As The Seasons Decay

Snape saw the road to Hogsmeade in front of him shimmer and fade into darkness. A few moments later, he was thrown violently to the hard, damp ground. So. Somewhere where it had recently rained, and rather rocky. Sitting up and looking around would certainly help, but he had no means to decipher what mood his `Master´ was in. Voldemort might find such inquiry from his favorite acolyte amusing, or he might decide to prove just how powerful Harry´s blood had made him and cast Cruciatus on Snape for an hour or more. Neither reaction was more likely. No, that wasn´t quite true. Lately, Voldemort had seemed irritable, antsy, and power-crazy. He practically jumped at the chance to discipline his ranks. Snape had been thinking for some time on what this meant to the Cause, but he yet to determine whether it was favourable or not. A sudden breeze wafted the scent of the area to the potion master´s trained noise and he immediately pinpointed the exact location and the imminent presence of Voldemort and several senior death eaters.

"Severus." The voice was so calm that he knew he was in for it. Today was one of Voldemorts worse moods, and the tone augured a painful night ahead of him. Perhaps he had been discovered, despite his and Dumbledore´s countless precautions. Who knew what fiendish tortures His Master would provide for him while he waited for what he wanted for so many years. Death. It was more than a little ironic that Voldemort was the only one who could give him his heart´s desire, although he had no doubt that there were certain students who would like to indulge this wish after Potions Class. But he knew that the Cause could not afford to lose him, especially nearing the feared pinnacle attack that would most likely determine the fate of the wizarding world.

"My Lord, may I offer my most hearty apologies for my lack of manners with regards to addressing Thy Most Dark Self..." Severus trailed off as soon as he registered the lack of response on his Lord´s part. Voldemort rarely allowed Severus to finish, either choosing to begin the punishment or choosing to accept the apology. So was he really found out?

"Severus, we have a treat for you tonight. As Lucius mentioned to me earlier today as we were conversing over a game of chess- it was really too bad that you weren´t present as you run some spectacular gambits, and Lucius´s skills can be somewhat lacking... Perhaps there is a way that we can get you out of the tenacious grasp of the Old Fool and yet still maintain your pretended sympathy with their Cause..." After a moment of reflection, Voldemort seemed to recall himself and discontinued the tangent. "As he mentioned, you have not participated in ANY Dark Revels since my return. Perhaps you feel that you are not as welcome as those Death Eaters who are allowed to range free while you must be kept to the apron strings of the Old Fool. That is most certainly not the case, and if I do recall correctly, you were rather ingenious in your methods. I always did appreciate it when it was your turn."

Years of practice as a spy kept the stomach-curdling revulsion from even glimmering on Snape´s face as he stood up and made a deep obeisance to the Dark Lord. Torture and murder and rape were apparently on tonight´s menu, and no matter how fast his mind ran, it could find no way out of the situation Malfoy had trapped him in. Severus could see him, lurking and grinning over the Dark Lord´s left shoulder. Lucius suspected, but he had not the wits to prove anything against one so superior as Snape. There goes your damnable arrogance, Snape chided himself. He still took the utmost of precautions against Lucius as the man was powerful and charismatic enough to be right after him in Voldemort´s oft-changing ranking.

"My Lord, I am delighted that you have seen fit to provide me with such an opportunity. I am hopeful that I can enjoy these festivities, but I dare not stay longer than an hour, for the Old Fool is beginning to grow suspicious at my frequent disappearances. After two years!" Severus´s voice held nothing but eagerness for what was to come and disdain for the slow thinking Dumbldore. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-In-Voldemort´s-Presence. If one weren´t so well acquainted with the fact that Voldemort was all-powerful, one might think his refusal to say Dumbledore´s name telling.

"Yes, well, I´m sure that we can make some sort of solution. I must say that I admire your perseverance to the cause, Severus. Still, it would be good for morale if you could make time to socialize with your fellows." It was nowhere near a suggestion but a steel-laced command. Well, what was one more rape, one more murder?, he wondered to himself. The answer was- everything. Everything he had done since That Night scraped away more and more of his soul, and he figured that his deeds had probably been scraping away at nothing for a while now. Some days the guilt was a tangible pain and those were the days he was most irritable with his classes. No students ever suspected that their Professor might actually have a reasonable explanation for his harshness in class.

