The Furnace

iron: [noun] 1. (Chem.) The most common and most useful metallic element... as steel, is very tough, and (when tempered) very hard and elastic.

I return to consciousness ill, but alive.

Well, "alive" in this case is a relative term. My chest and stomach feel like they are on fire, and my head is swimming in feverish circles. I raise my hands to my aching head, trying to block out the painfully bright rays of the morning sun.

How in hell have I survived the night?

Last night…

Last night… is a blur of nightmarish images. The mirror… my bloody hands… icy water… and death. My wish for death has survived along with me.

My eyes still closed, breathing in shallow gasps, I try to think why the poison didn’t kill me, when I’m suddenly greeted with the sound of the bedroom door slamming open.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Severus? You’ve been lying there for a goddamn hour! You’ll be late!" I open my watery eyes a crack to take in the sight of my wife striding forward in her Ministry work robes, looking annoyed.

I try to speak to her in a normal voice, but only manage to groan out a single word:

"Sick."

I close my eyes again, lying like a rag doll in our bed. What will undoubtedly be my final sleep is fast consuming me, and I welcome it. I don’t care what she does with my corpse.

Sleep flees as Juliette hauls to my feet and holds me against the wall. She looks up at me scientifically, as if I were some kind of specimen. I suppose, by some stroke of bizarre luck, that the glamours I cast have remained in place overnight, because she makes no mention of the cuts on my face.

"Hmm… well, you do seem ill. Very well then, I’ll inform the necessary people of your impending absence. You can take today to start on that Polyjuice Potion the Dark Lord wants you to make." I can barely stand, even with her support, but concern doesn’t even begin to pollute the cold practicality of her statement.

Wait…

"How did you know…" I manage to croak. She lets go of me and I pitch forward, ending up in an uncomfortable pile on the floor.

Juliette makes her way to the doorway before turning around with a click of her perfectly polished boots. She laughs in a cold way.

"Why else would you have in your possession exactly four of Albus Dumbledore’s hairs?" She spins and exits before I have a chance to reply or ask how she knows to whom the hairs belong.

Albus Dumbledore…

The only man whom Voldemort ever feared.

Thoughts and images begin whirling in my mind: thanks to last night, Juliette knows some of the wards on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Someone is going to be impersonating Dumbledore, which means they will probably use the disguise to get into the school. I can only imagine what will happen to the children.

If I die, Juliette or another Death Eater will make the potion in my place.

If I live…

Suddenly living becomes an option again. If I live, perhaps I can warn the man first.

As I pull myself to my knees, another wave of dizziness passes over me. This time I fight it. I need to survive, at least for long enough to warn the Headmaster of Hogwarts. After that, he can send me to Azkaban or kill me. If, by some bizarre stroke of luck, he lets me go, I’ll kill myself.

I begin to crawl toward the door.

---

In my semi-delirious state, it takes me nearly ten minutes to drag myself to my workroom. I am still dying, after all.

I push the door open to find that Juliette has "straightened up" again, leaving every work surface bare. I summon all of my waning strength and pull myself to my feet, opening one of my smaller supply cabinets. I catch a glimpse of my hands as I do so: the glamour is flickering, failing.

Disorientation. What am I doing…?

Oh. Yes. I have no antidote to the poison on hand, but… I reach onto the top shelf and pick up what seems to be a small, black marble. A bezoar.

I drag myself to another cabinet, pulling out a small cauldron and adding a cup or so of water. It takes me three tries to light a fire underneath, but soon the tiny amount of water is bubbling. I drop the stone in and it instantly dissolves, turning the water the color of ink. I turn off the flame and cast a quick cooling charm, then dump the black potion into a cup and drink it.

I feel dizzier now, after standing so long. I take a seat and wait for the potion to take effect. My vision begins to go black around the edges, and I lean forward, resting my forehead on my knees…

I’m lying on the floor in my workroom. I must have fainted.

I sit up tentatively and find that I feel not a bit better. My head is still pounding and I still feel like I’m going to be sick. A bezoar will indeed save you from most poisons, however it doesn’t do much more than bring you back from the brink of death. All of the nasty side effects linger.

