Lost Lamb Returning

Lost Lamb Returning

-MM-

~*~

Bring me a shovel, bring me a spade,

Let the dead remain dead, in the ground to be laid.

I live with remembrence, with the people I've slain,

That's the cost of ambition, the price of my gain.

They hold back from me peace, until vengence they reap,

Only then will their terror cease haunting my sleep.

So bring me a shovel, bring me a spade,

Let the dead remain dead, in the ground to be laid.

~*~

Gods, what had he DONE?

He remembered bolting, tearing through the bodies, the cruel laughter, the hands, robes, hoods, masks. He remembered the outraged shouts as he fled, felt the world dissolved around him as he willed himself out, out, OUT. He didn´t care where he ended up or who found him there as long as it wasn´t them.

He remembered the screams, tasting the terror in the air. He remembered the wail of a child as she was separated from her parents. He remembered the silky voice offering her what they all knew she could not understand.

Choose. You shall either see your parents again and return home where this will be nothing more than a dream, or...well, we shall see. Choose.

He remembered the all too familiar bottles arranged before her. He remembered the horrible cries that had followed, then the awful silence. He remembered too much, more than he ever wanted to see or hear or feel again. He remembered things he tried to scour from his mind. Nothing he remembered could tell him what to do now.

But his legs remembered what his mind did not.

His breath came in shallow gasps, every lungful of air a torturous ache and struggle. He clutched his burning arm to his chest in a futile attempt to either ease the pain or hide what lay beneath his voluminous sleeve, to all appearances, it was the same thing. Cold stung his face and lungs, nearly paralyzed him with the pain that came with every breath as his long hair whipped in his face and eyes. His chest ached as he pounded his way through the crowded streets, ignoring venomous looks from passerby as he shoved them out of his path. He ran until he thought his heart would burst and his legs give out from under him completely. He ran for fear of what might catch up to him when he stopped.

He was vaguely aware of his own voice mumbling the words that would take him away, far away, but he barely noticed the sudden wrenching as the world disappeared around him only to return again in a different setting.

The floor was no longer uneven cement and stone but had instead turned into smooth floorboards. The abrupt change caused him to lose his footing and stumble; he threw his hand out to catch himself, knowing it was foolish as there was nothing solid to catch himself on.

Surprisingly, it was someone who caught him.

"Easy there, boy." The voice was hard and grating, but not cruel, not harsh like the one that still echoed through his head.

Choose and drink, my little flower. Choose, child. What´s the worst that can happen? Are you so afraid of death?

Except it wasn´t death that was being offered. Not a clean one, at least. He sobbed for air as his eyes cleared enough for him to look around. As soon as he did the movement of his head forced him to shut them again from the pain.

"Help me," he pleaded, his voice no more than a dry whisper. "Please. Help me. Ministry, call the Ministry. I need to speak with them. I must."

"Calm down, lad. What´s the problem?"

"Death Eaters. Please, find them! Find someone-- anyone! I don´t care who-- Ministry--"

"You´re talking nonsense, lad. What´s gotten into you?"

He felt the strange grip on his hand tighten and tried to pull away before the stranger could see-- "Volde--"

"What the hell?" He felt the sleeves of his left arm shoved back and fingers like burning snow touch his skin. He screamed and tried to wrench away, but he was too weak, too weak. He opened his eyes to catch a flurry of glimpses, a piercing blue eye, a swirl of robes, a face twisted with hate and disgust and finally, the smooth floorboards rushing up to meet him and take him into darkness.

* * *

"Who is he?" More voices again.

A snort. "Damned if I know. Rushed in here not ten minutes ago blathering about Death Eaters and You-Know-Who. Told me to get someone from the Ministry here immediately."

"You have no idea who he is or where he came from?" The voices were multiplying, the words piercing the dark shield around his consciousness and slamming themselves around the inside of his skull.

"Not his name, but...look at his arm." There was the sound of rustling cloth and cool air hit the inside of his arm.

