The Slave to Desperate Men

Chapter Two: Because It Is Bitter (Part Two)

In the desert

I saw a creature, naked, bestial,

Who, squatting upon the ground,

Held his heart in his hands,

And ate of it.

I said, "Is it good, friend?"

"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;

"But I like it

Because it is bitter,

And because it is my heart."

October 1, 1996

Midmorning

"... what are the ground conditions for any kind of agreement that allows this consensus of morality? The morality exposed here -"

"Yes, Trumbull, but you're not understanding my question. Is that moral in itself? The coercion or force brought on by a more powerful state? Is it possible to mitigate the circumstances of international relations so that's not the only possible scenario through which we can derive moral principles?"

Ronald Weasley dropped his book on the table and tried to look anywhere but at the girl sitting across from him, who was currently having a heated debate with Trumbull Cory, a nasty Slytherin who would have belonged in Ravenclaw if it weren't for his innate hatred of Gryffindors. This was Ron's least favorite class: a seminar called Global Justice and the Rights of Magic Folk and Muggles. Someone, Dumbledore no doubt, thought it would be entertaining to pair the Gryffindors with the Slytherins for this particular seminar-- very few others were amused. Ron's class, the Sixth Years, were the first Hogwarts students to ever take such an advanced class in modern theory.

Since the second rise of Voldemort, Dumbledore and the Hogwarts governors decided to integrate as many University classes as possible into the Hogwarts curriculum. The reasoning of this rested on the fact that most of the students would be needed straight out of school and would be unable to attend universities. Which would have been fine with Ron, if it weren't for this class.

Their History of Magic class had skipped three hundred years and they were now studying offensive and defensive war tactics used during the War of Grindelwald and how these tactics correlated with the first rise of Lord Voldemort. It was odd, Ron thought, learning about young Albus Dumbledore (if he ever really was young) and seeing the names of his parents and the parents of his fellow classmates in his history textbooks.

Ron traced a fingertip along scraggly lines etched into the table by students long gone from Hogwarts' halls. He stole a sidelong glance to the somber boy next to him.

There was an entire chapter on Harry, discussing several different theories as to how he survived the Killing Curse and his later encounters with the Dark Lord. One theory stated that Harry was a descendent of Hannibal, the only other wizard in known history to survive the Killing Curse - well, sort of. It took one and a quarter curses to bring him down. That was an interesting few weeks of school, indeed.

Ron's reverie was broken by Harry's voice.

"Yes, but 'Mione, what about those nations not following any sort of moral code? Do we wait for them to come around, or forcibly, out of moral obligation, cause change immediately? And while we're at it, do we apply the same principles to Muggle nations, as well?"

"For once I've got the Rome-hater on my side," Cory said. "Long live Carthage!"

"Carthage was destroyed over 2,000 years ago," Pansy Parkinson pointed out in a bored voice, looking up from her inspection of her nails and speaking for the first time that day.

"Precisely," Cory said with a smirk.

"Harry wasn't siding with you, Cory," Ron spoke up. "He was just asking a question. And would you give up on the Hannibal nicknames?" He curled a finger around a lock of red hair, looked to the ceiling and in a perfect Parvati voice, said, "That was SO last spring equinox."

"Really, Mr. Weasley, is that all you have to offer in this discussion?" Professor McGonagall asked from the head of the long mahogany table.

Ron squished his lips together. "I -" He looked across the table at Hermione, who was watching him with an expectant expression. 'Merlin, I hate her.' "I don't see why we can't just leave people be. Really, it's none of our business what wizards do in other countries. Seems to me we're just making more trouble for ourselves."

Hermione eyes went wide and she spluttered, "Are you mad?! What an awful position to take!"

For the first time in what seemed like months, Draco Malfoy grinned.

Harry shook his head and let it fall to the table.

"Merlin," Seamus muttered, shaking his head at Dean and Lavender, who both seemed to barely be winning a struggle against sleep.