I have the strength now to stand up and shakily make my way back to the bedroom. Inside, I re-cast my glamours and put on some decent clothes. I take a deep breath, visualize the streets of Hogsmeade Village, and Apparate.

---

It was almost two years ago that I last walked the path that connected Hogwarts Castle and Hogsmeade Village. It’s nearly noon, and students stream past me in the opposite direction, heading toward an afternoon filled with laughter and practical jokes.

What nonsense.

I walk with a long stride that is terribly difficult to maintain due to the poison’s aftereffects. I recognize a few of the older students and avoid eye contact, marching forward with a very unpleasant expression on my face.

A seventh-year Slytherin calls out, "Hello there, Severus!" I grunt in his direction and continue on my way, seeing the tallest turrets of the castle coming into view from behind the next hill.

Albus Dumbledore…

I have every right to hate the old man. I haven’t talked to him in over three years, ever since he threatened to have me expelled from the school if I so much as breathed a word of Lupin’s lycanthropy to anyone. The nerve of that old bastard!

I sigh as I approach the entrance to the castle. I’m sure the only person Albus Dumbledore ever killed was Grindelwald. I have far more, and far more innocent, blood on my hands. Who am I kidding? I have no right to judge anyone.

---

I find myself at the entrance to Dumbledore’s office, staring stupidly at the gargoyle as I try to come up with the password. My headache has done nothing to improve my mood. I just want to get out of here, go home, curl up in a corner, and die. It’s really too bad the Killing Curse is ineffective against the caster.

I continue my interrogation of the gargoyle

"Lemon drop?" Nothing.

"Chocolate frog?" Nothing.

I’m getting annoyed. I’ve been here for five minutes spouting candy names like an idiot.

"Bertie Bott’s Every fucking Flavor Beans!?" The gargoyle stands there in silence. I resist the urge to take a swing at the damn thing, remembering last night’s run-in with a hard, unyielding inanimate object.

This is ridiculous.

I spin around at the sound of footsteps to be greeted by a woman I’d hoped never to see again: Professor McGonagall, torturer of Slytherins, coddler of Gryffindors, and teacher of both the most ridiculously difficult and useless magical subject ever invented: transfigurations.

"Mister Snape… to what do we owe this visit?" She is a ramrod-straight vision of stern disinterest, whereas I’m not sure whether I look more furious or desperate.

"I need to see the Headmaster at once," I snap at her, crossing my arms. Already she’s made me feel half my age.

"I’m afraid he is busy at the-"

"I assure you this is a matter of some importance," I say, trying not to seem as desperate as I am. The school is making me feel decidedly uncomfortable, and I am breathing faster than I should be. I suppose she senses some of my discomfort, because she gives in.

"Very well, then. The password is "Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean."

I can’t help myself. "I tried that one already!" I practically whine.

McGonagall looks at me with… is that a smirk? "Try it in the singular, and without the interjected profanity, Mister Snape." With that she is gone, trailing a veritable cloud of Gryffindor self-righteousness.

I snarl the words at the gargoyle and make my way up the stairs.

---

I enter the office, wheezing, to be greeted by silence. Taking a look around, I see that the only life in the room besides myself is a baby phoenix in a cage.

The nagging discomfort that’s been present since I’ve arrived here intensifies, and I take a seat in the extra chair, trying to catch my breath. The baby phoenix watches me as I struggle to breathe.

The door opens to reveal the never-changing form of Albus Dumbledore, complete with pointed hat. He steps into the office and takes a seat behind the desk, the ever-present twinkle in his eye missing.

I’m gasping for air now, feeling as if there were an invisible person choking me. I put my own hands up to my neck to try and remove the attacker, but all I feel is my own skin. I double over in the chair, still trying vainly to get some air.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Dumbledore wave a hand, and the feeling vanishes. I sit up and look at him, hoping to seem aggressive and confident, but the moment my eyes meet his, the attitude I’ve built up on the way here crumbles. I lower my eyes and put my face in my hands.

He is the first to speak.

"It’s a Strangling Hex, Severus. It’s one of the wards designed to incapacitate any Death Eater who enters the school."