"What´s going on he-- oh." A new voice joined the other two, this one oddly familiar.

"You know him, Albus?" The first rough, gravelly voice again.

"Hm...I believe I may. Can you wake him up?"

Suddenly, he was startled out his of his half conscious state by a shock of cold water hitting him full in the face. He tried to sit up but groaned as the pain in his head forced him back down before he rose more than half an inch. He struggled to open his eyes.

"C´mon, up with ye!" A stinging slap to the face brought him fully awake, the sheet of water on his skin intensifying the blow tenfold.

"Easy, Alastor." It was that familiar voice again.

"Dammit, Albus, he´s got the Mark! He´s one of them, don´t tell me to go easy."

Slowly, he opened his eyes, wincing as the light hit them. Blurred shapes came slowly into focus. First, a wild eyed man who´s glare hit him with more intensity than the cold water had. Behind him stood another man, tall and thin, clutching his wand with nervous fingers. And kneeling on the floor beside him, leaning over him in a manner that could only be called concerned, was a face as familiar as the voice he had heard. "Professor--"

Albus Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully as he regarded the young man on the floor.

"Hello, Severus."

* * *

"You know this boy, Albus?" the first man growled.

"Yes, quite well, actually. Used to be a student." There was distracted pain in his voice. "Severus Snape."

"Let me guess, Slytherin." The contempt in the voice was withering, but it was the hurt and soft accusations in Dumbledore´s eyes that made Snape cringe.

"Professor." He paused, feeling his voice catch in his throat. What was he doing? He was a Death Eater, powerful, merciless, young...too young. "Professor, I´m sorry-- I failed you again-" He was cut off abruptly by the wild eyed man.

"Shut yer gob," he hissed, leaning down low so he could meet Snape´s eyes. "You ain´t worthy of a damn thing this man´s got to say, hear me?" A hand wound slowly around his throat. "I should just strangle you here and now, you little snake. Wouldn´t be any great loss, one of your kind."

Snape whimpered as the hand constricted around his throat. He clutched desperately at the unyielding flesh as the world swam before his eyes.

"Alastor Moody!"

Dumbledore´s voice seemed to bring the man back to his senses. He let go Snape´s throat and stood, still glaring. The nervous looking man behind him stepped forward and spoke for the first time.

"You know we´ve got to do something, Albus. He is a Death Eater after all. The mark on his arm proves that."

"I do indeed." Albus turned his eyes back to Snape. "Yet he came here for a reason, did you not, Severus?"

Snape nodded. The memories, they all came back full force. The child´s wailing, her mother´s screaming, the cold, silky voice, the choice that was no choice at all but was instead two kinds of death bottled up by his own hand. The laughter. The silence.

"She´s dead." Snape buried his head in his hands and sobbed. "She´s dead, Professor, and it´s my fault. He told her she could chose, that they would let her go back home with her parents, set them all free but she had to chose. She was only seven, Professor, too young to know that it was all a game, that she could only lose. Two bottles, two deaths. She chose, they made sure she chose wrong. She died, it was all my fault she died. I brewed those potions myself when HE asked me to." He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to blot out the sight that was ingrained into his mind. "I´m sorry, oh, God I´m so sorry. It wasn´t quick."

Someone grasped his shoulder, shook him roughly. Dumbledore was still looking at him, those blue eyes hiding an infinite sadness. Moody was still shaking him. Something inside him broke. He looked up at Dumbledore, heedless of Moody´s hand on his shoulder.

"The Kiss," he whispered, tears flowing from his dark eyes. The Kiss. Please, God, I can´t live with this, I can´t live with the memories. Please, Professor, it´s all I deserve. Please--"

"Albus--" The nervous looking man was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, toying with his wand. "We have to do something. But God, he´s just a boy. I don´t know--"

"He just admitted to the fact that he helped kill an innocent girl, Jordon, and you can bet he´s done a lot more than that. I say we just throw him in Azkaban." Snape shuddered at the cold words.

