and accompanied by a vague smell of cool lavender. Unrobing himself he stepped into the bathtub, a hand on the stone wall to steady himself, sighing involuntarily at the feeling of water on his feet.
Lathering himself slowly with soap he watched as narrow pathways of clearer skin were revealed; alcohol, dirt and dust encompassed in each individual drop of soapy water. Snape lowered himself into the cooling water, a distinct taste of bitterness in his mouth as he contemplated the tattoo on his arm. Impossible to hide, like a great blot of black ink on virgin paper. A symbol (of darkness, of power, of hate), a brand (of fealty- of servitude, slavery), a scar (irremovable, torn illusions, still bleeding). He raked his nails through the mark, an absurd urge to tear the skin away lurking in his mind, trying to remember when the canvas was white and the paint was not blood.
SsSsSsSsSsSsS
Snape raised the goblet to his nose, sniffing at the contents warily before taking a sip. The potion was bitter, leaving a foul after taste that was not washed away except by copious amounts of water. Draining the cup with two smooth gulps Severus lay on the bed. The painful pounding of blood easing slightly as his head came into contact with a soft feather pillow.
As he closed his eyes, his mind surrendered to sleep with embarrassing ease, shutting down completely in the matter of seconds.
He found himself suddenly standing on a stony path, disoriented, his gaze wandered- although he saw nothing but black shadows over a gray background. He began walking, purposefully (although he could not explain where he was headed), the rough stones cutting into the skin of his feet as he made his way down the pathway. Weary, after what seemed like countless hours, he stumbled, halting his fall somewhat with his hands. Shaking his hair out of his face, the stinging in his hands faded from his mind as his eyes fell on the abyss before him, dark and yet illuminated with a sinister green light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. A chill wind blew fiercely around him, whip-like on his skin. A faint cry drifted from his feet, where rotten skeletons pulled at his robes insistently. He did not try to fight them; the abyss would bring pain, but one that could be born- unseeing, unthinking, unfeeling- a dull torture with closed eyes and empty mind. Startled as warm breath tickled at his ear, he whirled around. Dancing green eyes met his.
"Don't be daft, Severus."
Lily said, a good-natured laugh following her comment. He turned back towards the darkness.
"You don't understand." he muttered angrily.
She threw her arms around his chest and embraced him.
"You should have shown me." She whispered, her lips ghosting over his cheek. He raised a hand to cover one of hers, but she was gone. Her words still echoing eerily as they drifted away with the wind.
He was sitting on the floor, gray plaster walls trembling every few seconds with what seemed to be the pounding of dozens of fists.
"Let me in." Lucius called.
Severus shook his head. A strike of a cane; once, twice... at the third he jumped to his feet and lunged at the assaulter's throat. His fingers closed around a pale white neck, but instead of gray, black eyes not unlike is own stared back at him maliciously from behind a white mask.
"You'll never be free."
His father spat at him, while pushing him back with extraordinary force. Severus crashed against the wall, and went right through it, to land in a heap on the marble floor just before the throne of the Dark Lord. Spider like hands reached forwards to pull his hair, forcing him to look up, black eyes locking with red.
"Don't."
He hissed. A hooded creature approached from a corner, carrying a silver blade the gleamed in the torchlight. The dagger was cold against his skin, the torrent of blood that washed forth warm. A mocking laugh came from the depths of the hood. "Black!"
He snarled, but only an incomprehensible gurgle arose.
"I told you not to listen to them."
Lily reprimanded him, frowning from a corner where Potter stood, his arms around her. She rested her head on his chest, seemingly unable to see the wand he held at her back, pointing directly at her heart.
"You shouldn't be seeing this."
His mother's authoritarian voice cut through the dense roar of the blood pounding in his temples. He fought to bring into focus the woman who stood before him, her eyes cruel and hard as she stared at his bleeding form. The Dark Lord laughed his twisted, evil cackle whilst he burned the Dark Mark on his chest.
Released from the grip of the wizard, Severus crawled away, holding a hand to his bleeding throat.
"Child, don't you wish to hear the silence?"
Severus lifted his eyes from the dew-covered grass, his eyes focusing with difficulty on a glittering white beard and purple cloak embossed with golden stars and moons before rising to twinkling blue sapphires. Dumbledore was seated on high throne, that appeared to be made of pure light, a burning phoenix gliding behind him. It hurt his eyes, so he cast them downwards.
"So much blood."
Wooty lamented at his side, patting his shoulder.
"Just listen."
The old wizard explained, his voice soft and kind, sounding much closer.
"Open your eyes; you will get used to it."
