Chapter 44

Rome wasn't Built in a Day

Albus Dumbledore walked in solemn silence along the edge of the Forbidden Forest on a cloudless night, white moonlight gleaming off his magnificent purple robes and giving him an ethereal quality. His age now numbered in the three figures and he had begun to admit to himself that he had was feeling his age.

He slowly passed Hagrid's hut and heard the gamekeeper bellow loudly at his faithful hound, who had apparently snatched Hagrid's dinner off a trestle table and was loudly devouring it, much to the chagrin of the half-giant.

A small smile traced its way around Dumbledore's lips as he listened to the clamor ringing from the hut and ventured further into the Hogwarts' grounds and away from the castle. The smile fell away as quickly as it had appeared when Dumbledore's thoughts turned towards the growing darkness looming on the horizon. Tom Riddle was back; how – Dumbledore was not quite sure, but he had begun to develop a thesis for the evil steps Tom had taken to chase immortality…

The old headmaster felt like a lost ship in the eye of a weepy hurricane – it was quiet and peaceful now, but violence and terror lurked all around if he took just one false step. The Dark Lord had risen from the dead and only a handful of faithful supporters believed it was true, that the black shadow was alive and well.

The Ministry was not a trusted ally anymore, it was not even an ambivalent party – Fudge was actively undermining Dumbledore at every turn and had even forced the Headmaster to allow a Ministry employee to join the school staff.

How can I convince Fudge? How can I convince the public? How can I convince the world that Lord Voldemort is back? Dumbledore looked up at the wan moon, a great big pearl set against a black sail. "I feel so alone…"

The rest of Dumbledore's words stuck in his throat, as he licked his lips and took a hasty swallow. He tasted copper, he tasted rust and dirt, a metallic tint…Dumbledore tasted dark magic in the air. He slipped out of his traveling cloak with a quick spin and unsheathed his wand with the speed of a younger man.

"Show yourself!"

Dumbledore kept his wand trained towards the Forbidden Forest, his blue eyes searching the murky shadows ahead. He whispered ancient words under his breath and a green misty vapor shot forth from his wand, sweeping low to the ground and floating quickly into the forest. After a few seconds a loud hissing noise sounded near a large oak tree and a green puff shot forth into the sky.

A low moan sounded from where the green puff had erupted. A weak and timid sound, a grievous wail, full of pain and hurt.

Dumbledore lowered his wand, deep concern etched on his wrinkled face.

Severus Snape lay abed in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, with Madame Pomfrey fussing over him. She was trying to force feed him a spoonful of yellow liquid, but her patient was doing his best impression of a recalcitrant teenager and keeping his mouth shut.

"What happened Severus? Dumbledore didn't say anything last night. How can I help you recover if you won't tell me what caused such damage."

Snape struggled up to a sitting position and swung his skinny legs over the hospital bed. His milky white feet slowly eased onto the cold floor and he let out a gentle sigh. He slowly stretched his arms over his head, twisted his neck and arched his back, the bones loudly popping and cracking and giving him a moment of relief.

"A potions accident…slight mishap…concentration slipped…"

Madame Pomfrey arched her eyebrows, "I've never seen you make a mistake on any type of brewing, from a simple headache draught to a bowl full of Veritaserum."

When Snape refused to meet her eyes, the school nurse left the spoon on a small table near Snape and shuffled back to her office. Snape listened to the receding footsteps and when he heard a door shut, he closed his eyes and laid back on the bed. All he wanted to do was lay there and let the sheets swallow him up.

An hour later Snape had finally struggled into his school robes and was walking aimlessly about the castle, with no particular destination in mind. Sounds floated out to him – a pair of voices arguing about the British team's chances in the next Quidditch World Cup, someone with a high-pitched voice practicing incantations in a room adjacent to the school library, hearty laughter echoing from the Great Hall.

When Snape's feet came to a stop, he looked up and found himself staring at the trap door to the Astronomy Tower. He struggled up the steps and was soon out into the open air balcony and staring down at the school campus. A light breeze was blowing and he let it wash over him, cool and refreshing and full of life.

Snape limped over to the stone railing and perched atop a small spire, a large overgrown bat staring down on the world. He rolled up his left sleeve and stared down at the black snake etched upon his white skin, the indelible mark of the black legion. The snake had been angrily slithering only the day before…

Crack! Snape felt the ground rush up to meet his spinning feet and he let out a small grunt of pain. A cacophony of sounds and smells assaulted his senses – he was standing in the middle of a busy intersection in London. He looked around and spied a street sign; Downing Street.