"Of course, and with great pleasure, My Lord. What is the agenda for tonight´s meeting?"

"Were you not listening, Snape? I told you that tonight was special. Malfoy is holding a Grand Dark Revel which promises to be delightful. You are going to participate, although you may leave within a time that will not make the Old Fool suspect you." Voldemort sounded irritated now, and Severus knew it was unwise to push him any further. He nodded and bowed again, then followed as his Master swept into the austere castle behind him.

Hermione shivered as she walked back into her bed. Her mind was filled with so many thoughts that it hardly knew what to do. They were even starting to override the Sleep Commands encoded within the potions Madame Pomfrey had given her. She would just have to call for the woman and ask if she might have some Dreamless Sleep sent to her. Just as she reached for her wand, the door to the room opened and the person in question came in, apparently for a late night check on what she expected to be a sleeping patient. She gave Hermione a disapproving but nevertheless kind look upon discovering her wakened state and produced a small decanter from the depths of her billowing Mediwitch robes. Hermione spared a thought to wonder how odd Madame would look without them. The woman silently regarded her as she drank the potion down in one gulp. Moonlight and teardrops and salamander hearts with a touch of... Her catalogue of the list of ingredients trailed off as it worked its magic on her body and sent her into deep, restful slumber.

Hermione woke up a few hours later with a feeling that her plan had not gone as predicted. Rather than the deep and restful slumber she usually achieved when she took the Dreamless Sleep Potion, she had been cheated. She had had a night full of tossing and turning and her eyes were gritty with sleep dust. She winced and roughly rubbed it away, forcing her eyes open. A glance outside the wide window of her room showed that it was early in the morning, so early the birds weren´t even up. Hermione was very sill for a moment, trying to remember something, but it wouldn´t come out. It was like a tiny flea hopping about her mind- it wouldn´t let her go, but it wouldn´t stay still long enough for her to grasp it. With a shrug, she finally realized that she had better give up before her brain fried itself from the concentration. A quick analysis made her decide to at least try sleep again- after all, Snape couldn´t possibly be up at this hour.

Severus was tired and dirty. But aside from any physicalities, he was sunk mentally far below that which was normal even for him. He had not wished death upon himself so fervently since...the last Revel he had attended. At the time, he had been there under duress, but nonetheless he had participated with a certain clinical enjoyment. Look how good he was even at something he hated. It was no longer. He loathed every moment he was in the presence of Voldemort or any Death Eater at all, but a Dark Revel was inhuman. The blood, the lack of pity or mercy or any human emotion save the sheer hedonism of it all; it was beyond revolting. And yet he had gone through it like a good little dog, panting eagerly at Voldemort´s side, seemingly never getting enough of the death and torture that were practically mother´s milk to the other Death Eaters.

His mind relived the atrocities he had committed tonight in a never-ending loop of guilt and self-hatred. His breath went ragged as the full events hit him like a powerful hex just as he was a few yards from his door. He doubled over with pain from the guilt and the knowledge that he would never be any better, and that it would never end. Many times before had the despair and depression and guilt been this tangible, but never so harshly. It was as though it wanted to consume his very being. Gasping, he strained his muscles in a fight towards the door and finally reached it, collapsing against what was a seemingly innocuous section of the castle wall. In reality, it was a heavily warded entrance to a corridor near his chambers. The reason it had been part of the plans for the castle when it was originally built were unknown...but then, no one had the foggiest idea why there was a room full of chamber pots, either. Severus let out a harsh but still hushed laugh at the thought of miscellaneous rooms he had come across in his nightly prowls for miscreants. Eventually, he was able to gather enough of his wits together to undo the wards and enter the castle. He knew that Dumbledore would know he was back as soon as he went through, so he hesitated a moment before he stepped over the threshold of the entrance. It was not that he did not appreciate Albus´s concern, but seeing the hatred on his good friends face towards those who subjected Severus to things like Dark Revels simply undermined his own determination and made him even more eager to go back and prove himself again and again. Which was probably sick and twisted and great fodder for a muggle psychoanalyst (he´d been reading about them in some journal or other), but right now, he had a report to make.

