Severus: A Portrait of the Potions Master as a Young Man

A Portrait of the Potions Master as a Young Man

By Daphne Dunham

Chapter 17: The (Subtle Science and Exact) Art of Espionage

* * * * *

"We cannot have Voldemort finding your weaknesses and exploiting them to hurt you further," Dumbledore told him, peering seriously over the rims of his half-moon glasses. "Nor, of course, can we risk that he may be able to find a memory or secret that could destroy the Order."

The sallow-skinned young man nodded in agreement as the headmaster stared intently at him. On the desk between them was the parchment Severus had presented him with only moments before, the hastily scribbled list of the damned few whom he had been able to name in connection with the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had seemed rather surprised when Severus had given the list to him. Perhaps, he mused, the headmaster had half-expected him to revoke his offer to spy; perhaps Severus had surprised even himself with taking this first step into the realm of traitorousness. One thing, though, was perfectly apparent now: with that list in Dumbledore's hands, there was no turning back for Severus Snape.

"I must insist, therefore, that we take some precautionary measures before permitting you to return to the presence of the Death Eaters," the headmaster continued.

"And what precautionary measures are those?" Severus asked.

Dumbledore's answer was so obvious it had almost pained Severus to think that he had not conceived of it first, on his own. "Occlumency, naturally," the headmaster explained. "It will prove integral to your survival as a spy. It is a complex and nearly forgotten branch of magic, one that takes only the most serious of minds to master. However, we are fortunate that, due to some rather unpleasant events in your adolescence, you are already familiar with its basic tenets."

A slight flush rose in Severus' cheeks at Dumbledore's allusion to his final year at Hogwarts and the afternoon he had wielded a series of near-lethal Bruising Hexes against James Potter. He had resented the headmaster for leaving him the Occlumency text that afternoon to help him learn to contain his emotions, and as a result the volume had spent far more time collecting dust on his bookshelf than Dumbledore may have hoped. Nonetheless, Severus had grudgingly admitted the usefulness of such skills, and curiosity had drawn him to the book sporadically over the years - at times like the murder of Regulus Black, for instance, and the days following Evan Rosier's drowning. Even his dabbling in Occlumency had proven indispensable then, as it undoubtedly would now.

"Yes, yes, I suppose I am," Severus said slowly. He wasn't certain whether or not the headmaster had meant his words as a question, but given how precarious matters were, he thought it perhaps best to be as direct and honest as possible; his life, such as it was, depended on it.

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to nod. "Excellent," he replied, although his tone was pensive and his eyes all the more serious. "Shall we test your skills then?"

In the past, Severus had had his suspicions that the headmaster had been probing his mind, using Legilimency to test the boundaries of his emotions, but those experiences had not been able to prepare him for the deluge of feelings and flashes of memory coursing through him at the headmaster's intrusion into his mind. He saw his father bullying his mother the night they fled to Tuscany... then there was the look of Circe Snape's face as she cried out to him in those final moments before she was taken away to Azkaban... and James - James bloody Potter - hexing him during his Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T., driving him to the brink of committing himself to the Dark Lord... the same Dark Lord who was now muttering a grim Morsmordre and pressing his wand to Severus' left forearm...

But it was Jane that finally broke him. Severus saw her so clearly that he could have sworn she was there beside him. He was tugging on her curls at one of Madeleine Swizzle's holiday parties when they were five... then she was dabbing his broken, bloodied lip with wound healing potion after a run-in with Darius... there was the hurt in her eyes as he snarled at her, telling her that he didn't want their baby... and suddenly she was smiling as he, curious, brought his hands to the swell in her womb, feeling the baby kick within. It was because of Jane that Severus was here - because he had seen her ripped from life in the most cruel and violent of fashions, because she would never be the mother to that baby she had loved so well, because a piece of him would always feel responsible for the events that lead to her murder. And so Severus rebelled, the flickers of Jane inciting him.

He supposed in retrospect that he must have reached for the wand buried within his robes, although he knew he didn't use it. Instead, Severus used his mind, repelling the headmaster's invasion with his will. He summoned his anger, his disillusionment, his pain, and used them to stopper the bottles of his vulnerabilities. Locking his emotions behind such tight wards was a defense mechanism he'd practised out of necessity as a child, and so it came naturally to him now to do the same. Indeed, by the time Severus opened his eyes again, he saw Dumbledore, slightly out of breath and fingers clutching the edge of his desk, before him. He had been successful.

"Well done, Mr. Snape," the headmaster said, straightening his robes. "Much better than I expected, and I expected great things."