"This true, boy?" the nervous man asked sharply. Snape could only nod dumbly.

"There, you have it from the boy hisself. What more do you want? See if he´s got names and throw him to the Dementors."

Dumbledore raised a single hand. "Let´s not hurry into doing something drastic," he said. "Perhaps this is a case that we should take some time over..."

"Don´t let your sentimentality get the better of you, Albus," Moody growled, but Jordon interrupted.

"Albus may be right," he cautioned. "This is a highly unusual case. A young boy with the Dark Mark on his arm comes running in here ready to confess and begs for the Dementor´s Kiss?" He shook his head. "Although I´m inclined to agree with Moody as well. There´s so much in the works right now that there´s little time to spare for anyone. The boy can wait until we have more time to review his case." Moody snorted.

"Fine, but he can wait in Azkaban. On yer feet." Moody hauled Snape unceremoniously from his position on the floor onto his less than steady legs and shoved him towards a wall. He reached out reflexively to keep himself from crashing into the wall with his hands. As it was, the impact knocked the breath out of him. He glanced back: Dumbledore was deep in conference with the man Moody had called Jordon.

"Sniveling coward," Moody hissed in his ear. Snape shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. "Dumbledore seems to trust you more than I´d give you credit for but I´ll go along with it. This time." He reached back and grabbed a handful of Snape´s shoulder length hair, right at the nape of his neck, and yanked his head back so far Snape thought he would gag. Tears of pain and fear stood out in his eyes as Moody pressed the tip of his wand against his taunt throat. "You´re nothing but a damned snake. If you try one damned thing, I swear I´ll make sure that you won´t remember a life without pain. The word `crucio´ will be the first and last thing you hear before you die."

Snape nodded as best he could considering his position, and Moody let him go. He wrapped his thin arms around himself and huddled closer to the wall, fighting back tears and nausea. The girl´s screams still echoed in his ears along with that cold, cold voice--

Dumbledore finished his conversation with Jordon, cast a glance at Moody and nodded. Snape felt his arm crushed in the man´s grip as he was dragged away. He cast one final, desperate look back at Dumbledore, but the blue eyes told him nothing.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat at his place, a place that had grown too familiar for his liking over the years. He stared without seeing at the stone chair, thick with its enchanted chains. It sat empty now, but it wouldn´t remain that way for long. He carefully hid a sigh and tried to ease the cold knot that had settled in his stomach when he received the letter that brought him here. That had been two days ago.

Dumbledore tried not to dwell on how long it had been since he had seen the young man- someone he had certainly not expected to see again in his lifetime. Still, the haunted black gaze Snape had cast his way as he was dragged off with Moody stayed with him and had done so for the past three months.

Three months.

He stifled yet another sigh, this one of sorrow. He had fully anticipating it being only a matter of days before he would be able to turn his attentions to the unfortunate Snape, a week at most. But Jordon was right, there was little enough time to spare for anything not on the schedule. Everyone was busy working on ways to foil Voldemort´s schemes and trying to hunt him down; then there had been reporting of Death Eater appearances that had needed immediate Ministry attentions. All in all it had been a very rough and trying three months, and Dumbledore hadn´t been able to steal a single moment to think about anything that didn´t have the potential to become a catastrophe. And unfortunately, Severus Snape was not on that list.

Moody sat to his left, looking as he always did. That was to say, unpleasant. The scowl that had become a permanent part of him was certainly in evidence now as they waited for the doors to open.

When they did, Dumbledore had to make a conscious effort to keep from crying out in sheer dismay. Oh, Severus, he thought mournfully, I´ve failed you far more than you´ve ever failed me. How could I forget about you, leave you to waste away to this?

Flanked by two dementors, the figure who stumbled into the room bore little resemblance to the proud young man Albus remembered from years ago at Hogwarts. While the Severus Snape he remembered always carried himself with pride and a coolness towards the world that bordered on arrogance, this boy looked fearful and small. It cut Dumbledore to the quick to see the same intelligent, fastidious student from years ago reduced to the state he was in now.