So he knows. Moving slowly, I draw my wand and place it on the desk, handle toward him. I resume staring at the floor.

"I have something to tell you, Headmaster. Then you can do whatever you want with me."

He is silent for a moment.

"You are using a glamour, Severus. I don’t appreciate deception." His voice is every bit as strict as McGonagall's at her worst.

My voice is scratchy. "I would prefer to leave it up."

"I’m going to have to insist that you allow me to remove the spell."

"Very well," I mutter. With my head bowed this way, my hair falling forward over my eyes, it is nearly impossible to see my face anyway.

"Vergo tectum!" I feel nothing more than a gentle breeze, but as it passes over me, I feel the scabs on my face solidify under my fingers.

"Look at me," Dumbledore says. Reluctantly, I raise my head to once again meet his eyes. There is steel behind their sky-blue as he takes in what must be a pretty pathetic sight: this thin, pale man with greasy hair, red scratches down his forehead, circles under his eyes, and purple discoloration around the outsides of his hands.

He pulls a vial from his hand and sets it down before me: the liquid inside is completely clear.

"I hope you’ll understand the necessity of this," he says as I reach for the Veritaserum. I do, and I drain the vial to prove it. I sit in the chair, still looking forward, awaiting his questions.

His first question surprises me.

"What happened to you to make you look like this?"

The answers come as if someone else were saying them, leaving me no control over my words. "I tried to kill myself last night."

"Why?"

"Because I’ve made a huge mistake of my life. I deserve to die for what I did to other people."

"Are you a Death Eater, Severus?"

"Yes."

"What crimes are you guilty of committing?"

I don’t want to tell him. I bite my lip, trying to keep the words of my involuntary confession from coming to life. I don’t want to announce what a monster I am.

However, after struggling for a pathetic ten seconds, I can no longer keep silent.

"I’ve used the Imperius Curse countless times, I’ve cast the Cruciatus as well. I’ve brewed illegal potions, both poisons and drugs for the other Death Eaters. I’ve used Blood Potions with Dark intent, and to kill. I’ve helped to kill Muggles, with weapons magical and Muggle, and I’ve taken illegal potions for strengthening my magic."

Dumbledore looks angry, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. Briefly, I wonder if he’s going to kill me out of sheer fury.

"Tell me why you came here." His words are cold, quick and perfectly enunciated.

Veritaserum is a whole-truth potion, meaning that it is impossible for the drinker to omit any information that they deem important. It often makes for long speeches.

"Last night I was given a vial of hairs with which to make a Polyjuice Potion. I didn’t know whose they were at the time. I went home, where my wife and I tortured Soren Anderson, and Auror, for information about the Ministry’s protective wards."

Oh gods, I wish I could stop talking. I don’t want to relive last night.

"It was my poison that killed him. After he was dead, Juliette – my wife – used a Portkey to send his body back to the Ministry. I went upstairs and… I don’t really remember all that happened, except that I realized I was a horrible person, a murderer, and that I’d killed a former Housemate. I – I remembered Soren’s trying to talk me out of becoming a Death Eater in the first place. I guess I lost my mind for a while, and when I came back I decided to poison myself. It didn’t work as quickly as it should have, and I woke up this morning. I was still dying. Juliette told me then that the hairs inside the vial were yours, and I realized that I had to tell you about the plan to impersonate you. I cured the poison and came here."

My face is burning in shame, but I feel like my eyes are locked to the old man’s. His face, however, has softened just a bit.

"Did you come here solely to help the Light side, Mister Snape?"

"Yes."

"Do you still feel allegiance to the Dark?"

"No," I nearly whisper.

"Do you regret your actions as a Death Eater?"

"Yes." Oh, gods, I regret them. I wish I could just die right now.

"What do you want, more than anything else, Mister Snape?"

The answer comes to my lips before I can even think what it could be.

"I want them back." My voice is a choked whisper, and my chest feels heavy. My eyes are stinging. Oh, shit. I am going to cry like a child in front of one of the most powerful people on the planet. I can’t fight the Veritaserum, however, and apparently it wants me to go on.

"I want-" my voice cracks – "Every person, who ever died because of me, to come back." I lean forward and put my hot face in my hands as the first tears burn down my cheeks. I don’t know what’s the stronger emotion: embarrassment or misery.

