Road to Hell

Road to Hell

"No one can go on being a rebel too long without turning into an autocrat."

-- Lawrence Durrell, Balthazar

He sees in their hearts the desire to be children again, and he knows it is his fault it has come to this. So many times when he could have spoken the truth--so many times when he should have spoken the truth--and yet it was always so easy to let them be children just a little longer.

Harry still does not blame him enough, but there are plenty of others who make up for that lack. Remus Lupin has a broken look in his eyes now, but when they meet his, a smouldering rage is kindled to life. Severus has always deferred to his authority, but his sarcasm, usually somewhat tempered in this room, has become poisonous. Even Molly Weasley, bless her overlarge and possessive heart, no longer has quite the smile for him that she used.

He gazes around at them, wishing Harry did not have to be here, wishing he did not have to separate Harry from Ronald and Hermione. Knowing it is his fault.

Hagrid still cherishes blind faith, it is true, but Hagrid is unwilling to see faults in others--be they wizard, witch, or beast. Hagrid will never condemn him, would not condemn him if he seized Fudge's position, even if he were to raise himself up in Voldemort's stead.

The old man sighs. It is, he supposes, a blessing, to have one friend so blinded by love and trust that he would not see the dagger if you pressed it to his heart.

He feels the weight of his years tonight, and he knows it will only grow worse. It has been growing worse, in fact, since Harry's third year--since he realized he had made such a horrific error in judgment as to cast doubt on all his other decisions. His shoulders are bowed under the weight of the mistakes he has made, his head bowed under the weight of the lives that has cost. First Cedric...

But no, that is beginning too late. First Lily and James Potter, Alice and Frank Longbottom, Sirius Black, Narcissa Black, Marlene McKinnon, Benjy Fenwick, Edgar Bones, Caradoc Dearborn, Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, Dorcas Meadowes. Even Peter and Remus and Severus, because their lives were all changed and ruined by his mistakes, were they not? And now this generation, too, is suffering at Voldemort's hands, because of his mistakes. Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang, who still mourns him. Harry, who has lost another parent in Sirius. Remus, who has lost a brother. Even Snape, who has lost something in losing Black.

And then there are the casualties unknown, perhaps, to any save him. Thirteen years of Sirius' life lost, because he kept silent the fact that James had decided on another Secret Keeper; another two years spent on the run or in friendly captivity. Neville's confidence, popularity, and competence, sacrificed because he allowed Neville to use his father's wand instead of having Ollivander fit him with one. Draco Malfoy's innocence, surrendered because he did not trust Lucius' son to have the brains or courage to depart from his father's lifestyle. Broderick Bode, manipulated by the Death Eaters. Sturgis Podmore, arrested and sent to Azkaban. Even young Quirrell, subverted and murdered by Voldemort, could perhaps have been saved.

He sighs and puts a hand to his face, long, nimble fingers rubbing his temple. He has always been motivated by wanting what was best--but perhaps there comes a time when one man's judgment cannot be trusted. He has told Harry the truth, but even now he has not told him the entire truth, and this knowledge weighs on him, chilling him to the bone. Yes, Harry, you must become a murderer. Yes, it is for the good of the Wizarding world. Yes, your innocence, your goodness, your idealism, must be a fair exchange for so many lives. Yes, I expect you to sacrifice yourself for people who have been fickle friends to you. Yes, I expect you to do what I could not. Yes, I expect you to perform my dirty work for me, just as so many before you have done.

Severus often claims to be his penance, with words chosen carefully to wound. He knows it is true, that he has sheltered Severus because there have been so many he could not shelter. He knows it is not enough, that sending Severus again and again into Voldemort's grasp negates any good he might be doing for him. He knows that he has sacrificed some of his own goodness to use Severus so cruelly. He knows he should consider it an even exchange. He knows that, as a great man once said, self-sacrifice makes it easier to sacrifice others without blushing. He knows that his tower office and the faith of the school and the Order signify that he has not sacrificed himself enough. He knows that he can never sacrifice himself enough.

He knows he has not lost Harry's faith. He knows that when he has lost Harry's faith, it will be too late.

He has brought them together tonight. They are assembled in a half-circle, surveying him with veiled thoughts. He has already kept them waiting. He must tell them something.

The old man feels the terrible nature of his guilt, and knows he has come too far now. He cannot turn back from this course. He cannot admit to them his errors in judgment. Already their wall of trust is beginning to crack; with some it is no more than a mere façade. But he cannot yield. He has accepted his guilt, and he will carry it until the end of his days, but he will not admit it. If he did, they would fall away, one by one or in droves, but he would lose them, and then they would lose the war, and no matter what his mistakes, he knows he is the best hope still for the Wizarding world.

He opens his mouth to speak, knowing he is taking another, damning, step.

That is rather enough to be going on with.