For some reason, the dementors released their grips on his arms when they passed the threshold to the chamber. Snape grasped his pitiful robes around himself tightly, his arms thin and trembling. His shoulders were hunched and he shrunk back into himself as if hiding from the hostile glares he received from all sides. His long black hair had grown even longer during his imprisonment and it hung now in greasy strands around his face. Where he had been lean before he was now skeletal, his face sunken and painfully thin. As Dumbledore watched, Snape flinched as a wizard to his left cursed and spat on his face.

Without a word, two wizards sat him down in the stone chair, prying his bony fingers from the folds of his robes to set them on the stone slabs. Immediately the enchanted chains rose and snaked around his arms, legs and neck. Dumbledore saw Snape´s pupils dilate with fear and heard his tiny whimper as the chains bit tighter. The cold in his stomach grew stronger.

"Severus Snape." Bartemius Crouch cleared his throat as he read from the parchment on his desk. "You are on trial for the crimes of practicing the Dark Arts in league with You- with Voldemort. Your crimes include the murder and torture of both wizards and Muggles alike, including the use of the Unforgivable Curses. Now," he cleared his throat again as Snape looked at him in utter terror. "Some of us," he cast a glance at where Moody was sitting, glaring daggers at Snape. "Some of us would like nothing better than for you to be given the dementors without a second thought." Something about his tone indicated that he would not object to such a punishment. "However, there are others who would speak on your behalf and vouch for you as-- as someone who can be trusted." He resumed his seat with a nod to Dumbledore. "As you will, Albus."

"Thank you." Dumbledore rose to his feet and gazed around the chamber, coming at last to rest upon the frightened figure of Severus Snape. "I have known Snape for a long time," he said levelly. "I knew him when he was but a first year at Hogwarts and was there when he was Sorted into Slytherin." He gazed over his glasses at the wizards and witches who began to murmur. "Now I know Slytherin has the rather dubious reputation of being the house to produce the most Death Eaters than any other. However," his bright blue eyes sharpened. "That does not mean the house does yet hold any honor at all."

"Yes, but he´s got the Mark!" someone shouted from the rows of seats.

"This is true. And he has, in fact, participated in many of the Dark Arts. All the accusations leveled at him are completely true." Dumbledore waited until the effect his words had died down. "But that is not the issue at hand. Severus came to one of my colleagues nearly three months ago." His voice caught as he thought about how long it had been since Severus had been cast into Azkaban. "He came confessing his crimes and begging for the Dementor´s Kiss." He saw Snape tremble minutely. "Some were willing to oblige him. But let us think. Why would a Death Eater come running, at the risk of Voldemort´s wrath, to confess his crimes and beg for the most horrible penalty imaginable?"

"He´s a spy, that´s why!" that same voice called out.

Dumbledore was unruffled. "Then why ask for the Kiss?" he queried. "It was too large a risk for a spy. No, the only conclusion I can draw is that he was sincere in his confessions as well as in his willingness to die. More than die." He saw Snape shiver again. He considered the young man with a sorrowful expression then turned to his colleagues. "Rather than request that the entire assemblage leave, would anyone here object to my having a few words alone with him under the privacy of a soundproofing charm?"

"Certainly whatever you have to say to him, Albus, can be said in front of everyone here?" Bartemius Crouch scowled.

"Come off it, Barty," Moody snapped. "You´re just worried he´s going to do something the public won´t like, make the Ministry look bad." He glanced at Dumbledore. "Albus is a good man, even if I can´t say the same for that piece of filth sitting before us. I have no objections."

Bartemius looked around at the other gathered wizards, none of whom protested. He looked as if he were going to say something more, then shook his head. "Fine. Take as much time as you need."