Apparently, misery has control, because I can’t stop talking. "Gods, I’m a horrible person! I’m a monster! I deserve nothing less than damnation and eternal fire for this!" I can’t help it: my voice has raised an octave in pitch and I’m sobbing into my lap like an overgrown child. I haven’t cried in years, not since I was nearly killed in sixth year, and even then I had waited until I could lock myself, all alone, into the prefects’ bathroom. This is much worse.

The room is silent for a good few minutes except for the sound of me making an ass of my pathetic self. Finally, I calm down enough to cry silently, and I hear Dumbledore shuffling around in his desk. He walks around the desk, scraping a chair from the corner and pulling it next to mine. He rotates my seat ninety degrees with a wave of his hand, then presses a handkerchief into one of my bruised hands and takes a seat, his knees mere inches from mine.

I wipe my face, but don’t raise it. I feel awful, and my chest feels like it’s going to explode. Dumbledore takes a breath, then speaks.

"Do you still want to die, Severus?" His voice has softened as well.

"Yes," I answer.

"Then I want you to make a promise to me."

A promise made under Veritaserum cannot be broken. Since the drinker cannot tell a lie, the promise he or she makes must remain true.

I finally lift my head, looking at Dumbledore with a mix of confusion, suspicion, and pain.

"What is it?" I whisper.

"Promise me you will not take your own life, Severus Snape."

"I don’t want to make that promise." I lower my head again. The damn stupid tears are still leaking out, although at a slower rate.

He sighs, then reaches out and tilts my face up with a finger under my chin.

"Let me tell you something, Mister Snape. I always had hopes that you would turn away from the Dark. I always knew, even if you didn’t realize it, that you had a lot of good in you. I admit, I never did enough to foster that good side, and I am truly sorry. But you can do good now, Severus. You can help us in the fight against Voldemort. If you die, then Soren’s death will have been in vain. If you live, you can do something to help."

He pauses.

"Do you want to help?"

"Yes."

He is silent for a moment, apparently thinking.

"Severus, you probably don’t know this, but there is an intense effort going on right now, outside of the Ministry, to fight Voldemort. I lead that effort.

"We have tried, unsuccessfully, for the past three years, to get a spy within the ranks of the Death Eaters. You, however, present us with a unique opportunity. If you are willing.

"Will you become a spy within the ranks of the Death Eaters, putting your own life at risk, to help us?" He’s gambling on me right now. This is a lot to ask.

Right now, I don’t value my life very much.

"I will."

I suppose I owe a lot to the world. Perhaps, just this once, I can do something right.

"Then promise me you will not take your own life."

I wipe the last of the tears from my face, and look straight into Dumbledore’s eyes, my red and black peering into his blue and white.

"I promise, I will not take my own life." If I die now, it will most likely be at the hands of my former master.

I stand, and he follows suit.

I feel cold with apprehension. I’ve never had anyone rely on my like this before.

"Will I be able to do this, Professor Dumbledore? I… I’ve never been a very good man."

Finally, the twinkle is back in Dumbledore’s eye.

"I have the utmost faith in you, Severus. After all, you can’t lie!" He chuckles softly. "And call me Albus, please." He reaches to the desk and grabs my wand, then hands it back to me. I take it, and turn away from him, towards the door.

"I suppose I’ll be coming back in a few days," I say. I take hold of the doorknob, but do not leave the office.

"I’m scared, Albus." Damn the Veritaserum. I really am scared, scared of the future I’ve just committed myself to, scared of what I was, am, and may someday be.

I hear footsteps behind me, and a surprisingly strong hand is placed on my upper arm. He turns me around, then places his hands on my shoulders, holding me at arms’ length.

"It will be all right in the end. Good luck, Severus."

I take a final look around the room, my eyes coming to rest on Dumbledore’s phoenix. It must have been reborn in the last 24 hours, to be so small.

In the last 24 hours, I think a part of me has been reborn as well, and a part has died forever. I feel like I’ve been through a blast furnace, and only part of me has survived the process.

I nod my farewell to the old man, and open the door.