A Road Less Traveled

"Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there's still time to change the road you're on." -Led Zeppelin "Stairway to Heaven"

***

As door of the small house was wrenched open and subsequently slammed shut, the blocky head of Peter Pettigrew jerked up out of his stupor from the aging arm chair. He tried to suppress a surprised yawn as the hooded figures of Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy strode through the living room of the residence on Spinner's End.

"Get a fire going, Wormtail!" snarled Snape.

"Nice to see you, too..." Pettigrew said softly. Clearing his throat, he continued more loudly with mock respect. "Ummm...it's June. Is a fire really appropriate, sir?"

One look from the blazing black eyes from under the hood of the cloak was all it took for Pettigrew to jump like a scalded dog and collect some firewood. Pettigrew already gathered that from just the few months last summer that the pair had shared this hovel, Snape still enjoyed an occasional Muggle creature comfort like a wood fire.

For the moment, Snape ignored the blond teenager beside him busy scowling at his surroundings and the short man irritably lighting the logs inside the stone fireplace. He sank down into the now vacant chair and exhaled slowly as he removed the hood. His lungs and throat burned from smoke inhalation from the fire that had probably now consumed Hagrid's hut, but he found that the flames that were starting to slowly lick the sides of the wood vaguely comforting despite increasingly feeling that deep, sickening sense of dread. The type that starts in the upper chest and sinks slowly down into the lower rib cage until it settles in the pit of the stomach and bowels like ice cold lead. As one who prided himself on being a master of his environment, this feeling had seldom crept up on him. Only a few times before...he thought as he watched the flames. It was coming back to him.

"Severus, you know what I musk ask you to do. If you are ready...if you are prepared..."

The words of the headmaster had echoed in his head repeatedly as Snape had rushed from the hospital wing to the Pensieve to dump any potentially damning memories from the thirteen years he had been with a different master, a second master. Attempting to curb his mounting sense of panic as he readied himself mentally, Snape oddly mused at the difference between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Both were both absolutely brilliant and ruthlessly meticulous in their own right, but it was Dumbledore who showed Snape mercy and forgiveness even in his seemingly unforgiveable mistakes. While they certainly did not see eye to eye on everything, Snape respected the old man and his leadership in his own way.

With the memories now safely stored, Snape closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths so that he could compartmentalize and shut down his emotions so the needed Occlumency he would have to project to the Dark Lord would appear seamless. As he exhaled slowly, he opened his eyes and also felt most of the panic had dissipated. His face now set deadpan as usual after leaving the castle, he began to stride purposefully to the moonlit grounds where it would soon be possible to Apparate.

Once he arrived in a spot just off the grounds, he tried to put aside thoughts of how furious the Dark Lord would be after Potter escaped and concentrated on the ramshackle old house where he suspected the remaining Death Eaters and the Dark Lord had reconvened. The fury of the Dark Lord was something to behold, as long as you were not involved. It's not too late to turn back...plead with Dumbledore to find another way, he thought for a moment before swearing violently but silently in the dark. It would never work, even if the headmaster came up with another plan. The meeting with the old master was as inevitable as fate itself. With a crack, he left the safety of Hogwarts.

After being in a state of neglect for over a decade--save for the occasional efforts of the now dead caretaker Frank Bryce--the darkened old Riddle house itself seemed to protest audibly as Snape ascended the rotting wood steps after Disapparating. After pausing a moment at the entrance about whether to knock first or simply enter, the door evidently decided for him and slowly creaked open seemingly of its own accord. As he stepped across the threshold into the house, the door slammed shut. Despite having a preference for the dark and cramped places like the Hogwarts dungeon that would make even the bravest Gryffindor claustrophobic, even Snape wondered for a moment if he could spare a bit of light as he was becoming more and more unnerved the further down the hallway he traveled. After drawing his wand but before he could mutter Lumos, another uttered it for him. Temporarily blinded, Snape peered into the darkness past the lit wand to its owner.

"Oh, the turncoat...I expect he is waiting for you, Severus. One does not keep the Dark Lord waiting," drawled a haughty voice.

Black eyes now adjusting to the light, he caught sight of Lucius Malfoy's face framed by uncharacteristically disheveled blond hair. The two men stared at each other. Snape's lips managed to form what he hoped was his trademark sneer while Lucius' pale cold eyes bored into him.

"No worries, Lucius, my friend. Just a bit delayed," said Snape as nonchalantly as he could.

"Consider it a tribute to our friendship then that you were not killed on sight," returned Malfoy tersely as he turned on his heel and lead the way up the groaning stairs with Snape behind him.

Malfoy knocked tentatively at the door at the top of the stairs and paused to listen for a moment. Without another word, he entered the room and shut the door behind him. Left in the hallway by himself for a few moments, Snape closed his eyes and fought to keep his breathing under control as he knew he must have his wits about him. A few seconds later, Malfoy emerged and nodded to Snape, who took it as a sign to enter. He saw Peter Pettigrew, the loathsome little parody of a man, standing next a highback arm chair facing a fireplace on the opposite wall.

"Leave us."

The high, cold voice echoed slightly off the wood floors of the dark, bare room. Snape saw Malfoy exchange a significant look with Pettigrew but the two left without comment and shut the door. A dark hooded shape burst from the chair and shoved it out of the way. Even before Snape could discern the shape in the outline of the fire, adrenaline had started to flow. He knew what was coming, as all Death Eaters do.

"CRUCIO!"

Snape's body hit the ground almost instantly. Nothing, not even past torture curses the Dark Lord had inflicted for mistakes, compared to this. At first, he tried to crawl, but the ungodly pain was such that he tore his fingernails to the quick on the wood floor boards. Somewhere, seemingly far away, someone was screaming. He wished for the cacophony to stop as the sound was exploding inside his head and causing almost as much pain as the rest of the curse. When he finally realized the screams were his own, he slid out of consciousness.