"Thank you. I shouldn´t be long." Dumbledore stepped down from behind the long desk and approached the interrogation chair. He drew his wand and murmured the words of the soundproofing charm. Immediately, an opaque wall of silence sprung up between him and the rest of the chamber.

As Dumbledore approached the chair, Severus shuddered. When he reached out to touch the young man´s hand, he whimpered. He seemed hardly to know who Dumbledore was.

Forgive me, boy, he thought to himself as he took in Snape´s thin, battered form. I swear I never meant to forget about you. On my soul, I swear.

"Severus?" he asked softly. "Severus, it´s me. Professor Dumbledore. Are you listening to me, Severus?" He made it a point to say his name several times to make certain his words got through. But the look in Snape´s eyes was empty...so empty.

What have they done to you? What´s happened to you in there? And you so young, barely twenty. Too young. Ah, forgive me, this was never meant to happen.

"P-professor?" Snape turned his head slowly, gazing wondrously at Dumbledore. "Is that you?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Severus, will you talk to me? Will you answer my questions?"

"Moody came to see me," Snape mumbled, his eyes wandering off again. "He asked me questions, too."

"Moody?" Dumbledore´s voice grew sharp. He immediately regretted it as Snape cringed.

"I´ll answer your questions," he said quickly, his voice down to a whisper. "I´ll try, I promise. Just don´t do what he did. Don´t do what Mood--"

"Calm down, Severus." Dumbledore put his hand on Snape´s arm again, but took it off quickly as Snape winced and tried to pull away, even though the chains held his arms fast. "I´m not going to hurt you." He was tempted to ask about Alastor´s visit, but there was time for that later. There were more important matters to get through now. "Severus, why did you come back?"

"Because she died," he answered simply. His eyes, eyes that once shone bright with intelligence were dull and clouded.

"Who died, Severus?"

"The little girl. She was only seven." A tremor ran through Snape´s thin body. "He had me brew the potions, and I did. Two of them. Hemlock and--" He broke off with a shake of his head.

"Do you want to die, Severus?" Dumbledore studied him calmly over his half-moon spectacles.

"No." The answer was so plainly honest it hurt. "I want to live. But I don´t deserve to. And I don´t want to go back. I´ll never go back, they can´t make me."

"Severus, when did Moody come to see you? What did he ask you?"

Snape looked at him fearfully, confused at the sudden change of subject. "Is that one of your questions?"

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Perhaps later, Severus. Not now." He banished the soundproofing wall and regained his place beside Moody. He turned to face Crouch. "The boy is worthy of a second chance. He wants to live, but he told me he doesn´t deserve to." A snort from Moody that sounded suspiciously like: "damn right."

"However," Dumbledore continued smoothly, "he also said that he would rather die than go back." He turned now to face the assembled group of witches and wizards. "While his past actions may seem unforgettable and unforgivable, his actions now speak even louder. This boy ran willingly from Voldemort´s ranks and came to the Ministry. This boy, barely twenty years old, came begging for death for his crimes." He gazed around sternly. "This boy, who so desperately wants to live, is willing to die rather than go back to what he was. That, ladies and gentlemen, is enough for me to believe that there is yet some good left in him. Perhaps, if we give him the opportunity, he will show himself worthy of a second chance."

"Yes, but Dumbledore, who would be willing to give him that chance?" Bartemius asked.

Dumbledore looked at him, his blue eyes calm. "I would."

A murmur swept through the crowd that swiftly grew to a dull roar. Bartemius shouted for calm over the noise. When silence reigned again over the chamber, he asked, "Certainly you aren´t serious?"

"Of course I am."

"But-- at Hogwarts? Albus-- is that wise?"

"Severus was once the greatest potions mind that ever came through the school. It was for that reason Voldemort offered him a position in his ranks."

"Which is exactly why you shouldn´t be offering him one in yours," Moody interrupted. "He was a Death Eater, Albus. Probably still is. Who´s gonna vouch for him when all hell breaks lose?"

