Chapter 83

The woman tied to the chair in the center of the damp, cold room sat very still.  She did not struggle.  She didn’t say a word as he paced back and forth behind her, his heart and guts twisted into knots so tight he feared they might cut off all circulation and be the death of him.  

This was wrong.  Something was wrong about it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be a woman.  The first person he had tortured had been a man, a very old man.  But everything else was the same, the cold, clinging mist that drifted through the small barred window above them, the slimy shiver of the damp walls in the torchlight, the dripping of water from the ceiling, and scratching of rats from beneath the filthy straw piled in the corner…

“But you know where he is.  You were his landlord for nearly a year.  Surely he gave you some indication of where he planned to go…”

The woman said nothing.  Of course she wouldn’t know.  She wasn’t Alastor Moody’s old landlord.  The old man (God, had he truly never even thought to find out his name?!) was.

“Obviously my previous motivation was not enough.  Let us see what we can do about loosening that tongue, shall we…”  He shot another round of Crucio at the woman’s back.  She strained against her bonds, but the only sound she made was a small whimper.  She was strong.  Much stronger than the old man had been.  She would not give easily.

“Now – I will ask again.  Where is Alastor Moody?”  His voice quavered just a little, and he suddenly realized that he was trembling.  He fought hard to reign it in, but it was then that he realized – her hair was red, copper flames fanned out against her pale freckled shoulders and the pure white dress she wore.

Still she said nothing.

“Do you want this!”  He cried then, his voice finally breaking under the strain.  “Do you want me to keep torturing you like this?  You…you leave me no choice!”

“Do what you must…”  The very same words that Ollivander had said to him only a few weeks prior.  Another old man rotting away in another damp room in the Malfoy’s cellar.  And how long would they torture him before he gave in?  

He was becoming confused now.  For just a moment he could have sworn that the woman in the chair, the woman he was only too familiar with, had become, instead, a man – a man with dark disheveled hair, and a determined square set to his shoulders.

“You fool!” he spat.  “You…you leave me no choice, do you hear me!  No choice!  Do you think I want this?!  Do you think this is who I truly am!  It’s you, you and that insufferable Gryffindor brazenness you call courage, you and your penchant for running headlong into whatever you set your heart upon.  It is you and your inexcusable carelessness that has reduced me to this!”

The dark head became snow white, the hair lengthening into a flowing silvery sea over silver blue robes.

“I’ve done everything – everything for you, and still it isn’t enough!  Still you force me to do this.  This one last thing!”

And then the room around him dissolved and he was in a cramped, warm room off of the Medical Wing at Hogwarts, and a small, frail body - pale and impossibly still, lay on the bed beside him, her emerald eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling – nothing but the empty, horrifying shell of the bright and lively girl he had known, and he knew in that instant that she had been right to leave him all those years before, because he was just as horrifying as she had imagined.  He – he had done this.  He had reduced her to this still, faded waxwork lying on the sweat drenched mattress before him.  

He blamed her, but it was not her.  He had chosen.  He had walked the path.  He had done what he had done.  He had tortured that old man – for approval, for a sense of belonging, acceptance, power.  He had chosen to take the dark mark.  He had relished in the pain and pleasure of it, and he had slowly dug her grave and his own one heavy shovel full at a time.

He had encouraged Regulus interest in the Fraternity, because the thought of being a part of that dark and lonely world on his own had been more than he could bear.  In a way he had helped to dig his grave as well.  He had been the death of everyone and everything he had ever loved, and he deserved to die.

As though reading his mind, the room around him dissolved again, and now he was standing on the edge of dizzying, chalk white cliffs, a gray, angry sea crashing violently against the jagged rock below.  It would be so easy.  All he had to do was take a few steps and then let himself plunge into the dark abyss of blissful nothingness.  He assumed that if he didn’t pass out on his way down there would be a momentary crushing wave of pain as his body was impaled upon the rocks, but then it would be over.  Completely over.  The darkness could claim him, and he could rest.

She was better off without him anyway.

He took one step and then another, and he was about to take that last step, the one that would free him, when an unseen hand yanked him back violently from the edge, and slammed him hard against the icy ground.

He looked up the length of the wand pointed between his eyes and sneered.  “Potter…”

“That would be too easy!” the boy spat, his voice filled with bitterness.  “You’re not done yet.”

“And who are you to decide…”

”I am the chosen one.”

Arrogant little…

”Tosh!” he spat, and tried to sit up, but the boy dared to press his wand hard against his forehead, his green eyes shooting righteous fire, a look he was only too familiar with.  It was so like his mother.  He lay back down.

“So you will fail at everything then.  You plan to abandon your duty now, as well as your conscience.”

“You don’t know the first thing about my ‘duty’!”

“Then tell me!” the boy challenged.

“No,” he snapped.  It was petulant sounding, even to his ears.

“No?”

“No,” he repeated.