"Wonderful idea, Mr. Finnagan," McGonagall said, "Let's look at what Merlin would say. Everyone, turn in your books to the Universal Declaration of Wizarding Rights on page 887."

And that's when the door flew open.

When it all really started for all of them.

When they caught a glimpse ...

Of what it felt like.

Of what it would all be like from then on.

"Professor! You're needed -" Winded breaths. A Hufflepuff prefect. "Professor Dumbledore wants to see you. Amelia Bones has been assassinated."

And so the Month of Tears had begun.

October, 1996

The Month of Tears

This just in ...

The Daily Prophet

Owl # 15486

MEMO: Terry Tollen, Editor

To: Wort Whorton, Important Ministry Business Section Editor

October 3, 1996

08:35

LONDON: Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt sworn in as new Head of Law Enforcement. Known for allegiance to Albus Dumbledore. Kingsley declares hatred for Death Eaters, oath of allegiance to "the United Kingdom and Justice."

Fudge losing control of the Ministry?

DEADLINE: This evening. TO BE PRINTED 10/04.

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This just in ...

The Daily Prophet

Owl # 16587

MEMO: Terry Tollen, Editor

To: Merlina Motsy, Gory Violence Section Editor

October 8, 1996

19:45

HOGSMEADE: DE attack in Hogsmeade. Richard's Riches, Muggle-born owned jewelry shop, attacked at 7:00 this evening. Three dead: William Quarth, business wizard; Retha Bloom, Chairwitch of the Freda Penny Charity Fund; and her son, Bryce Bloom, 6^th year student of Hogwarts. Seven others wounded: all in critical condition at St. Mungo's.

Details will be given in press conference with Auror Shacklebolt and Minister Fudge to be held at 21:00, Ministry of Magic Headquarters.

DEADLINE: 5:00 tomorrow morning. TO BE PRINTED 10/08.

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This just in ...

The Daily Prophet

Owl # 17895

MEMO: Terry Tollen, Editor

To: Merlina Motsy, Gory Violence Section Editor

October 17, 1996

09:16

LIVERPOOL: Tragic DE attack, Liverpool Town Hall, of Liverpool North at 08:30. Twenty Muggles killed, sixteen wounded. Aurors arrived at 08:38. One Death Eater captured, four Disapparated. Shacklebolt claims DE's having "a bit of fun, the great b*ggers." Claims inside information reveals the start of a Terror Campaign by YKW. All Ministry offices and buildings closed for the day, all Ministry officials sent home. All schools, aside from Hogwarts, have also been closed. All Major Quidditch games have been canceled. Fudge promises "life will continue on as usual tomorrow. This is just a precaution."

Contacts: Muggle, Chief Superintendent Ike Smith, Area Commander, Liverpool North

Muggle telephone 9262 890 7929 or 9262 888 5656

Muggle, Chief Constable Stephen Marydom

(best not to call 999 anymore - they're getting a bit miffed with us, I'm afraid - something about it only being for emergencies - though if this isn't an emergency, would hate to find out what is)

Muggles blame attack on Muggle terrorist group called the IRA. There are talks of a meeting between the Ministry of Magic and the Ministry of the UK.

Real question: Where will they attack next?

DEADLINE: This evening. TO BE PRINTED 10/18.

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This just in ...

The Daily Prophet

Owl # 20215

MEMO: Terry Tollen, Editor

To: Wort Whorton, Important Ministry Business Section Editor

October 18, 1996

10:13

LONDON: International Confederation of Wizards Convention held this morning at undisclosed location. Unanimous agreement to inform the PM of UK and the PM of Ireland of the situation.