"I will." Though his eyes remained serene, it was obvious the Hogwarts Headmaster was not going to take no for an answer.

Bartemius threw up his hands in defeat. "You were never one to argue with, Dumbledore."

"Thank you," Albus replied mildly.

"But I´m warning you. This is it. The first sign of trouble and he´s back in Azkaban where he belongs."

"Naturally."

Bartemius motioned tiredly and the chains fell from Severus´ limbs. Once free, Snape made no motion to move. The two wizards who had held him down now moved to help him to his feet.

"Wait."

The wizards froze. Moody stood, still glaring at Snape. "If he´s really turned his colors back, he won´t object to giving names."

Snape looked at him shakily. "I-- I only have one," he admitted. "The one who brought me to Voldemort in the first place." Moody waited. "Lucius Malfoy."

"No good," Moody mumbled to Dumbledore as the crowd buzzed. "We´ve been trying to get our hands on that greasy bastard ever since this thing started. We can´t get anything to stick."

Dumbledore nodded as he rose to go. As he passed the interrogation chair, Snape reached out a hand to stop him.

"P-professor?"

Dumbledore turned right in time to catch the young man as he collapsed.

As Snape entered the huge courtroom chamber, the dementors released his arms. He clutched his robes, tattered as they were, as tight as he could. The cold from both the prison and the dementors´ touch chilled him to the core of his bones.

The long walk to the chair was pure hell as he felt the burning gaze of everyone present burn into his back. But even that burning couldn´t drive the cold from his bones. He hung his head and refused to look up, even as he felt he spittle from some angry wizard hit his cheek and run down into his robes.

He vaguely remembered them forcing him down into the chair as the chains bit into his flesh, but he couldn´t make out the words that followed, could only stare blankly at the witches and wizards before him. He thought he heard Dumbledore´s voice once or twice, but couldn´t be certain. The next thing he knew, Dumbledore was standing before him, asking him questions. He answered them blankly, automatically, remembering when a month before, Moody had done the same thing. He tried to block that memory from his mind.

When Dumbledore was through, Snape lapsed back into the semi-conscious state he had been in since he arrived. He heard voices again but not the words. Only when he felt the chains slip from his body did he return to the realm of the fully living. Hands helped him to stand again, but for some reason, his legs didn´t want to support him. A familiar dizziness washed over him, and as Dumbledore passed, he did the only thing he could think of. "P-professor--" Then the darkness caught up with him again.

That had been just hours ago. He now sat with Dumbledore on the train back to Hogwarts, curled up on one of the seats and clutching his knees to his chest. Every once in a while, he glanced up at Dumbledore. The Headmaster was watching him calmly.

"Now what?" he asked, hating the sound of his own weak voice.

"Now we go back to the castle and get you cleaned up, fed and rested."

"Okay." Snape knew he was going to have to talk about his time as a Death Eater sooner or later. "Professor?"

"Yes, Severus?" Dumbledore looked over his glasses at his former student.

"I´m so sorry."

Before Snape could blink, Dumbledore was beside him, pushing a strand of filthy black hair out of his eyes.

"No, Severus, I should be the one who´s sorry." Snape looked at him in a amazement. Dumbledore´s eyes were no longer bright or calm, they were filled instead with sadness and mourning. "I should never have let them take you to Azkaban, I should have demanded that you have your trial immediately. All else failing, I should never have forgotten about you. I never meant to leave you in there, Severus. Not for that long. If I had remembered--"

Snape turned his eyes away and stared at the seat cushion. He shivered as he remembered the cold stone and the colder touch of those scabbed hands. Memories of darkness invaded his mind, of solitude and despair. He wanted to block his ears to the horrible screams, but found they were all in his head. His eyes grew hot as he rubbed at the fitfully with the back of his sickly hand. "Maybe I should have died," he whispered, then turned to bury his head in Dumbledore´s shoulder as he wept.

