Anatomy of Betrayal

ANATOMY OF BETRAYAL

A Consideration

Part Two

"But what is justice if not revenge?" Voldemort asked. "Society's revenge on the enemies of society, those who would disrupt it into anarchy?"

"Yes, Lord," Snape said slowly, clearly organising his thoughts, "but discriminating, disciplined revenge. Society must find the guilty, make sure of their guilt, and then punish them according to their actions. Thus is revenge made justice."

"And justice is what I apply against society itself," Voldemort said quietly. "Society is guilty of all manners of crimes and I intend to punish it according to its actions. I have sure proofs of its guilt," he added with sudden intensity. "I have sure proofs, the surest that wizard or man can have." His eyes blazed in response to Snape's flicker of reaction. "Pay attention," he said sharply. "men is what they call themselves and man I called myself until I was told I was a wizard, far superior to mere men, but far superior than mere wizards because I was forged by men's society at its most guilty."

"So you yourself are the proof of society's guilt... and there are others, a well?"

"You were paying attention, then, my Snape," Voldemort said, relaxing. "Yes, I am one proof of many. You are another and so is your protegé. But Harry Potter is the surest proof any judge would need, don't you think?"

"Lord..."

"I made the worst mistake of my life with the Potter boy. Am I shocking you? Again?"

"Yes, Lord," Snape said, resigned.

"You shield yourself too much against me," the Dark Lord said, smugly. "You prepare against Legilmens and Crucio, and forget I have a brain and intelligence. Give me your thoughts freely on this philosophical matter. We are poised on the brink of great happenings and we will both benefit by pondering on the causes and effects of them."

Snape seemed to have reached a decision. "Let us ponder, then, Lord," he said. "What was your mistake? Trying to kill him?"

Now the gloves are off, and now you tire of deviousness. You put my profession of amity to the test. So brave... and so clever. So exactly where I wanted you.

"Yes, but not as you conceive of it," Voldemort's voice was like silk, cool and smooth. "I should have taken the boy and brought him up as mine. I should have made him mine. Now he's Dumbledore's weapon against me, but I could have made him my weapon against him. I underestimated Dumbledore's understanding of what makes a truly powerful wizard, if not his ruthlessness."

"I do not understand, Lord."

"Don't you?" Voldemort asked, irony curling around his words like a snake. "Then it's clearly my duty to illuminate you. What makes a wizard truly powerful?"

"Power is innate, Lord." Snape said, not quite testily.

"Oh yes," the Dark Lord said, amused. "But few can fully tap into it. Too many lack the motivation to do so. And that motivation, my Snape, is rage. Not anger that can flare and abate," he explained slowly, savouring the words, "not fury that ebbs and leaves one trembling in weakness. Rage that never stops and is fuelled by its own explosions. Rage that's born in injustice, nurtured in pain and humiliation, fed by the absence of love or care. Rage that consumes and tempers souls, that makes them steel, harder than diamonds and more supple than water. Rage that will push all of a wizard so hard and relentlessly that there is no other recourse but to tap into the power and use it."

There was a silence, thick with emotions unexpressed. For the first time, Snape seemed less unsure as he looked into his lord's red eyes. "I, too, live that rage, Lord," he said softly.

Voldemort recollected himself with some difficulty. What a worthy opponent you are, my Snape. That was too near the bone, your passivity serves you well, I said too much. "Maybe," he said, dismissively. "What matters is that young Potter lives it and it has made him very powerful."

"He did beat you at 14, Lord," Snape said dryly.

"Touché," Voldemort said without rancour. "You're right, he did. Isn't Dumbledore the perfect craftsman? By the careful application of abuse and adoration he's created a perfect weapon for his use."

"I see, Lord."

You have thought that already, haven't you? It's rather obvious, after all. And now to the core of the thing, now that you've relaxed a little your perfect control.

"So now think of that everlasting rage turned against you, if the Light should win," Voldemort whispered. It was an obscenely intimate sound in the dark silence and Snape couldn't help shuddering. "Do you delude yourself that betraying me to them will keep you safe, my Snape? The boy loathes you."