Snape awoke with a start, his breath uncomfortably shallow and his heartbeat still racing. And yet, a semblance of peace seemed to have nestled in his heart with those last words, that vague promise of improvement- a glimmer of light in that dark and disturbing dream he had been having. And which, he pondered with a trace of irritation, the potion he had drunk should have stopped him from having. He frowned at the cup on the bedside table, obviously the potion had been of the lowest quality- it seemed he had not been asleep for more than a few hours: minute particles of dust floated visible through the rosy rays of light that a setting sun cast on the room through the locked windows, creating a warm and comforting atmosphere. Although he found it suffocating.
Severus lifted himself from the bed with some difficulty, limbs feeling somewhat heavy and stiff, and stumbled towards the bathroom. Once inside he closed the door behind him and leant against the marble counter, feeling faint. Rinsing his face with cool water, he managed to dispel the last remnants of sleep from his mind, and most of the weariness from his body. As he exited the bathroom (his step more firm), the house elf that had served him earlier came running to him, a look of relief on her curious face.
"Young Master be giving Wooty fright, is not finding you, sir."
The house elf led him to the bed on which he sat while Wooty bounced around him, preparing an early supper without even bothering to ask if he was hungry- which, oddly enough, he was.
"Young sir has been sleeping so long! Master Dumbledore and Wooty be starting to worry."
Snape's brow crinkled in slight confusion.
"How long have I been asleep?"
He asked finally, reaching for a cup of juice and taking and experimental sip that he found satisfactory, and even reaching for some bread.
"All one day and a half."
Wooty answered, ears drooping.
"Wooty has been checking on young Master every few hours, but sir sleeps and sleeps..."
Severus blinked in surprise. Nearly two days! That certainly explained why the effect of the potion had worn off, it had actually lasted more than was to be expected. Having suffered from insomnia since a young age, he was used to periods of utter sleeplessness followed by bouts of irresistible drowsiness; yet he could not recall ever having slept so long uninterrupted. Undecided to whether this new occurrence was positive of negative, his mind was quite suddenly flooded with graver issues- what was Dumbledore thinking, letting him sleep for so long? He had to leave. Immediately. Fortunately though, the Dark Lord appeared not to have summoned him during his sleep... he felt quite confident he would have been woken by the excruciating pain that a summon brought about. Instinctively, he clutched at the Dark Mark on his left forearm, feeling disgusted. With a bit of luck the other Death Eaters he was in contact with would not be too interested in his mysterious absence; it was most unadvisable to disappear without notice when betrayals within the fold were so usual and the Dark Lord was preoccupyingly paranoid.
Finally focusing back on reality, he pulled back his hand from the Mark as though burnt, and found the house elf eyeing him a mixture of worry and curiosity.
"Master Dumbledore says to eat and meet him in his office later, Wooty will take sir there when he is finished eating."
Wooty announced before he could voice the question to which she had just offered the answer. Severus nodded and reached for the steaming bowl of broth she had put on a tray before him. He ate though his stomach was roiling with nerves and worry once again.
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Severus followed the house elf down the torch- lit corridors that led to the Headmaster's office, Wooty was chattering at his feet, seemingly oblivious to her lack of audience- for he simply could not bring himself to listen to her babble. He was embarrassingly preoccupied about seeing Dumbledore after their last meeting, in which his most intimate memories had been laid bare for the old wizard's scrutiny; or perhaps it was the knowledge that this would be their last reunion before he had to leave and bow once again before the Dark Lord- this time as a spy.
Wild thoughts of escape flooded his mind: he could probably out-run the house elf; he knew his way through the castle... Could he reach the Astronomy Tower before Dumbledore had a chance to stop his fall? Or the lake, would the squid throw him out before he drowned in its icy waters?
He shook his head angrily. He had made a decision: to help the Light. Dumbledore had given him a chance to do this despite his past faults. An opportunity to redeem himself maybe, although he did not think anything he did would be able to compensate for the things he had done. For, how could saving the life of one erase the blame for the ones he had taken? Surely two different lives did not have the same value- and yet, how could one be worth more than the other?
Lost in his musings he found himself asudden standing before the griffin gargoyle that had barred him entrance upon his arrival, it permitted them to pass grudgingly when Wooty spoke the password (acid pops), but not without sending his way a final glare.
Acid… the word, appearingly innocent, triggered in him the thought of burning guilt and remorse and fear... Building his usual shield against pain (both emotional and physical) was turning out to be harder following his revelatory reunion with Dumbledore. If he had not been able to close his mind and return to the fold of the Death Eaters upon his recognition of the evil of their actions and ideas, then he could not close his mind to such dark ponderings either. The awful feeling of wrongness that he had always identified himself with , but which now seemed stronger than ever, was piercing and painful...and yet utterly deserved.