This morning, commotion in Enchanted Parliament as members begin to split into two groups described as the Red and Blue Parties, with the Red Party leaning definitively towards the Left. Roderick Parkinson, leader of the Blue Party, and wizard of the Enchanted Parliament, gives speech today on steps of Parliament. Message: Muggles should be left out of our war, and aid should not be asked from them. Disagrees with ICW's decision to meet with the Muggle Prime Ministers. Meanwhile, Red Party, led by Wendy Nix, is meeting with Minister this afternoon to discuss what should be conveyed to the Muggle Ministers.

DEADLINE: This evening. TO BE PRINTED 10/19. Oh, and Wort, please do have the copy editor take a look at it this time. That misspelling of Fudge's name Wednesday has caused a bit of an uproar. - TT

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This just in ...

The Daily Prophet

Owl #25879

MEMO: Terry Tollen, Editor

To: Wort Whorton, Important Ministry Business Section Editor

October 20, 1996

09:30

LONDON: FIRST ASSEMBLY OF LEADERS. Fudge and Dumbledore to meet with Prime Minister Bartholomew Warethin of the United Kingdom and Taoiseach Sean McMurry of Ireland at Ministry of Magic Headquarters in London. Agenda: to discuss recent terrorist attack on Muggles in Liverpool and to describe events and possible threats from the Second War.

Other Muggles that will be in attendance: Irish Minister of Foreign Affairs, British Home Secretary, and some others. Don't quite know what these positions involve, exactly, but are very important Muggles, supposedly.

Other Wizards that will be in attendance: Remus Lupin, acting as assistant to Albus Dumbledore; Percy Weasley, acting as assistant to Minister Fudge; Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head of Law Enforcement; and Patricia Goyle, Head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes.

Speculations in Parliament are critical. Minister's office released information this morning stating that there would be no involvement asked of the Muggles, including any sort of aid. Red Party in an uproar, though claim not to be surprised.

DEADLINE: This evening. TO BE PRINTED 10/21.

@#@#@#@#@#@#@#

This just in ...

The Daily Prophet

Owl # 29274

MEMO: Terry Tollen, Editor

To: Merlina Motsy, Gory Violence Section Editor

News Release

URGENT*URGENT*URGENT*URGENT

October 23, 1996

21:45

LUTON: 26 DEAD. Dubbed Luton Massacre by Ministry officials. At 20:00 this evening, in wizarding suburb outside Luton, England, six Muggle-borns murdered with their families by DEs. Six wizards, six witches, fourteen children. Worst attack on Muggle-borns, yet. Rivals even the Killarney Massacre in 1979 during First War. However, even in Killarney Massacre, many wizards were saved by late Aurors James Potter and Sirius Black, who foiled YKW's plans during the DE Operation. Many are now questioning the competency of the Ministry's Law Enforcement Department, and of Auror Shacklebolt's capabilities. Press conference to be held at 22:00 by Minister Fudge.

DEADLINE: 5:00 tomorrow morning. TO BE PRINTED 10/24.

@#@#@#@#@#@#@#

This just in ...

The Daily Prophet

Owl # 30046

MEMO: Terry Tollen, Editor

To: Merlina Motsy, Gory Violence Section Editor

October 26, 1996

21:50

LONDON: 11 DEAD. Dubbed Wildford's Revenge by locals at the Leaky Cauldron. At 10:00 this evening, an Auror team led by Robert Wildford attacked four homes of known Death Eaters: Timetrius Travers, Philip Foster, Relonda Baggers, and William Schlessinger. Auror team killed all four Death Eaters, including their spouses. One child was killed during a duel; five more children are now in custody of the Ministry. Two Aurors killed, including Wildford. Sources say that Wildford was of close acquaintance with one of the families killed during the Luton Massacre.

The six Aurors involved are under investigation by the Law Enforcement Department, and are currently placed under house arrest.

DEADLINE: 5:00 tomorrow morning. TO BE PRINTED 10/27. I know you haven't been getting much sleep, dear. Pending that there is no gory violence on the 27^th or 28^th, you will have the 28^th off. However, I must say, I don't believe we've seen the half of it. - TT

July 30, 2002

Evening

I'm not tired. Sigh. I'm not tired.