Busy Londoners gave him curious looks as they pushed past him during the evening rush hour. They all had people to meet and places to go, and had no patience for the strangely garbed man just standing there with a look of confusion on his face. I swear, the city's homeless problem is getting worse by the day!

Snape had never been to this intersection before, yet somehow he knew exactly where to go. He withdrew a small vial from his robes, emptied the contents down his throat with one gulp and headed towards a side street lined with glass storefronts. He pushed past curious eyes and inquisitive looks and entered a charming little store with a red awning and blue tinted windows.

The store door was a large glass rectangle with a gold frame and stenciled lettering – Rawson Bros. Suit & Particulars. The door jungled as Snape entered and the proprietors were nowhere in sight, the only occupants were white mannequins sporting bespoke suits and stylish pea coats.

Snape grabbed a somber black suit off a hangar and walked through the store showroom, past rows and rows of pressed suits, until he found himself at the dressing room stalls in the back. His feet carried him with a will of their own and led him to worn latticed door that creaked angrily when Snape slammed it shut. The dressing room had a small wooden bench, a pile of old pants and a streaked mirror that was showing wear and tear at its cracked edges.

Snape changed out of his robes and donned the black suit, which fit his reedy frame perfectly. He stared at himself in the mirror – sallow faced, hook nosed and a perpetual scowl. He walked closer to the mirror, and then closer still – he could see his skin had begun to take on a jaundiced twinge, his uneven yellow teeth chipped and worn. He moved even closer to the worn mirror, staring hard at the pores on his white skin…leaned in closer until his nose touched the mirror.

The mirror glass gave way like a viscous liquid and he jerked back; the liquid glass clung to his nose and stretched taut as he pulled his head further away, until the liquid glass finally slipped off him and swung back into the mirror. The mirror rippled like a disturbed lake surface, the waves becoming smaller and smaller until it finally settled down again to a smooth glass pane. Snape took a deep breath and stepped through, his left forearm tingling as liquid glass enveloped him.

Snape emerged from the portal and found himself in a large oval room with rich mahogany tables, plush chairs and oaken desks. There were balconies tracing the length of the round room, each one several feet higher than the one below it, with ladders connecting them. Thousands of books lined the walls and when Snape looked up he saw the ceiling was a beautiful glass dome, with filtered sunlight pouring through. The place reminded him of a distinguished library and a somber church, all at once.

Ahead of him were a few descending steps that led to a sunken alcove of clustered sofas, leather chairs, and small tables covered with jugs of wine, figs and cheeses. A group of people sat scattered about, dressed in pressed suits and elegant dresses, chatting and enjoying the accoutrements – a strange and twisted, high society cocktail party.

The chattering died down as Snape approached and no one greeted him warmly, or even acknowledged him at all. His old brothers and sisters eyed him with suspicion and gave him an icy reception of sullen silence. There were a few mutterings and grumbles as Snape took a seat, but before they could grow to a crescendo a shadow detached itself from a corner and scurried into view. Wormtail cleared off some books resting on a large, high backed leather chair facing the assembled patrons and then quietly took a seat.

The room fell silent and every eye was focused on the chair. The air grew hot and heavy, the very room itself trembled and the Dark Lord simply appeared in the chair, a serene look on his face. Snape found it bizarre sight to see Lord Voldemort not garbed in wizarding robes – the tall pale man was wearing a regal black suit, with a purple pocket square, purple tie and pea green cufflinks in the shape of vipers. A gold S was pinned to his lapel, inlaid with small emerald crystals.

The suit could have made any man appear handsome, but a terrible grimace sat atop the purple tie. Skin white as snow, stretched taut and papery thin, it appeared to be a skull and not a human face. Slits for nostrils, a pointed nose, bald head and thin red slits for eyes. The whole ridiculous scene reminded Snape of a muggle movie he had watched as a child, Clockwork Orange. Was this all some bizarre experiment?

Lord Voldemort, the dark shadow from the past, raised his arms and greeted his soldiers, his followers, his dark sons and daughters.

"Welcome, to the fabled chapel of Hostra. You are what remains of my inner circle, my most trusted servants. I've thought long and hard about how to dutifully chastise you, or how to reward you. Sadly, none of the assembled here today deserves to be rewarded, for all you have betrayed me to some degree. None of you looked for me, none of you searched me out when I fell. Some of you went so far as to renounce my name in public, many returned to their pathetic former lives. Some of you even openly cavorted with the enemy.

