Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Inside me. ❯ Sarasto's protege. ( Chapter 15 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: kage-kun 
Snape's redemption aproaches, but as always it is on his terms.
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological / Occult / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.28.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 282 | Status: Completed
Snape's redemption aproaches, but as always it is on his terms.
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological / Occult / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.28.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 282 | Status: Completed
As previously, the setting and characters of Harry Potter belong to J.K Rowling and associates. I’m just borrowing them for some not for profit fun.
A/N: Final chapter… this is the longest fanfic I’ve ever managed to complete. It would have been done sooner, but I got to my rough version of this final chapter and decided it needed rewriting completely, but lacked the inspiration to do it well. However, a mere year after I started writing this, I’ve finally drawn it to its conclusion. Just in case you are wondering, the ‘werewolf incident’ does occur in this [now] alternate universe, however this story concludes in late 1974 and canon indicates the werewolf incident happens sometime in 1975.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++
Severus Snape’s fifth year brought the OWL examinations looming on the horizon much closer and suddenly school life became a little more peaceful as increasing homework loads discouraged tomfoolery and inter-house feuding. The Marauders were simply too busy trying to get everything learnt that their japes and duels became much more sporadic, even if they did not disappear entirely. That would have been too much to ask from such a single-minded prankster as Sirius Black. Filch still kept a beady eye on them, knowing better than to trust the will-power of teenaged boys, but although school life was not exceedingly pleasant, the reduction in bullying and detentions came as something of a relief for Severus.
The Dark Lord on the other hand was an entirely different matter. Severus still found himself being summoned to Lucius’ manor almost every weekend and the quantity of Dark potions he was required to brew seemed only to increase. He did however notice something.
‘Of course the Dark Lord is not sending you out on missions and muggle hunts. He does recognise the academic strain you are under.’ Lucius urbane voice changed slightly in tone and a teasingly flirtatious note entered his voice. ’You are more than a mere brute with a wand, dear Severus, thus the Dark Lord has decided to invest time and my family’s considerable resources in you.’
Severus’ lips rounded, soundlessly forming a not so innocent ’Oh!’ of realisation. Lucius laughed at that, the sound low and soft in his throat. He had little need for posturing around Severus, the Slytherin games they played were on a far more advanced level than that of simple displays of strength and power. In his own way Lucius was even fond of his protégé. The boy was clever, surprisingly witty when pushed to play and his soul and magic were steeped in a fascinating darkness of such complexity that one never quite knew what he was going to do next. Severus in turn seemed much more tolerant of Lucius than he was of anyone else, even permitting his elder to take certain minor physical liberties with him. It was fun to see how far he could push before he was hexed. Sometimes even the hexing itself was fun. The lad was a genius when it came to inventive offensive magic.
‘You had better leave now Lucius. Delightful though your company is I’m afraid our beloved Master has a greater claim upon me and my time.’ The aristocratic drawl that Severus’ riposte was couched in was a masterful imitation of Lucius’ own well-bred tones.
‘I shall return this evening then. We do have a social schedule to keep up, after all.’ Lucius swept out of the laboratory, his expensive robes swirling about his ankles like playful lapdogs.
Severus treated the man’s back to a cool stare, unimpressed by his levity. Then he turned his attention to the final version of the potion he’d been creating. He needed to keep all of his powers of concentration about him if he were to finish refining the mixture for Voldemort that evening.
That evening the pair of young men arrived punctually and respectfully bowed before their superior. Lord Voldemort examined the potion offered up to him curiously, rotating his wrist lazily to agitate the contents, observing their sluggish progress across the transparent glass of the vial. He returned the little glass container to its creator and summoned an unkempt stray cat from somewhere.
Severus accepted the cat from his Master and knelt, pinning the recalcitrant beast between his bony thighs. One skeletal hand grasped the feline’s head with surprising strength and he applied cunning pressure to the sides of its jaws, forcing its mouth agape. He poured the dark-coloured melange down its maw and held the blunt muzzle shut with one hand, adroitly stroking the sides of its throat with his other.
As soon as an agonising whine emerged from the distressed moggy he stepped back, leaving it collapsed on the dirty floor. It died inch by inch, radiating increasing amounts of heat until even Voldemort took a cautious step backwards. Paralysed and beset with pain the tortured creature did not die quietly as the agony mounted. At last with one final wail it self-combusted with a sickening stench of burning fur and flesh. Severus was internally revolted, but his face remained impassive, even unimpressed as the genius he did not doubt was once again publicly proven.
