Redemption

The night Snape relinquished his title as a Death Eater, had brought escape . . . relief almost.

Returning to the circle, with the adopted facade of a nighttime killer, Snape had still been surrounded by the intense emotions of abandoning the ways of murder. Joining his feelings of rebirth, as he met the Dark Lord under the guise of what he had abandoned, Snape fell victim to fear and horror he had not known existed.

However, as Snape ascended the spiraling staircase, in the wake of his decision that had taken years to act upon, the heaviest weight and burden yet of his psyche began to settle in.

Shame.

It clung to him like a thick fog, which he knew no one but himself would be able to confront and break past.

Self loathing.

Had he not known that his service could mean the redemption of his soul, Snape would have taken his own life. It was the new, once forgotten rationale of his mind which struggled valiantly, to remind him that he could have a new noble purpose in his life.

After reaching the top of the stairway, it took several moments for Snape to summon his mental strength to tap the knocker in front of him.

Almost immediately, the door swung open, eerily silent on its ancient hinges.

He was at his desk.

Watching him.

Watching him enter . . . watching him take a seat without being asked . . . watching him with the meticulous nature of a doctor observing his patient.

Snape could not look into the eyes of Albus Dumbledore. He knew it would be years
until he could.

And it was a doctor that watched his patient, looking for signs of warning, making a diagnosis of disease.

Except it was the wisdom that a doctorate could not give, which Dumbledore used to watch. And Snape was a patient whose past occupation had been to slay the innocent and fuel the flames of an evil, and growing plague.

Snape slumped further into the crimson velvet of the chair he had taken before Dumbledore. Its lovely tapestry could not hide the fact that it would be an interrogation chair before the evening was through. Whether out of kindness or intelligence, Dumbledore had had the humanity to wave aside his questioning when Snape had returned from the Death Eaters that night. The after effects of the Cruciatus Curse would have left him a poor mark to gain information from, and even up until that point, Dumbledore’s questions had been brief, as if testing Snape to return to Voldemort. That first night had been confession, the second a test of strength and truth, and tonight . . . the court scene was the best metaphor Snape could muster.

Cold, clear, clean, hard facts.

And Snape knew he owed that and more to Dumbledore.

But whether he would be able to get the information across via words, would be an entirely different matter.

It had been minutes of silence. Snape knew the older man’s usual encouraging twinkle of the eye would be completely gone if he chose to look up.

But Snape did not choose to.

The heavy folds of his tattered robes covered the damage to his body, the thin and weak frame it had regressed to.

The long and matted locks of hair hid the gauntness to his face.

But his eyes could not conceal the weakness to his mind. And if he looked up, Snape knew he would break down a second time before his teacher. Dumbledore represented what he had terrorized. What he had helped to kill and mutilate. What he had nearly destroyed.

Again, hot floods of scalding shame swept over him.

Tears were already threatening him.

“Severus.”

Such emotions locked behind the word. Concealed, but there nonetheless. Snape could hear them clearly.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Sadness.

Hurt.

And numerous others.

Snape stared at the surface of the polished desk before him.

“What proof will you give to Voldemort of your loyalty?”

Snape wasn’t surprised at Dumbledore’s foresight. The man possessed intelligence that the ordinary wizard simply could not attain.

His voice was nearly a whisper in return. “I don’t know.”

Again the silence returned.

Dumbledore’s next words were curt and decisive. “The location of the ministry’s next meeting should suffice. I’ll release the information to you after I’ve consulted the Minister. Our guard will be up, and we may trap some of them in the process.”

Some of them.

The words rang hollowly in Snape’s mind.

He had been one of them.

“Yes,” was all he could croak out.

Snape watched emptily as Dumbledore rose from his desk, walk to and open the door to the staircase. He turned to Snape’s back. “I’ll take you to the hospital wing now.”

Snape rose obediently. He knew the caution Dumbledore was using.

His position as a Death Eater and a close aid to Voldemort had left Snape with respect, reverence, trust and great responsibility. Now, having given it all up, his life had been reduced to the conduct of a first year.

And less, Snape thought bitterly.

He would be escorted and watched like a hawk until Dumbledore knew he could trust him.

But . . .

Somewhere in the very back of Snape's mind, black thoughts parted to usher in a small shred of light. . .

When he had earned Dumbledore’s trust, Snape would be protected. Protected from Voldemort, protected from the angry masses in court and protected from those who would refuse to believe him. His trust would mean redeeming what his former life had thrown away. As hard as it would be to earn it, Dumbledore’s trust would mean the world, and a life he intended to live.

For the first time in a very, very long time . . . Snape felt comforted.

He saw a reason to live again.

He saw a chance to live again.

He saw hope.

*I am very tempted to simply leave it at this so this is probably going to be the last chapter. However, I definitely intend to write more concerning this portion of Snape’s life . . . it’s a section that fascinates me. Thank you for your very kind reviews. -K2