"But all here have been forgiven, pardoned…given the rare gift of a second chance. There will not be a third. Some of you are sporting evidence upon your faces of the evidence of your punishment, others have suffered in silence…and still others did not survive my punishments. Take a look around, for we shan't be seeing those brothers and sisters again.

"But those of you seated here have done your penance and are part of my legion once again. Everyone here I've deemed worthy and am holding out a hand to lead you down the righteous dark path once again. But I will suffer no more failures or betrayals…and further deceit or incompetence will be met with a swift end!"

Snape felt a few eyes turn towards him, but he pretended to not notice. Lord Voldemort continued his speech with a reserved fury, slowly captivating his audience. The Dark Lord was equal parts terror and guile, able to cajole with threats of violence and motivate with promises of riches. Snape tried to listen attentively, whilst also keeping track of who was seated in the audience.

The Dark Lord laid out his plan to guide the wizarding world with an invisible hand. His agents were to go forth into society and resume their lives, they were to quietly recruit followers, to sow dissension among the ranks of the Ministry. A select few were to run for political office, and others still were to begin to collect sensitive information on their enemies. The most plum task of all was freeing the loyal Death Eaters still locked away in the North Sea, on the island of dread, and the Dark Lord chose his current favorites for that task.

Snape tried to concentrate on the Dark Lord's words, but his mind was restive and his thoughts floated to Dumbledore, to Hogwarts…and to Lily. No! She has no place here, was not welcome; she was the kryptonite to the Superman act he was trying to act achieve whenever he was in the Dark Lord's presence.

Sweat trickled along his brow as Snape fought to squelch unwanted memories from bubbling to the forefront of his mind. He squeezed his eyes tight, pushed the troubling images deep down inside and buttoned down the hatches, leaving them to wither and die away locked in the dark.

When Snape looked up he got the fright of his life, for his brothers and sister had vanished and only the Dark Lord remained, seated quietly on his high backed chair.

The Dark Lord was staring at him through his menacing crimson slits. The skeletal, snake-like countenance looked almost comical perched atop the crisp black suit, but the aura surrounding Lord Voldemort left no room for humor. Snape stared ahead, too scared to look directly at his Master, yet too sacred to pointedly look away.

The two wizards were the only ones left in the spacious oval room, two wizards who had killed their fathers, two wizards who were half-bloods, two wizards borne into poverty, two wizards who had ancient magical ancestors, two wizards who had performed amazing feats of dark magic…

A voice sounded in Snape's head, a rich timbre full of bravado and confidence and unstated violence. He looked up at the Dark Lord, whose serpentine face was still and whose lips unmoving, yet whose dark voice sounded clear as day.

"Severus you seem clouded and unsure of yourself. Are you still feeling wary after our…talk in the graveyard?"

"No, my Lord."

"What were you thinking about while I was speaking?"

"I was thinking…thinking about my past and the…the old fool."

"Ahh yes, your erstwhile Master. What does he think of you? I wonder…"

"He believes I'm forever his, he believes that light resides in me. That is his biggest weakness, my Lord. He trusts me implicitly."

"And he also believes that I trust you completely. Is that not so Severus?"

"He does."

"Tell me the truth!"

"He does believe that, my Lord, but he also believes you are a…cautious man."

"I'm no man!"

"Yes, my Lord. I mean, no, my Lord."

Snape held his gaze resolutely, staring deeply into the crimson slits without blinking. Soon his eyes began to burn and stale tears floated in them, but he still refused to turn away. He felt a light breeze wash over him and knew there was someone else in his mind.

"I've forgiven you Severus, but Lord Voldemort never forgets. I've known since we first met you had light in you, has it come to consume you now? Are you regretting coming back to me that night?"

"No, my Lord. I've never forgotten how the world treated me in the past."

"I've no wish to play games with you Severus. I will not coerce or threaten you, promise you earthly treasures or bestow upon you gifts of the flesh. I know that you are not like the others, I know that it is not what you crave – let us speak plainly."

"I would welcome such frank talk, my Lord."