‘Ah Severus, such a clever little thing. You have worked hard and produced satisfactory results. You will be rewarded.’ Voldemort practically purred, awash with excitement at the gruesome new potion. He praised the boy lavishly, amusement curling within his gut at his ability to treat this worthy youth far better than that sanctimonious old fool who’d seized the moral high ground.
Severus automatically crumpled, coming to rest on one knee like a knight of old paying obeisance to his king. Excitement poured from his mind as Voldemort’s forefinger crooked under his angular chin, pulling his face up to look upon his master. As their eyes met Severus was intoxicated by the satisfaction and pride roiling through the Dark Lord’s mind. It only sought to heighten the near-lascivious pleasure Voldemort saw within the boy’s eyes.
‘Yes, you have already proven yourself a strong and loyal follower of our cause, young Severus. You have done well by the boy, Lucius.’ Voldemort raised his voice slightly to allow the compliment to carry over to the handsome blond, his eyes never leaving the amoral pits of the dark child. ‘I will do you the honour of using you as your merits demand.’ Under his hand the young man shivered and Voldemort could not help but smile slightly at the tremor. Then he dismissed them all, allowing Lucius and Severus to stew in speculation as to their further ‘honours’.
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stood by his window, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the castle grounds below him. Tamino had not been in contact for over a month, not since the beginning of September and straits were becoming increasingly dire. Before he had viewed the occasional missives with suspicion and scepticism, but only two out of the eighteen he had received had been inaccurate. They may have been vague and couched in irritably florid and roundabout terms, speckled with literary and operatic allusions, but the intelligence contained therein had become valued. It would be another month hence before he heard anything more from his mysterious correspondent.
Severus sprawled collapsed in the threadbare armchair, staring at the bare far wall like an inactive automaton. His long spidery arms dangled over the arms of the chair, knuckles brushing the flagstone floor, his chin was sunk on his chest and his legs were flung out haphazardly before him. ‘Rewards. Huh.’ He grunted, then started, surprised that he had spoken aloud in his abstraction. His place was well and truly consolidated within the inner circle of Deatheaters. To be accurate he remained at the fringes, too young to be allowed to carry out many missions, but prized for his acumen with potions and the valuable intelligence he conveyed from Hogwarts. Masterminding Halton’s tragic demise had also helped. Severus gave an odd smirk at that thought, dark amusement and genuine regret warring in his mind. It had been somewhat ironic, framing the poor innocent man of double agency. It was perhaps one of the only crimes he had been innocent of, but the man had retained some small measure of compassion and Severus regretted the loss of a man who had aided him.
He slouched back further in his chair, ignoring the dust that rose from the faded velvet at the action. This abandoned dungeon storage room had become his refuge and he sipped at a vial of potion he’d been toying with, abstractedly staring around at the bookshelves lining the walls, groaning under the burden of hundreds of copies of obsolete textbooks. ‘Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York….’ He trailed off with a bitter laugh. Severus had finally manoeuvred himself into a position to act in a way he felt most suiting. He only hoped that the sun he was to court was not over-hasty in his decisions.
Severus hauled his angular frame upright and adjusted him clothes, aware that his appearance permanently left something to be desired, but determined to make as good an impression as he could.
Dumbledore looked up from his paperwork at the opening of his study door, expecting to see one of his staff. ‘Headmaster.’ Instead there stood before him a troublesome young Slytherin lad who certainly should not have known his passwords.
‘Severus Snape, isn’t it?’ He replied, playing on his dotty old man image to cover his surprise.
His surprise only increased as a secretive smile crept onto the boy’s face and he made astonishingly intimate eye-contact, drawing Albus into a shared moment. The headmaster was a legilimens of prodigious talent and he sensed something true about the young man before him before the stare hardened and he found himself locked out of Snape’s thoughts. He could not entirely conceal his shock at that. ‘Tamino would be a name you know me better by.’
Dumbledore was gripped by deep sorrow at that casual admission. He had failed even to keep the children under his roof safe from the predations of darkness then. ‘You wish to return to the Light?’ He asked hopefully, gesturing for his pupil to take a seat.