Had circumstances been slightly less dire, Severus was certain that Dumbledore's compliment would have brought a spark of warmth to his heart. Unlike James Potter, Severus mused darkly, he had never openly received praise from the headmaster over the years, only lectures and punishments, as kindly given and well-intentioned as they may have been.

"We must, however, refine your technique," Dumbledore continued. "You repel me with your rage. If you confront hatred with hatred, you will only ultimately succeed in making yourself more vulnerable to the Dark Lord. He will feed on your anger and draw you in once again."

"Then how do I defend myself, Headmaster?" Severus asked, a scowl forming at the corners of his mouth.

"You must be more subtle. Defend yourself by clearing your mind. What is needed is not anger but the absence of anger - the absence of all emotion. Now, let's try again, shall we? And concentrate," Dumbledore urged. "Clear your mind."

Closing his eyes, Severus tried to drain the memories from his mind. Distancing himself from the pain which had motivated him for so long was easier said than done, though, and within moments of Dumbledore's intrusion, he felt himself weakening. Before he could censor himself, the flashes of feeling tumbled forth once again. This time it was Darius turning the Bruising Curse on him rather than on Zoe... and Sirius grinding his face in the dirt while he called him Snivellus... followed by Evan Rosier boasting about having shagged Florence Feather. Then Jane resurfaced. She was standing on tip-toe to kiss him in the stacks... next was her voice as she recited her vows to him at their hand fasting... and there was the atypical pallor in her cheeks and the way she struggled to recognise him as he held her dying body in his arms.

In an instant, Severus' fury returned, and it did not subside until the headmaster was once again left expelled and gasping for breath. Collapsing back in his chair, the younger wizard raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's. He had expected to find the headmaster scowling reproachfully at him for his apparent lack of effort in resorting to his anger to defend himself, and an apology was already forming on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," Severus faltered.

Dumbledore, however, wore a kind face, one filled with sympathy and warmth. He nodded patiently, his eyes twinkling sadly. "Perhaps it is too soon," he said quietly. "Jane is too recent and significant a wound, perhaps..."

Severus' brow creased with yet more determination at the mention of his wife's name. He was doing this because of her, for her. He would not allow Dumbledore to give up on him; he had to persevere. For Jane. "No," he protested quickly. "I'll try harder, Headmaster. I must do this."

A smile played at the corners of the headmaster's lips. He'd known Severus long enough to expect this response from him, to anticipate the renewed fervor with which he would subsequently pursue his goals. Severus had, after all, always been very determined - determined almost to a fault. Thus, with a slight nod of his head, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Let's try again now, then, shall we?" he said.

* * * * *

Even years later, Severus was never completely certain why the Dark Lord had done it - whether it was pity related to Jane's death or simply the fact that his potions stores had not run low enough for him to require the hook-nosed young wizard's services. Either way, weeks had passed before Severus once again felt a familiar throbbing in his left forearm, summoning him to the presence of his one-time master, now his covert enemy.

Dumbledore had been worried. He'd stroked his chin through his silvery beard and peered over the rims of his glasses with his usual intensity when Severus told him that his Mark was burning again.

"I must caution you, Severus, that I have been gentle with you in regards to Legilimency, but I doubt Voldemort will be," Dumbledore had warned. "If he comes to question your motives, he will probe your mind without the care that I have taken with you. He will be ruthless, and I fear that you may not yet be ready to use Occlumency to defend yourself from such an attack. As such, you must take great care not to provoke him into suspecting the change in your loyalties."

Severus paled. "I understand," he assured the headmaster, although his voice was somewhat hoarse with the horror of it. "You mean that I must still fulfill my Death Eater duties. You mean for me to continue to kill and to kiss the Dark Lord's feet, to wallow in servitude and pretend that the beasts who murdered my wife are my brethren."

"It is the only way, Severus," Dumbledore replied softly, sympathetically. He did not relish the knowledge that the hook-nosed young man before him was forced to continue to do the Dark Lord's bidding any more than he did, but it was inevitable. Severus' life and any success they may have in foiling the Death Eaters depended on it.

There were hurried meetings with the headmaster to follow, anxious weekly exchanges of Occlumency lessons and reports on the Dark Lord. With the Ministry monitoring floos and owls intercepted on a near-daily basis by Death Eaters, Severus had no choice but to meet Dumbledore in places unlikely to be visited by wizards - in Muggle shops and pubs, on the outskirts of the Dark Forest. Severus told the headmaster about everything he had discerned from lingering in corridors and trying to gather even the subtlest of meanings from each word uttered by the Dark Lord and the likes of the Malfoys and Lestranges and even Darius Snape.