“Then don’t blame me for not understanding you…”

A strong blast of wind blew in from the sea, blowing the boy’s hair back from his face, and his glasses were suddenly gone, his green eyes turning to blue, and his black hair lengthening into long raven curls.  

Charity Burbage’s cheeks were pink in the bracing cold, but her eyes seemed blank, empty.  She looked down at him for a moment, a strange sort of sadness, something almost akin to disillusionment, and then she strode past him to the cliff’s edge.

She was far too close.

He scrambled to his feet.  “Stop!”

She turned, just as she reached the edge, her hair whipping wildly around her beautiful face, tears clinging to her lashes.  She looked utterly hopeless.  “Severus, please…”  She reached a hand out to him, and then fell back soundlessly.

“NO!!”  He lunged forward in an attempt to grab her hand, but she plummeted out of site.

He woke with a start, breathing hard, his body drenched with sweat and glanced around him, desperately trying to get his bearings.  Yes.  He was at Malfoy Manor.  Ollivander was in the basement, James Potter and Albus Dumbledore were dead, Lily and Harry were at Petunia Dursley’s, and Charity Burbage was holidaying in the south of France if he recalled clearly.  It had been a dream.  Yes…  Just a dream…

                                                                    xXXx

Many miles away Lily shot awake with a gasp and a cry, the name on her lips one who was now so far from her grasp that she could not even fathom how she might find him again.  She looked around her, momentarily lost as to where she was.  The wrestling posters and ribbons tacked to the walls and the immaculate cleanliness of the room brought it all rushing back in an instant.  She was at Petunia’s, and Severus…God only knew where Severus was.

She hoped he was with the Malfoys.  At least she could count on Narcissa to make sure that he ate enough, got enough sleep.  Rubbing a hand over her eyes, she was surprised to feel that her cheeks were damp.  

Already the dream was fading she could only remember snippets of it.  Dark eyes, probing hers, eyes that were empty, hopeless, and more weary than she had ever seen them.  They were the eyes of a man who was preparing himself for the end, a man who would welcome death with open arms when it came to claim him.  She shuddered involuntarily and wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to block out the sudden chill.

He believed – truly believed – that she would hate him now.  He did not realize that she would remember what he had said, that she believed that he had his reasons.  Granted, they were reasons that she couldn’t even begin to fathom, but still – she had to believe.  She wanted so badly to believe.

And perhaps it was only right.  In her youth, she had been only too ready to believe in his guilt.  Perhaps now was her time to defend his innocence.  God knew that everyone, even her own son, believed him to be completely guilty, and given the evidence, she could hardly blame them.  But she had faith in him.  She knew his heart.  

The man she had come to know over the last few months was so different from the boy who had once been her friend.  Oh, she could still see that boy in the man, at times, but the wounds that boy had suffered, the ones that had so deeply scarred the man, seemed to be less prominent of late.  He was changing, and had been, very slowly, ever since her return.  She couldn’t believe that it had all been an illusion.  She refused to believe it…

A soft knock at her door snapped her out of her reverie.  “Come in…”

The door creaked slowly open, and instead of seeing Harry’s head peeking in as she expected, she was met with that of a slightly bleary eyed Petunia instead.  “I…I thought I heard something…”

“It was just a bad dream.  I…I must have cried out.  I’m sorry if I woke you.  I’ll be fine.”

Her sister nodded, and turned as though to go, but then she hesitated and turned back.  “Was it…was it horribly lonely, being on your own all these years…?”

“What?”

“Living alone, all these years, cut off from…from your world…was it lonely?”

“Being cut off from those I loved…that was much harder than being away from the magic.  Being separated from my boy.  Not…not knowing whether he was alright, where he had been placed, if his new parents were treating him kindly…that…that was much harder than having to give up my magic…”

Petunia squirmed uncomfortably.  She had been staring at the carpet beneath her feet, but now her eyes lifted, flashing fire.  “I had a baby of my own, you know!” she spat in a whisper.  “We hadn’t spoken in years, and there was no financial recompense.  Our Dudley did without just to feed a child whose father I had only ever met once!”

“He was my boy, too, Petunia.  A closet under the stairs…  Is that true?  You made him wear clothes three sizes too big for him, to go to school in them?  You let the neighbor’s dog chase him up a tree when he was only a wee thing, and merely sat on the front stair and laughed at his plight?!”

”Did he tell you that?!”  Petunia was looking more and more uncomfortable all the time.

“Not all of it…”

“Well, I…I…”

“Are you denying that it is true?”  Petunia glared at her, but she could see her sister’s hands trembling, and her lips set in a hard, bitter line trembled a little too.  “You remember the Snapes, surely…Of course you do…” she finished for her.  “Well you were always condemning Eileen and Tobias for being heartless, useless, cold, and common.  Well tell me this, how was the way you treated Harry all these years, any different from how they treated Severus?  Hmm…?  It’s to Harry’s credit that he’s turned out as well as he has all things considered, but really Petunia.  How…how could you?!”

