Lesson Learned

I am well acquainted with fear.

It is the first emotion I discovered, although hate came soon after. My first memories are not of my father rubbing his scratchy beard against my cheek, but of his alcoholic rages. I learned quickly to hide whenever I saw him drinking. In a strange parallel to the Boy Who Lived, I spent much of my life before Hogwarts in cupboards.

At school, four boys made sure my life remained hell. I was hunted down in corridors, publicly humiliated, cursed without warning, and almost murdered. I had no friends to protect me, and I wished for none. I trusted no one. I hated them all because I feared them all.

I wanted revenge upon the world that seemed to hate me so. I joined Lord Voldemort, partially out of selfish fear for my own life, above all to gain the power to make others afraid of me. I did not dream I would face such horrors as I did, but I believed my revulsion to be cowardly fear; I carried on in His service.

I finally left the Dark Lord. Heroic? No, even this was motivated by fear: Hating Potter is one thing, but sending him to his death is quite another. When I learned what terrible evil I had done, I was afraid of what I had become. With nowhere else to turn, I appealed to Albus Dumbledore's mercy. The great man extended his forgiveness, understanding, protection, and a job - much more than I deserved.

Thereafter I was only afraid of the darkness within myself. I harbored a secret fascination of the Dark Arts and longed to teach the subject; Dumbledore wisely guarded me from my own folly. However, my fear increased tenfold when Potter brought news of the Dark Lord regaining his body. I was deeply afraid that my weakness would allow me to be tempted back to Voldemort's side. Still I did as Dumbledore asked, and removed my Death Eater robes from the closet.

This past year, I have been afraid as never before. I feared what Lucius's son, who faced dark choices that I knew too well, might do. I feared for Dumbledore. However, this fear was markedly different: For the first time, I was not afraid of someone, but for someone. When I made the Unbreakable Vow, I fully expected to break it and die. Dumbledore held another view of the matter; he forced me to promise to kill him, should he ask. He believed my position as spy to be more valuable than his life. Try as I might, I could not disillusion him of this idea.

My mad dash to Dumbledore after Filius woke me left my heart pounding; yet the scene I laid eyes upon made my heart stop. I stood in disbelief, unsure what to do, until I heard Dumbledore speak.

"Severus..."

Unwillingly, I understood. I walked over to him, despising the desperation I saw in the face of the only man who made me give a damn. Terror dropped an anchor into my stomach and rooted me to the spot as I looked into the eyes that, for once, held no twinkle.

"Severus...please..."

Utterly repulsed by the deed, I could not break my word to the only man who ever believed in it. I closed my mind and lifted my wand to kill the greatest wizard I have ever known.

Fear has motivated and controlled my entire life. I am astonished to discover that I feel none now, apparating with Draco back to Lord Voldemort's side. I doubt there is room for fear when my whole being seethes with shame. Now I have something else in common with Potter: his hatred for me matches only my own. I suppose I have nothing left to be afraid of because I have nothing left to care about - certainly no concern for myself. I will devote myself to bringing down the Dark Lord wholeheartedly; for the first time, no fear will hold me back.

It is the least I can do in his memory.

Severus Snape knelt at the Dark Lord's feet. Draco Malfoy stood apart, white and shaking, terrified gray eyes glued to Voldemort's eager red ones.

"Is the old man dead?" demanded Voldemort.

"Yes, My Lord. I have killed him," he answered, and when Voldemort laughed, Severus smiled.