He was remembering his sister's birthday - with his father and his uncles, and carrying the heavy box through the rain, down the stone steps. His mother was white and translucent, her black gloved hands shaking as she lifted her black veil and with pale blue eyes and pale blue lips kissed pink roses and polished wood. Carrying and carrying until his shoulders ached and his back cramped and he didn't think he could carry the bones and bracelets and blank stare of his sister any longer. I'm not tired.

There were no clouds in the sky as he entered his tent, tossing off his cloak and robe, and wincing as dried blood was torn from wounds on his back.

His wand arm was numb. That had never happened before in a battle.

A beautiful sunset, with reds and purples and a group of League soldiers laughing stiffly a few metres away. It was wrong in every sense of the word. And though Severus Snape should probably have been happy at this moment of history, of justification, of redemption, he felt bitter and cold and confused. And tired.

He was surrounded by children, most of them orphaned. The bloody kids kept accidentally calling him Professor.

And all of his years had led to this day. To this morning. He'd waited for it, craved it, depended on it.

All had been lost in the meantime. All had been sacrificed. And now Severus was an old man with scars and scars, and no one to trace them with fingers or concern or a shaking head.

He sat himself in a chair and began undoing the laces of his boots. He did not look up when Adrian Pucey entered his tent without permission and began speaking in his usual objective tone.

"Sir, Major Malfoy has completed the detainment of the Death Eaters. The Ministry is preparing to collect them as we speak." He handed Snape an envelope labeled with the unmistakable mark of the Resistance.

Snape frowned at the envelope. "Major Malfoy," he muttered with a sneer.

At first, the titles of Officer ranks had been a mere amusement of Dumbledore's - the old wizard had simply begun to call all of them by disgusting Muggle terms. Suddenly, it was, "Would you like a lemon drop, General Snape?" and "What are the Cannons up to these days, Colonel Weasley?" Snape would have been fine with being a general, if the Potter boy hadn't been placed in the same rank of power. And somehow, the rest of the DA had caught on with half amusement, half sincerity. Every time Dumbledore referred to someone as Major or Captain or Colonel, all present immediately took note and followed suit. Upon further research into Muggle rankings, Snape could find no method to Dumbledore's madness. Eventually, he realized that Dumbledore chose whichever rank he thought sounded best with the soldier's last name.

Snape was living in a circus, really, with an old twinkle-eyed nutter as its ringleader.

"Sir?"

Snape blinked. "And Dumbledore?"

"He's yet to awaken, sir. Finnigan says it might be a few hours. There's a Ministry team here. They're beginning the clean up."

"Any sign of Potter?"

"No, sir. Nor of Hermione Granger and Charles Weasley."

Snape set his boots beside his make-shift cot with forced self-control. "Dumbledore decides to take a nap and half the DA elects to split apart at the seams."

"Sir, you should really have those wounds looked at."

Snape stood straight as a man could clothed in bloodied socks and trousers, and stared down the young wizard in front of him. "We're done, Mr. Pucey. Tell Malfoy and Towler to gather all who are able and meet at the Main Tent in the next hour. If Dumbledore does not awaken within the next two hours to counsel us otherwise, we will be traveling to Germany late this evening."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

And he was left alone once again.

I'm not tired. I'm not tired. Snape reached for a fresh robe. He eyed himself in the mirror that hung just above his steel sink, and froze. His face was covered in black and red, the only trace of white left up to his eyes. Hair pulled back in a leather band, lips cracked from thirst and heat and screams. I'm not tired.

He looked almost ... young. Soot covered wrinkles, blood hid the wear of long years. Severus Snape straightened himself, and stared into his own black eyes. And hated them.

He turned away, tore open the envelope Pucey had given him and began to read. As he read, his frown deepened and he began to curse.

"PUCEY!"

The young wizard peeked his head into the tent immediately. "Yes, sir?"