“Shhh…” her sister spat, glancing over her shoulder and down the hall.  “Do you want to wake Vernon?  If you do, we’ll never hear the end of it.”  With a deep sigh she took one last look down the hall and then slipped into the room closing the door behind her with a soft click.  Pressing her back against the door, she stared down at the fluffy pink slippers on her feet.  “We did our best, Lily.  I don’t know what you expected, really…”

“Better than what he got, I’ll tell you that, and…”

“And how dare you compare me to the Snapes!”  Her sister seemed angrier at this than all the other accusations, as though it were the ultimate insult.  “For all your defending Severus Snape what has it got you, hmm?  Nothing.  He was nothing more than an angry, bitter, vindictive little gutter snipe, and…”

“Oh shut up, Petunia!  The only reason you ever hated Severus so was because you recognized yourself in him.  Both of you were the same – two peas in a pod.  Both bitter, both angry, both determined to hate the world!  You knew his parents.  He had his reasons, but you Petunia – what was your excuse...?!”

Her sister’s face had been growing more and more flush in the dim golden glow of the nightlight across the room.  “Yes, perhaps the Snape boy and I had our similarities, and you left him for that Potter boy, didn’t you, just like you left me!” she suddenly blurted, her voice breaking.  

“That’s always been your problem, Lily.  You only care about yourself.  You only want what is easy, what is lovely.  You have no idea what it is to suffer, so don’t you accuse me for being what I was.  I did the best I could, and maybe I wasn’t perfect, maybe I did things that I shouldn’t have, treated that boy poorly, but you’ve no idea what it was like to be me, so don’t even begin to try and judge me.  You will never know how much I’ve done for you!”

“Done for me!  What have you done!  Treated my boy like dirt, when he did nothing, nothing to you!”

Petunia had lifted her arms to wrap around herself, and the grip of her arms across her chest was now so tight that it looked almost suffocating.  “What does it matter?  I’ve done what I’ve done, and you are determined to hold me guilty for it until the day I die.  You will never see me as anything other than that.  And perhaps you are right.  Perhaps I am nothing more than the beast you paint me to be…  

“Why should I care what you think?  You and your perfect life, your perfect school, your…your perfect boyfriend.  You and your perfect, pristine, unsoiled lovliness!”  Her voice had been rising as she spoke, the self-sustaining hug strengthening, and a sea of tears building up to swim in her eyes.

Lily shook her head.  “What in the bloody hell are you on about?!”

“Oh, shut it Lily, won’t you.  For once in your bloody life, just shut it!”  The well measured London accent that her sister had worked so hard to cultivate had disappeared, and she sounded every inch the Manchester working class shop girl she once had been.

At that moment there was a knock at the door and Petunia jumped a little, before turning and wrenching the door open behind her.  “What?!”

Harry took a step back, and then looked from her to Petunia and back again.  “Everything okay?”

“Fine!” she snapped again.

And then a door slammed open at the end of the hall, and the heavy footfall up the hall indicated that they had gone and done exactly what her sister had wanted to avoid.  They had awakened Vernon.  He appeared in the doorway, his round face purple with indignation.  “What in the bloody hell is going on?!  It sounds like a couple of cats tearing one another to shreds out here.  Can’t a man get a decent night’s sleep in his own house?!”

He looked at Petunia’s flushed face, and opened his mouth as though to snap at her, but he paused at seeing the look in her eyes, and instead seemed to change his mind at the last moment.  He turned her way instead.  Lifting a hand, he pointed a sausage-like finger in her direction.  “You…you are staying here out of the goodness of my wife’s heart.  I can just as quickly put you to the curb if I choose.  Now you had better…”

But Harry stepped in front of him, eyes flashing, and produced his wand, from Merlin knew where, pointing it square at his uncle’s chest.  “You leave her alone…” he warned, his voice low and calm, but deadly serious.  It was odd to hear such a tone in his voice.  She was used to his wild outbursts of indignant and self-righteous rage.

“Harry, leave it.  It’s fine…” she intervened, but Petunia pulled herself up to her full height then, nose in the air, a complete air of indifference about her.

“No, why not let him.  It’s your way, isn’t it, to always let others rise to the occasion, to let others put their neck on the line so that you can keep you illusion of the perfect little life you’ve managed to maintain for so long.  Why destroy the illusion now!”  Her voice was thick with sarcasm, bitterness, anger, and she was again reminded so much of Severus, she could hardly believe that she hadn’t noticed the similarity until tonight.

With that her sister turned on her heel and marched back down the hall, slamming the door to her bedroom behind her.  Vernon stood glaring down at Harry, and the wand pressed to his chest for a moment, and then turned as well, casting her a hateful glance before returning to his room after his wife.

Harry stared after him, and then turned back to her, his brows knit together in confusion.  “What on earth was that about?”

She shook her head, genuinely perplexed.  “I have no idea…”