Albus, sitting in his office, preening Fawke´s feathers with one hand while writing up suggested curriculum addendums with the other, heard the measured and intentionally forceful footsteps of Severus far before the man got very close the door of his office. Which was, out of necessity and the Headmaster´s personal wishes, open to Severus at all times. He did not look up when Severus entered the room in case the man needed a few moments to compose himself as he so often did. He would have sensed the younger man´s physical problems had there been any, but luckily there seemed to be none tonight. Which of itself was perhaps disturbing.

" A Dark Revel. All the usuals were there. The new recruits are not yet trusted with the actual location of Malfoy Manor. I...was asked by Voldemort to stay and participate. He seemed rather preoccupied by the thought of how he could get me out of...your...clutches..." Dumbledore was not startled when the Potions Master began to laugh raucously. Severus´s moods were always unpredictable and unstable after these things, and he never let anyone else help him. Always insisted that he be totally alone. It was only when the laughter had gone on for several minutes that the Headmaster became worried. Even upon close inspection, the man simply looked as though he was laughing at a really good joke.

Albus stood up and the desk walked away into a corner of the room. He crossed the space to Severus, but there was still that untouchable quality to his employee that had been in place even in his school days, making it difficult for even a wizard as great as Dumbledore to think of invading Snape´s personal space. Tentatively, remarkably mirroring Hermione earlier in the day, or perhaps late last night, he reached a hand out to stop Severus, but again the man seemed to know instinctively when a breach of his world was about to occur and he stepped away, stilling his laughter immediately. In fact, it was so sudden that it was worrisome.

Snape waved his hand dismissively at the Headmaster. There was nothing the man could do for him, nothing that he would let him do.

"Albus, there is little to report save that Voldemort is still trying to reform his glory days- and he seems to be succeeding. The Revel was much like those of the old days. Have you any particular questions or information that you want?" Severus´s tone was respectful.

Dumbledore closed his eyes in momentary thought, which looked incredibly as though he was sleeping.

"No, Severus. Gods bless you, you may retreat to that hole you call your rooms."

"I LIKE them, you annoying... Ah, Albus, if you never fail to get me with that one!"

Now it was the Headmaster´s turn to wave dismissively as Snape exited the room. He thinks I can´t feel the self-loathing pulsing off him. Thinks that I don´t know what participating in even one more Dark Revel costs him. But he´s wrong. God´s curse me, but I know every time he goes off and every time he comes back. And now he is going to go back to his room and scrub his skin off and continue working on the Project. Dumbledore pressed his lips together and went to Fawkes, holding his pet close and hearing the comforting song of the phoenix. Perhaps Minerva wouldn´t mind a cup of tea. She had mentioned that she would be up all night working on student scheduling and such. Albus began humming quietly to himself as he walked over to the fireplace.

The trip down to his rooms never happened, apparently, as he had no recollection of it whatsoever. It seemed that he had exited Dumbledore´s office and reappeared in front of his own door, about a mile away. It took him a few minutes, as it always did, to Disarm the complicated wards and protections on the doors of his private rooms, connected to the Potions Classroom, and, most importantly, the storeroom. Perhaps the décor wasn´t chic, but he had lived here for almost twenty years. It was home. It was silent and gloomy and the type of place people would go to if they were told to crawl under a rock and stay there. It was perfect for him.

He flung his clothing into a basket designed for such a purpose and stepped into the shower he had turned on with magic when he walked in his door. The perfect temperature; scalding hot. Perhaps his skin would burn off and relieve him of feeling as though he had something incredible filthy covering every inch of him. But he knew it would not. He knew that he could never rid himself of that which was truly filthy. Who can sever one´s soul?