"I thought I told you to talk to Malfoy."

Pucey stepped into the tent and revealed an owl on his right arm. "I thought you'd be needing to Owl the Ministry, sir. For Portkeys." He placed the owl on a perch just by the entrance, ignoring his superior's previous comment and piercing glare.

"I want you get together as many objects as possible that can be used as Portkeys," Snape snapped.

"Already done, sir."

Snape scowled. "Go away."

"Yes, sir." Pucey hid a grin of satisfaction as he left the tent to prepare for the arrival of wizards from the Transportation Department.

Snape looked down at the parchment from the Resistance, then pulled out a blank sheet and a quill. He wrote furiously, wondering how long it would take to get 104 DA soldiers to Waite, Germany without being detected.

"You look different than I remember."

Snape's heart jumped as he turned quickly, wand at the ready.

A woman was standing in the spot that Pucey had just left, her badly dyed red hair falling past her shoulders, her skin pale under Muggle trousers and a white sleeveless shirt. A pair of sunglasses sat atop her head and, if not for the wards set up around the battlefield, Snape would almost have mistaken her for a Muggle. Which really did not help her chances of making it out of his tent without a good tongue lashing.

It was obvious that she'd not participated in the battle. Though her eyes seemed haunted, her expression guarded, and her hair definitely a bit stringy, she seemed to have more energy than any witch or wizard who had been fighting for the last three days.

"Shorter, I think," she said quietly.

"Get out," he snarled before he could stop himself. "PUCEY!" he bellowed. He immediately pulled on his robe and began fastening its front, covering his correspondence with the Resistance with a dusty blanket. "I don't know who let you past the perimeters, madam, but I'm willing to bet it was a League fighter. I am not with the Ministry. And I do not deal with reporters."

"I'm not a journalist," she said heavily, as she watched him gather parchments and stack them on his makeshift desk, making them ready for the briefing. Her fists were clenching and unclenching at her side.

"Is that what you're calling yourselves these days," he sneered, standing to his full height. "If you want a story, go to the Ministry. I'm sure someone's having some sort of avid love affair with a magical beast or other."

"I just wanted to give you this." She held out a small white box. Her fingernails were painted blue. "I'm returning it." Her eyes locked with his, and he knew ...

Her eyes, her pale fists, her pursed, chapped lips. I know you, he thought, and his inner voice was that of an adult speaking to a child. I know that pout. And though his mind could not yet wrap around how, or why he knew her hands and her furrowed brow, why he suddenly felt so dizzy and unsure of himself, he knew that this was somehow important and would have been cherished once.

He took a step back from the stranger. He held out his wand. He sneered.

"Who are you?"

"I am no journalist." She winked at him. "I am marked, as you are." She nodded towards his left arm, then set the box on a chair. "I am sorry to interrupt. I see you've changed ... I guess I ..." She burst into a strange sardonic laugh, her hands grabbing her head. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he heard her muttering.

His mouth was forming a confounded "what?" before she turned to him, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. "Thank you," she said. And then she turned to the exit of his tent, took a step, and paused. With her back to him, she said, "After all that had happened, even after they ...I always remembered you. Out of everything. I remembered you." A glance over her shoulder. "And Him."

And then she was gone.

Snape swallowed once. Twice. His wand was still out, his robe was still left unfastened in front of him. And he stared at the white folds of cloth through which his stranger had disappeared. And he smelled her. Smelled her.

When Pucey entered his tent a second time, Snape was gasping for breath and standing with his eyes staring at the ground, his wand in his shaking hand.

"Sir?"

"Leave me."

"But -"

"I will be there in a few moments, Pucey. Leave me."

"Yes, sir."

Snape brought his eyes to the small white box, and dared himself to think of what it might be. In one decisive move, he stepped towards the chair, lifted the box, and tore off its cover.

And for the second time in Severus Phineas Snape's 43 years of living, he fainted.

End Chapter Two.