Indeed, Severus listened to them all. He listened for hints of who among them may have killed Jane and for anything that may be of help to the Order. One week, it was spies in the Ministry; then it was the brewing of more poisons, who Severus suspected would be using them, and who he thought would be dying by them. For months now, there were increased murmurings about the Dark Lord planning an offensive. The details were often hazy, but something huge and horrible was on the horizon, of that much Severus was certain.

As to be expected, there had been moments when Severus wondered if the Dark Lord suspected him. There were times when, as he laboured over his mortar and pestle, grinding scarab beetles or making a pulp of hellebore, that the Dark Lord would pause and watch him with added interest. Severus would raise his gaze to his master then, his Occlumens' eyes fathomless, blank, hollow tunnels, devoid of emotion.

"My Lord?" he would question.

The Dark Lord would hesitate a moment, perhaps surveying the hook-nosed young man with the aid of Legilimency. Then, satisfied, his stare would turn less piercing, less dangerous. "Your work pleases me, Snape," he would reply, although his tone was far from kind. "Perhaps I have been underutilizing your talents."

The promise of taking a more prominent role amongst the Death Eaters sickened Severus. Nonetheless, he would feign pleasure at the Dark Lord's recognition of his abilities. "My Lord is generous with his praise," he would say. Then he would watch, never retreating from the protection of Occlumency, as the Dark Lord would turn and proceed down the corridor.

It was always the same exchange - or a similar one, at least - and over time, it became clear that if the Dark Lord did doubt Severus, he was uncertain enough not to take action. In this way, Severus Snape slowly came to master the subtle science and exact art that was espionage.

* * * * *

Just because Severus had become increasingly adept at Occlumency did not mean that he was invincible to hardship. There were times when, for instance, Occlumency could do nothing to save him. When such a moment arrived, Severus found himself not at the mercy of the Dark Lord or even at that of another Death Eater; he found himself at the mercy of Ministry law instead.

In retrospect, Severus understood how incriminating it looked, him present at the scene of the crime, at the murder of his childhood nemesis' parents. However, as Severus would later explain to Dumbledore, he hadn't known about the raid in advance. Despite the promises of the Dark Lord, he had not risen far enough in the ranks of the Death Eaters to have access to such classified information. If he had known, he would not have hesitated to tell the headmaster despite his personal feelings. After all, Severus Snape may have been many things dark and vile and cruel, but he was no hypocrite; he may have resented the fact that he owed James Potter a life debt, but he respected such an obligation nonetheless. Slaughtering Potter's parents - because that was, in truth, what it ultimately was - that night was unthinkable.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Hogsmeade had been resplendent that night, as it usually was when the Halloween season approached. There were decorations of live bats, black and orange streamers in windows, and jack-o-lanterns almost as large as the houses themselves were. However, there was no time to admire such decorations. Due to the sensitive nature of their task, they'd had to be particularly quick and stealthy as they'd crept through the sleeping village, towards the stone cottage on the outskirts. Lucius Malfoy had been particularly irritable that night. When Richard Nott had asked who they were after this time, he'd hissed at him to shut up and curtly reminded him that it would be wise not to question the will or workings of the Dark Lord.

"But why are we here?" Nott had foolishly persisted. "What are we after?"

"Let me worry about such details," Malfoy had snapped. Like most other members of his family, he was unaccustomed to being second-guessed and clearly did not appreciate Nott's impertinence. "They don't concern you, anyhow. All you need to do is keep quiet and obey my instruction."

Unlike Nott, Severus was slightly more subtle and far more observant. He hadn't needed to inquire after the identities of their victims; the photographs on the fireplace mantle told him precisely who they were. As Malfoy and Nott headed upstairs, Severus paused, drawn by the familiar smiling faces and waving hands in the pictures. James Potter, age 11, standing on Platform 9 ¾ just as Severus remembered him: Snitch in hand and a cocky smile on his face. A man stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder. It was the same man Severus had seen ruffling James' hair; it was his father. Next to that was another photograph: a younger version of the elder Potter, holding hands with a slender woman with a kind smile - the woman who would become James' mother. The mantle was laden with similar images. James. James. Mr. and Mrs. Potter and James. Lily and James. Lily, James, and a dark-hair infant. More Mr. and Mrs. Potter.