Snape was not fond of pity, neither from others nor from himself. He detested people who cast the blame on other or circumstance instead of facing their own responsibility. For with liberty of choice came responsibility. No one had forced him to go to the Dark Lord that night... in fact, if he had asked anyone who was not akin to Dark Magic he probably would have been strongly advised not to. It had been his own election. Regret and pointless sighing at the unfortunate past, wishing for things to have been different would bring about no change. Now, he could but walk along to face the only path that may lead to some peace of mind and soul that he had never truly enjoyed. Perhaps he had been a coward not having remained by Lily, what he had seen then as an act of noble selflessness in an attempt to spare her the shame and the pain... had been nothing but cowardice to face the dark having to care about someone. He was mortified by the idea. All in all, his choice had led him here. Erring along the way, bloody and ripped apart but his pieces still held together by a conscious (although sentimental people might call it a heart), and he had no choice now, but to go on. For running away- death- would be cowardice. And he despised it. However tempting it might be at times.
Bellatrix, Lucius... the Dark Lord himself... there was pride and pleasure in every murder their committed, in every tear shed by those they considered inferior to themselves. And though they might act in secret, it was not from fear, but from cunning to achieve their ends. It was a twisted kind of bravery, but one he valued nonetheless.
His thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt at their reaching the door at the top of the revolving staircase. He was about to knock when Wooty simply pushed the door open with the usual lack of decorum that bold and well treated elves usually showed. Severus stepped in after the creature and closed the door behind them. Dumbledore was seated at his desk; he had seemed to have been lost in thought, though as they entered he graced them both with a small smile before turning his attention fully to the bouncing house elf.
"Did Mr. Snape eat properly, Wooty?"
"Yes, sir." Wooty answered gleefully. "Without complaint."
"Very well, I'm glad. Thank you for your services, Wooty."
The house elf bowed low, her nose grazing the carpeted floor, and disapparated with a loud pop. Dumbledore motioned for Snape to take a seat.
"You have rested well I trust, Severus?"
Severus nodded politely, feeling indeed much better than he had in months. Though his thoughts were still uncomfortably shaken, he had set himself a clear purpose he would not deviate from. An honorable one, he dared to hope- feeling somewhat foolish for worrying about honor when he had broken an oath. For, had he not abandoned the Death Eaters upon facing the true darkness that it involved after he had sworn himself to the Dark Lord? Was an oath to Evil less sacred than one to Good?
"You are completely sure you wish to do this?"
Dumbledore asked him suddenly. Severus stared at him blankly. The old wizard contemplated him in silence for a few moments.
"I understand the alternatives are not pleasant, but neither is the job I have commended. You are sure?"
He added finally after the pause. Dumbledore was giving him a chance to back on their agreement. The fact that the leader of the Light side would be willing to surrender a spy- an useful infiltrated in the midst of the Death Eater folds- both irked him and.. touched him. And served only to solvent his resolve.
"I am sure."
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They had talked long into the night, for dawn was only a few hours away when he finally left the castle. The waning moon was out of sight and the sky tinged red with forthcoming snow as he made his way down to the gates. Dumbledore had insisted in him staying the rest of the night, but Severus had refused emphatically. After all, he had things to prepare before meeting the Dark Lord and... a small part of him feared he would not have the courage to leave otherwise.
Together, the Headmaster and him had organized the ploy: setting excuses, meeting places, forms of communication... He had not been very surprised on learning about the Order of the Phoenix, after all, it only made sense for the Light to count with their own secret organization, since the Ministry could not be relied upon. He had been slightly startled, though, when the old wizard had requested his opinion and ideas- he had been expecting orders without more explanation. It was refreshening... and yet slightly frightening as well. And completely opposed to what could usually be expected in the Dark Lord's servitude. However, Severus could not help but think with a bitter laugh, how ironic it was that he had come to Hogwarts thinking himself free from his latest Master- and he now served two masters instead. Of course Dumbledore would not ask to be bowed before, would not torture as punishment if he failed- but somehow his words and gazes could be just as painful, as was his commandment to remain within the fold, even if it were with noble purposes.
What had truly disconcerted him had been the old wizard's last entreaty. Dumbledore had made him promise loyalty- not to him, but, to himself. Uncomfortable and startled, he had acceded when the Headmaster had insisted, a strange look in his eyes.
Severus could not understand the utility of that: loyal to himself. One could be loyal to oneself in so many ways while still betraying the ones around. And yet Dumbledore (in his folly, thought Snape hesitantly) had only pleaded for him to remain akin to himself. It was- unexplainable.
His thoughts quieted gradually as he reached the gates, which opened easily to his touch. Stepping outside he closed them behind him and rested his forehead against the cool metal bars. A chill breeze whipped his robes around him; the glare of the moon obscured by the heavy red tinted clouds that coated the sky, the frozen snow glittering when a chance ray of moonlight hit it, dizzied him with a false sense of liberty. No voices sounded outside or inside of his head, yet there was no true silence what with the muted howl of the wind, the call of a lonely owl, the rustle of the trees...
"Don't you wish to hear the silence?" Dumbledore has asked him in his dream.
He did not understand it.