Snape gladly eased himself into the chair’s cushioned embrace and Dumbledore was surprised at how tired he looked. He was still alert enough to snort derisively at his superior’s naivety. ‘No, sir.’ He raised his hands in a peaceful, conciliatory manner. ‘Dark does not necessarily mean murderous, headmaster. My nature is Dark, much of my strongest magical power and instincts are. I cannot stop being a Dark wizard any more than you can stop being Albus Dumbledore. Could you voluntarily deny yourself your entire magical power?’ His voice shook slightly as the bravado faltered and Albus realised just how nerve-wracking it must be for him to admit that to one of the most powerful Light wizards alive.
Snape inhaled deeply through his crooked nose and Dumbledore took advantage of that pause. ‘Then why chose to work with the Light side?’ His tone betrayed the curiosity burning within him and he fixed his eyes upon Severus’ begging for a truthful response. The mental shields rendering Snape’s gaze opaque faltered slightly, then relaxed, allowing Dumbledore to see that the youth spoke the truth.
‘The Dark Lord disgusts me. I will not have a part in his scheming. Our people are persecuted by your type, we have been to a greater or lesser degree for centuries. His idiocy will get us wiped out and he’s not even true to our nature, his facile banal tortures and idiotic ambitions are one man‘s insane dream. He is not a leader of Dark magic, he is a leader of power-hungry idiots drawn in by naïve ideology.’ He paused and looked away, gathering himself after that outburst. Then a wry smile warped his lips and Severus looked up at Dumbledore once more. ‘You could say that at the heart of it is my desire that individuals be free to study and hate as they desire, not at the dictate of quixotic dictatorships.’
Dumbledore knew. He saw both the spoken truth and the less definable unspoken thoughts and smiled blandly. ‘Well how do you wish to remedy this?’
Severus fished in the deep pocket of his potions stained robe and pulled out the knife he used to sharpen his quills. Before Albus could react he rashly cut the little finger on his left hand and traced a line along his wand in the blood. He knelt before Dumbledore and offered up the wooden baton.
Albus gasped at the rashness of the action, but was touched at the depth of sincerity and emotion it symbolised. A boy who felt utterly disillusioned with all of society had pledged himself to Albus Dumbledore, trusting him as the only one able to put it right with him. He accepted the wand and both the powers and responsibilities it carried. The magic in that simple oath of allegiance had been old, predating the Dark/Light division and Dumbledore was shocked at the youth’s knowledge of both the spell and its full implications.
‘Let us begin anew, dear boy.’
A/N: Final chapter… this is the longest fanfic I’ve ever managed to complete. It would have been done sooner, but I got to my rough version of this final chapter and decided it needed rewriting completely, but lacked the inspiration to do it well. However, a mere year after I started writing this, I’ve finally drawn it to its conclusion. Just in case you are wondering, the ‘werewolf incident’ does occur in this [now] alternate universe, however this story concludes in late 1974 and canon indicates the werewolf incident happens sometime in 1975.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++
Severus Snape’s fifth year brought the OWL examinations looming on the horizon much closer and suddenly school life became a little more peaceful as increasing homework loads discouraged tomfoolery and inter-house feuding. The Marauders were simply too busy trying to get everything learnt that their japes and duels became much more sporadic, even if they did not disappear entirely. That would have been too much to ask from such a single-minded prankster as Sirius Black. Filch still kept a beady eye on them, knowing better than to trust the will-power of teenaged boys, but although school life was not exceedingly pleasant, the reduction in bullying and detentions came as something of a relief for Severus.
The Dark Lord on the other hand was an entirely different matter. Severus still found himself being summoned to Lucius’ manor almost every weekend and the quantity of Dark potions he was required to brew seemed only to increase. He did however notice something.
‘Of course the Dark Lord is not sending you out on missions and muggle hunts. He does recognise the academic strain you are under.’ Lucius urbane voice changed slightly in tone and a teasingly flirtatious note entered his voice. ’You are more than a mere brute with a wand, dear Severus, thus the Dark Lord has decided to invest time and my family’s considerable resources in you.’
Severus’ lips rounded, soundlessly forming a not so innocent ’Oh!’ of realisation. Lucius laughed at that, the sound low and soft in his throat. He had little need for posturing around Severus, the Slytherin games they played were on a far more advanced level than that of simple displays of strength and power. In his own way Lucius was even fond of his protégé. The boy was clever, surprisingly witty when pushed to play and his soul and magic were steeped in a fascinating darkness of such complexity that one never quite knew what he was going to do next. Severus in turn seemed much more tolerant of Lucius than he was of anyone else, even permitting his elder to take certain minor physical liberties with him. It was fun to see how far he could push before he was hexed. Sometimes even the hexing itself was fun. The lad was a genius when it came to inventive offensive magic.