"I haven't...!" Snape started, as if from a dream.

"Oh, yes, you have, my Snape." The sibilants cut through the halting words like razors. "Do not deny it, I'm not angry at you for your betrayal. You're a Slytherin, my Snape, I expected nothing else." Voldemort bent toward the Potion Master and added, his voice caressing like a lover: "There was too much blood, too much pain, wasn't there? But my rage demands amends, my Snape. All who tortured me shall pay. All who spurned me shall pay... all but one. You."

At last Snape was openly confused, too shocked to think of his safety, maybe too tired of his life to care anymore. "How?" he asked.

Mine. Voldemort thought, gleefully. Done and undone. Now to push the hook in deeper. "Because you've had Potter in your hands for years, yet no harm came to him. I know you detest the boy, but you won't harm him. Why else than because you're spying for Dumbledore? Why else than because you've espoused the Cause of Light? All those children writing home about their school, all those parents dutifully repeating to me the hundreds of insignificant events that make up a tapestry of truth: how could you hope I wouldn't know what side you think you're really on?"

"Why don't you kill me, then, Lord?" Snape sounded resigned, but his eyes were once again hooded.

Voldemort smiled, brilliantly. "Because you're the nearest thing to a friend I have and the only one of my followers I respect," he said, simply.

Truth kills more than Avada Kedavra. Unexpected truth can win the day when expected lies would only bring defeat. I need you, my Snape, though it's better if you don't know that, and because I need you, I need to win you over. I have no use for retribution, I can use you, even as a spy. Now is the time for the wasp of doubt to lay her eggs into your mind so they can eat it a little at a time.

"When the war is over and I have won, I won't remember your betrayal, if you keep serving me." Voldemort said. "When I rule, you will administer justice and sit at my right hand. Right now you are free not to participate in assaults, free to help your young protégé. I'm granting you real privileges, my Snape, I'm even granting you the freedom to spy for Dumbledore. You understand, of course, you won't be privy to my most important plans, but then, you haven't been for some time."

Voldemort grinned a death's head grin at Snape, whose face and eyes had returned to his customary impassibility.

"I was never motivated by fear or greed, Lord," Snape said quietly.

"No," Voldemort acknowledged easily. "But do you think justice will reign in Potter's hands, should he win this war and annihilate me? Is the boy just and fair now?"

"No," the Potion Master admitted sourly, "but he's very young and he may learn."

"How?" The Dark Lord asked. A hit! A hit! A palpable hit! "All he's been taught is arrogance, hatred and prejudice. Those who adore him and approve of his every word and act are Good, those who don't are evil. Is this justice? Will he remember that you never harmed him, that you protected him, that you were tortured for him, that you risked your life for him? Will he learn from you? No," he said abruptly. "Don't answer. What's the use of airing your hopes? You know as well as I do that's all they can be. Hopes, founded on nothing but dreams."

"As you wish, Lord."

"I wish you think about such things, my Snape," Voldemort said. "I wish you think of the fate of your Slytherins in Potter's hands, should he win; to think of the fate of young Malfoy; to think of the fate of the world. Is a young tyrant better or worse than an old political one? Think about it. It's all I ask."

"I will, Lord," Snape said.

Yes, you will, you can't help it now the seed is sown and the wasp has laid her lethal eggs. You can envision sacrificing yourself, maybe, you're brave enough for that; but allowing the ruin of all you hold dear should make you reconsider your options. Dumbledore is as good as dead, that weak boy is clever enough to allow Fenrir access to Hogwarts and Narcissa... If Bellatrix manages not to anger her, Narcissa will force you into helping, I'm sure. With Dumbledore dead, who can control Potter? You'll like what he'll do even less than you do now. You'll come back to me, my Snape. And this time I'll have your heart and soul. I never let what's mine go, you should know that, my Snape. Never.

"You can go, my Snape," Voldemort said softly. "It's been a pleasant conversation, hasn't it?"

"Yes, Lord," Snape said. He got up and walked out of the room slowly, head bowed in thought.

THE END