Severus felt as though he had just jerked his eyes open from a terrible nightmare. He stood there, dumbfounded, feet frozen in horror to the carpet as it occurred to him that he was standing in the home of James' parents - George and Elizabeth Potter, as they were known in their circle of friends. However, not only was Severus in their home, but the screams and pleas for mercy emanating from upstairs, where Malfoy had already begun his interrogations, were theirs.

"Why?! Why are you doing this?" Elizabeth Potter was shrieking.

Her question was followed by a cry of pain and her husband's protests, but still, Malfoy provided no explanation as to why they were there. Instead, he and Nott shared cruel laughter at the expense of their victims, a laughter which doubled as, following the muttering of another incantation, George Potter presently joined in his wife's wails of agony. However Malfoy and Nott were tormenting the Potters, it sounded most certainly lethal.

When it arrived, the end was abrupt. Severus had just reached the stop of the stairs when everything - the screaming, the laughter, the hexing - came to sudden stop. In their stead, a stream of profanity and the scuffing of the floor as heavy boots hurried across it followed.

"Bollocks!" he heard Malfoy hissing. "Squealing like a bloody pig, waking up the whole damned village!"

Brow furrowed in confusion, Severus burst into the bedroom to his left in time to encounter a panicked Nott and Malfoy trying to claw their way past him.

"They're coming, Snape, we have to go!" Nott shouted at him as he started down the nearby stairs.

Peering around the dimly lit room, Severus glanced out the window. It was there that he saw the cause of their hasty departure. In the distance, there were lanterns and the illuminated tips of wands bobbing through the darkness, winding down the street, making their way purposefully towards the cottage. Indeed, someone was coming - several people were coming, actually.

"It'll be Aurors, Snape, now come on!" Nott called back over his shoulder. "Someone must've heard us!"

But Severus, transfixed, didn't budge. At his feet, beside the very bed where they had been resting peacefully less than a mere half hour ago, he saw the bodies. The candlelight cast a ghostly glow on the crumpled corpse of Elizabeth Potter as he crouched beside her. Hair tangled and nightgown torn, she was lying, face down on the ground, blood oozing from her mouth, forming a puddle on the carpet beneath her. Beside her was George Potter's lifeless form, a form that so greatly resembled an older version of James Potter that Severus had to consciously remind himself that, as much as he may have once rejoiced at the prospect of it being his, the body didn't actually belong to his childhood adversary.

There was more than one way to kill a wizard. While a simple Killing Curse might have sufficed, it was apparently too traditional a method for the likes of Lucius Malfoy and Richard Nott. By the bruises on Elizabeth Potter's bare legs and the gush of blood from both the Potters' mouths, Severus could guess what their fates had been. He had, after all, seen it done before to countless Muggles and blood traitors. In the brief period of time that had elapsed, Malfoy had tortured the Potters, had slowly burst their internal organs one by one with a mere flick of his aristocratic wrist. He'd started with the liver, perhaps, or a kidney. Next may have been a lung - maybe he eventually burst both. Even if Malfoy had stopped here, the Potters would have suffocated or bled to death in time. But he hadn't stopped here; he couldn't have stopped here. Malfoy must have burst their hearts in those last desperate moments when Nott spotted the crowd approaching. It was the only way to cause instant death and would have been the final fatal blow to bring about the Potters' sudden silence.

The pain the Potters must have experienced was too ghastly to imagine, and the perverseness of the one capable of inflicting such a death was too profound to comprehend. Severus was still reeling from it as he reached up towards the bed and pulled a sheet from it. He had only just managed to finish covering the Potters' bodies with the linen when a great commotion could be heard entering the cottage downstairs. Bellowing and stomping and raging filled the house.

"Check upstairs; maybe they're still here!" a man was shouting.

"They can't have gotten far - even if they managed to escape!" another was saying.

Doors were slamming; boots were pounding on the stairs. There were many of them - five or six burly, armed wizards, by the sounds of it, each one of them hunting down the intruders responsible for the commotion at the Potter cottage. They were sent by the Ministry, no doubt. Maybe, as Nott had predicted, there were even Aurors among them. They moved swiftly through the house, and the moments passed by so quickly that Severus was only faintly aware of consciously thinking that he was caught at last, that this was the end of him, that this was prison... or worse.

In the next instant, the Potters' bedroom door swung open, banging unceremoniously against the wall.

"Turn around with your hands up where I can see them," a surly voice commanded behind him.