‘You had better leave now Lucius. Delightful though your company is I’m afraid our beloved Master has a greater claim upon me and my time.’ The aristocratic drawl that Severus’ riposte was couched in was a masterful imitation of Lucius’ own well-bred tones.
‘I shall return this evening then. We do have a social schedule to keep up, after all.’ Lucius swept out of the laboratory, his expensive robes swirling about his ankles like playful lapdogs.
Severus treated the man’s back to a cool stare, unimpressed by his levity. Then he turned his attention to the final version of the potion he’d been creating. He needed to keep all of his powers of concentration about him if he were to finish refining the mixture for Voldemort that evening.
That evening the pair of young men arrived punctually and respectfully bowed before their superior. Lord Voldemort examined the potion offered up to him curiously, rotating his wrist lazily to agitate the contents, observing their sluggish progress across the transparent glass of the vial. He returned the little glass container to its creator and summoned an unkempt stray cat from somewhere.
Severus accepted the cat from his Master and knelt, pinning the recalcitrant beast between his bony thighs. One skeletal hand grasped the feline’s head with surprising strength and he applied cunning pressure to the sides of its jaws, forcing its mouth agape. He poured the dark-coloured melange down its maw and held the blunt muzzle shut with one hand, adroitly stroking the sides of its throat with his other.
As soon as an agonising whine emerged from the distressed moggy he stepped back, leaving it collapsed on the dirty floor. It died inch by inch, radiating increasing amounts of heat until even Voldemort took a cautious step backwards. Paralysed and beset with pain the tortured creature did not die quietly as the agony mounted. At last with one final wail it self-combusted with a sickening stench of burning fur and flesh. Severus was internally revolted, but his face remained impassive, even unimpressed as the genius he did not doubt was once again publicly proven.
‘Ah Severus, such a clever little thing. You have worked hard and produced satisfactory results. You will be rewarded.’ Voldemort practically purred, awash with excitement at the gruesome new potion. He praised the boy lavishly, amusement curling within his gut at his ability to treat this worthy youth far better than that sanctimonious old fool who’d seized the moral high ground.
Severus automatically crumpled, coming to rest on one knee like a knight of old paying obeisance to his king. Excitement poured from his mind as Voldemort’s forefinger crooked under his angular chin, pulling his face up to look upon his master. As their eyes met Severus was intoxicated by the satisfaction and pride roiling through the Dark Lord’s mind. It only sought to heighten the near-lascivious pleasure Voldemort saw within the boy’s eyes.
‘Yes, you have already proven yourself a strong and loyal follower of our cause, young Severus. You have done well by the boy, Lucius.’ Voldemort raised his voice slightly to allow the compliment to carry over to the handsome blond, his eyes never leaving the amoral pits of the dark child. ‘I will do you the honour of using you as your merits demand.’ Under his hand the young man shivered and Voldemort could not help but smile slightly at the tremor. Then he dismissed them all, allowing Lucius and Severus to stew in speculation as to their further ‘honours’.
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stood by his window, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the castle grounds below him. Tamino had not been in contact for over a month, not since the beginning of September and straits were becoming increasingly dire. Before he had viewed the occasional missives with suspicion and scepticism, but only two out of the eighteen he had received had been inaccurate. They may have been vague and couched in irritably florid and roundabout terms, speckled with literary and operatic allusions, but the intelligence contained therein had become valued. It would be another month hence before he heard anything more from his mysterious correspondent.
Severus sprawled collapsed in the threadbare armchair, staring at the bare far wall like an inactive automaton. His long spidery arms dangled over the arms of the chair, knuckles brushing the flagstone floor, his chin was sunk on his chest and his legs were flung out haphazardly before him. ‘Rewards. Huh.’ He grunted, then started, surprised that he had spoken aloud in his abstraction. His place was well and truly consolidated within the inner circle of Deatheaters. To be accurate he remained at the fringes, too young to be allowed to carry out many missions, but prized for his acumen with potions and the valuable intelligence he conveyed from Hogwarts. Masterminding Halton’s tragic demise had also helped. Severus gave an odd smirk at that thought, dark amusement and genuine regret warring in his mind. It had been somewhat ironic, framing the poor innocent man of double agency. It was perhaps one of the only crimes he had been innocent of, but the man had retained some small measure of compassion and Severus regretted the loss of a man who had aided him.