"Lord Voldemort has no need for more sycophants or bootlickers. I've enough greedy flies buzzing around me in supplication and far too few intelligent ones. My destiny has been preordained Severus, my place in history is secure – the only remaining question is who will be by my side when I rise to rule. I believe that you can once again become useful to me, regain your place as a trusted servant yet again…"

The words felt so reassuring and sweet, Snape remembered how warm they had once made him feel. It was nice to be wanted, to be needed, to be trusted with a position of power. Snape could feel the loquacious voice charming him and evoking unspoken threats all at the same time. But he had walked the dark path once before and knew the ruin it left in its wake, knew the blood debt it had extracted from him. Still, it was so inviting…there's no harm in playing along and listening…

"…I need servants who possess a modicum of the vision I am blessed with." The Dark Lord rose from his seat and slowly walked about the room, meandering a twisted path to the seated Snape. The skeletal face was still an impenetrable mask, but the silky voice continued to sound loudly in Snape's mind.

"But make no mistake, while I seek the support of my servants and at times even seek their counsel, I alone command the Death Eaters. I still require unquestioned and unflinching obedience and will dole out punishment as I see fit. But it will never been haphazard or unwarranted, I mean to rule with a just and even hand. It will not be an easy road to wizarding freedom and helping our kind rise from the shadows, but nothing worth a damn is easy."

"I agree, my Lord. I just…I want to find a place in your army once again and serve – too long we've cowered to the muggles."

"You have a gift with words, you say what I want to hear, but how can I trust you again? Do you remember when I gave you that?"

Lord Voldemort was looking up at the glass dome ceiling, but Snape's Dark Mark erupted with heat. Snape let out a low growl and grabbed at his left forearm.

"Yes, my Lord. I still dream of that night on the beach, the night my purgatory ended and my life truly began."

"The branding is a painful process, a piece of ancient magic binds you to me. The Dark Mark is a living, breathing thing Severus; it can ferret out deceit and treachery. It can consume a wizard alive if there too much light in him, roast him alive within his own skin."

"I know, my Lord. I remember what you told me that night."

"There's light in you Severus, long dormant but there it resides. Is that now your true essence?"

"No, my Lord. This is only the mask I show the world, the face I show the old fool."

The Dark Lord melted in front of Snape's eyes from a few feet away and appeared right in front of him, a towering menace. A dark priest ready to hear the sins of one of his malefactors.

"I can show you true magic, ancient and powerful. I want to trust you Severus. I want you back into the fold. I want to give you your rightful place beside your brothers and sisters."

"I want that more than anything, my Lord. Give me a task and let me set about it. I'm still loyal, I swear it…I've no love for the old fool…"

"He will lead you down a path of destruction and ruin. I remember what you told me of how he treated you as a student, the favoritism he showed others, the prejudiced he showed towards you. He uses people and then throws them away. He's a cunning spider, spinning his long web, moving his pieces around the board. He's no love for you, he's simply using you to get to me. Do you see now?"

Snape's eyes slipped out of focus and his breath became ragged as his head was filled with troubling images. "Yes, my Lord. I see…"

"Why sell your soul to the devil if he does not honor his side of the bargain? Don't let the wizarding world continue to be relegated to the shadows, don't abet the muggles in their atrocities. Don't let the weak continue to live in fear…don't let others suffer the unjust fate that befell your beloved mother."

Lord Voldemort leaned down to within inches of Snape's face, his hot sticky breath licking the pale skin. The potions master eyes had turned to cloudy cataracts, his mouth was agape and spittle had begun to spill onto his chin. The Dark Lord gently exhaled and a red silken mist left his mouth and floated into Snape's eyes.

"Help me raise wizards and witches from the muck. Help them rise. Avenge your mother, avenge your fallen brethren. Become the Dark Knight the weak deserve and the craven fear."

"Yes, my Lord." The familiar refrain sounded over and over in Snape's head, the words escaped from his lips of their own volition, his new mantra. "Yes, my Lord."

"Yes, my Lord."

"My Lord? Severus, are you alright?" McGonagall reached out a worried arm and pulled Snape away from the Astronomy Tower balcony railing. He looked up at her with cloudy eyes, mumbling something intelligible. She shook him with all her strength.

"Severus! My word, are you all right?"

Snape eyes slowly came back into focus, along with his senses. He pulled away from his colleague and spit out bits of red dust from his mouth.

"What is it Minerva? What's wrong?"

She stared at him with motherly worry and a nervous look, but when she spoke her voice was steady, "It's the child. Dementors attacked him at his home and the Ministry has expelled the boy. The bloody fools have thrown him out of Hogwarts!"