Severus fell still at once, his heart jolting to a sudden stop. The hook-nosed young man didn't have to stretch his imagination to understand how dire his situation was: Malfoy and Nott must have Apparated back to London by now, and he'd been found alone, standing over two corpses - corpses of a witch and a wizard from the bloodline that he openly loathed the most in all the wizarding world, no less. He could not have imagined a more damning set of circumstances for himself to be found in if he tried.

Slowly, Severus complied with the demands of the wizard behind him. Dropping his wand, he turned to face his captor, but even before he lifted his eyes to see who it was who had caught him, a part of him already knew he'd find himself face-to-face with the grizzled countenance, mangled nose, and eerie eye of the Auror who had recently warned him that Dumbledore couldn't protect him from the Ministry forever.

"I swore to you that before this war was over, I'd see you in Azkaban, Mr. Snape," Alastor Moody growled. "And today seems to be that day."

* * * * *

There had been no point trying to resist Moody as he arrested him. After all, Severus knew only too well what happened to reluctant Death Eaters when they were cornered by the Ministry. Evan Rosier, for instance, had died trying to escape, and rumour had it that trials were no longer guaranteed to presumed servants of the Dark Lord; the fact that Igor Karkaroff was still awaiting to testify on his own behalf before the Wizengamot was testament of this fact.

It was straight to Azkaban for Severus; no stopping at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to await arraignment or even a trial. The prison loomed before him, a towering fortress of stone and screams and sorrow. For clarity's sake, Moody had reiterated the charges as he turned him over to the prison warden: thirteen counts of brewing and distributing illegal toxic substances, accomplice to the murder of Regulus Black, aiding the fugitive Evan Rosier, and the murder of George and Elizabeth Potter. The warden, a short wizard who perpetually looked as though he had just tasted a lemon, had grinned cruelly as he looked from Moody to Severus.

"More Death Eater filth, eh?" he sneered, his lips curling over two rows of cracked and discoloured teeth. "You ain't ever seeing the light of day again."

Winding through the narrow, drafty corridors of the prison, Severus kept his eyes forward, cast down to the dusty, dirty ground. Around him, the scenes were too bleak. The walls were lined with cells, their inhabitants moaning, weeping, screaming. Some were curled in fetal positions or sat rocking back and forth maniacally on the flimsy mattresses that served as their beds; others reached out through the bars, so desperate for human contact that they clawed at his robes. The warden spewed profanity at them and beat their emerging hands with the baton that swayed from a belt around his waist, only adding to the noise and general confusion of the prison. Considering the chaos around them, Severus found it rather remarkable that the cries of one prisoner in particular drew his attention.

"Severus?!" cried a familiar woman's voice to his right.

Startled at the mention of his name, Severus jerked his head to see who it was who had called him. His heart stopped beating in his chest when his eyes locked with those of the speaker.

It was his mother.

Severus hadn't seen Circe Lestrange Snape since he was seven years old and she had been sentenced to Azkaban for kidnapping him, but he was sure it was her. As to be expected, fourteen years in Azkaban had been cruel to her. Her hair was no longer soft and shiny but lank and dull; her eyes no longer glistened but were lifeless, and the pretty pink hue in her cheeks had faded to an ashen grey. She looked especially frail in the rags of her Azkaban prison clothes, but the shell of the woman she had once been was unmistakable.

"Mum!" Severus choked in astonishment, pausing to look at her in disbelief.

There was pain and confusion in Circe's eyes as she looked upon the son she would not have recognised if not for his overwhelming physical resemblance to his father. "Severus," she whispered desperately, reaching her hands through the iron bars that separated them to brush his shoulder affectionately, "oh, love, what you have done?!"

Severus faltered, instantly ashamed of himself under his mother's gaze. How could he possibly explain to her everything that he had become and done that lead to this moment? The years had been too painful, and there was too much to tell - everything from Darius to James Potter to the Dark Lord to Jane. Circe had tried so hard to prevent him from such a fate, and she paid the price for her efforts to this day, but Severus had failed her, had made a mockery of sacrifice, and he hated himself for it.

There was no time for Severus to give his mother any sort of reply, however, as he was promptly prodded by the warden to keep moving. He felt Circe's gaze following him, though, felt her eyes boring in him with horror and disappointment and pity and love as he walked away. At once, he felt like the awkward child he had been, eager to please her and quick to feel guilt when she scolded him for sneaking into his father's library or experimenting with potions on the house elf. His mother had seen him; she knew he was in Azkaban, and he doubted it would take her long to figure out why he was here.

Severus hung his head in self-loathing.

* * * * *