He slouched back further in his chair, ignoring the dust that rose from the faded velvet at the action. This abandoned dungeon storage room had become his refuge and he sipped at a vial of potion he’d been toying with, abstractedly staring around at the bookshelves lining the walls, groaning under the burden of hundreds of copies of obsolete textbooks. ‘Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York….’ He trailed off with a bitter laugh. Severus had finally manoeuvred himself into a position to act in a way he felt most suiting. He only hoped that the sun he was to court was not over-hasty in his decisions.
Severus hauled his angular frame upright and adjusted him clothes, aware that his appearance permanently left something to be desired, but determined to make as good an impression as he could.
Dumbledore looked up from his paperwork at the opening of his study door, expecting to see one of his staff. ‘Headmaster.’ Instead there stood before him a troublesome young Slytherin lad who certainly should not have known his passwords.
‘Severus Snape, isn’t it?’ He replied, playing on his dotty old man image to cover his surprise.
His surprise only increased as a secretive smile crept onto the boy’s face and he made astonishingly intimate eye-contact, drawing Albus into a shared moment. The headmaster was a legilimens of prodigious talent and he sensed something true about the young man before him before the stare hardened and he found himself locked out of Snape’s thoughts. He could not entirely conceal his shock at that. ‘Tamino would be a name you know me better by.’
Dumbledore was gripped by deep sorrow at that casual admission. He had failed even to keep the children under his roof safe from the predations of darkness then. ‘You wish to return to the Light?’ He asked hopefully, gesturing for his pupil to take a seat.
Snape gladly eased himself into the chair’s cushioned embrace and Dumbledore was surprised at how tired he looked. He was still alert enough to snort derisively at his superior’s naivety. ‘No, sir.’ He raised his hands in a peaceful, conciliatory manner. ‘Dark does not necessarily mean murderous, headmaster. My nature is Dark, much of my strongest magical power and instincts are. I cannot stop being a Dark wizard any more than you can stop being Albus Dumbledore. Could you voluntarily deny yourself your entire magical power?’ His voice shook slightly as the bravado faltered and Albus realised just how nerve-wracking it must be for him to admit that to one of the most powerful Light wizards alive.
Snape inhaled deeply through his crooked nose and Dumbledore took advantage of that pause. ‘Then why chose to work with the Light side?’ His tone betrayed the curiosity burning within him and he fixed his eyes upon Severus’ begging for a truthful response. The mental shields rendering Snape’s gaze opaque faltered slightly, then relaxed, allowing Dumbledore to see that the youth spoke the truth.
‘The Dark Lord disgusts me. I will not have a part in his scheming. Our people are persecuted by your type, we have been to a greater or lesser degree for centuries. His idiocy will get us wiped out and he’s not even true to our nature, his facile banal tortures and idiotic ambitions are one man‘s insane dream. He is not a leader of Dark magic, he is a leader of power-hungry idiots drawn in by naïve ideology.’ He paused and looked away, gathering himself after that outburst. Then a wry smile warped his lips and Severus looked up at Dumbledore once more. ‘You could say that at the heart of it is my desire that individuals be free to study and hate as they desire, not at the dictate of quixotic dictatorships.’
Dumbledore knew. He saw both the spoken truth and the less definable unspoken thoughts and smiled blandly. ‘Well how do you wish to remedy this?’
Severus fished in the deep pocket of his potions stained robe and pulled out the knife he used to sharpen his quills. Before Albus could react he rashly cut the little finger on his left hand and traced a line along his wand in the blood. He knelt before Dumbledore and offered up the wooden baton.
Albus gasped at the rashness of the action, but was touched at the depth of sincerity and emotion it symbolised. A boy who felt utterly disillusioned with all of society had pledged himself to Albus Dumbledore, trusting him as the only one able to put it right with him. He accepted the wand and both the powers and responsibilities it carried. The magic in that simple oath of allegiance had been old, predating the Dark/Light division and Dumbledore was shocked at the youth’s knowledge of both the spell and its full implications.
‘Let us begin anew, dear boy.’