* * *

Hogwarts was exactly as Snape remembered it. Tall and imposing, it also spoke of comfort and home. Snape stared at it as they traversed the lake, employing the help of the giant squid to push their boat across.

When they arrived, Dumbledore hurried him through the Great Hall past the inquiring eyes of the teachers who remained at the castle over the summer holidays.

Snape allowed himself to be lead to the washroom, following Dumbledore obediently. It seemed easier than trying to figure anything out for himself just then. While Dumbledore filled the enormous bathtub with hot, frothy water, he stripped himself of his dirty, torn robes. Slowly, he eased himself into the steaming water up to his chin and lay back against the marble side. For the first time in months, he felt the cold beginning to seep away from his bones. He closed his eyes.

"I have things to attend to, Severus," Dumbledore told him. "I´ll return shortly with fresh robes and take you to get something to eat. Will you be alright by yourself while I´m gone?"

Snape nodded without opening his eyes. Maybe he should just let himself slip under the surface of the water. No one would care otherwise, except maybe Dumbledore. But he had more important things to worry about than one wayward young man. An ex-Death Eater at that. It wouldn´t take long, a quick death-- not like that little girl´s had been. Just a few moments under the water and he would never have to hear her screams again.

Dumbledore seemed to read his mind. As he reached the doorway, he turned.

"And Severus," he said. "I went through a lot of trouble to get you here alive. Don´t let my efforts be in vain." The door shut.

Of course not, Snape thought. I´ve disappointed you enough already, Professor. Then again, how would it make any difference if I did it one more time? Especially if it was the LAST time. He sighed and leaned his head back to wet his hair. No, Dumbledore was right. The least Snape could do was prove the Headmaster correct in his judgments.

"Albus?" A nervous head poked itself around the door to his office.

"Ah, yes. Minerva. Do come in. Care for tea?" Dumbledore beckoned her inside and handed her a steaming cup of tea. She took it with a small smile.

"Well?"

"He´s here."

"Here?" Professor Minerva McGonagall nearly spilled her tea as she stood up. "Albus, are you certain you know what you´re doing? I know he was a former student-- but God! He was-- possibly IS-- a Death Eater!"

"Sit down, Minerva." Dumbledore´s voice grew sharp. She sat. He took a sip of tea before continuing. "Now, I just spent the last five hours trying to convince a dozen Aurors to let me have Snape in the first place. They don´t believe he´s innocent either." He held up a hand as McGonagall opened her mouth to speak. "I let that boy sit in Azkaban for three months, Minerva. Three months, and all because I forgot about him. That alone should be reason enough for a second chance. But there´s more. He came to us asking for the Kiss. I can´t see any reason for him to do that if he was still working under Voldemort´s orders."

McGonagall took several deep breaths as she toyed with her teacup. "I suppose-- I suppose you´re right, Albus. As always."

"You´re starting to sound like Barty Crouch." She snorted in a most un-ladylike manner.

"The day I become like him is the day I give up Transfigurations for Divinations," she snipped. She drained the rest of her tea and poured herself another cup, this time adding a heavy dose of something poured from a flask hidden in her robes.

Dumbledore sniffed the air and looked at her, blue eyes twinkling. "Apple brandy, Minerva? I was wondering why my bottle was disappearing so fast."

"It´s been a long day. Where is he now?"

"Washing up." Dumbledore´s face darkened for a moment. "You should have seen him, Minerva. I know he´s never looked healthy, but today--" He shook his head sadly. "Three months."

"It´s not all your fault, Albus. There´s so much to be done. You can´t keep track of everything."

"But I should have been able to keep track of this!"

They both jumped in surprise as the teacup flew across the room and shattered on the wall, soaking the desk with tea. Dumbledore mumbled a sheepish apology as he drew his wand. "Reparo."

"You need to rest," McGonagall said, sternly. "You´ve been taking too much on yourself, the strain is beginning to show. Let me take care of Severus--" She sighed as he shook his head. "Fine. At least let me come with you, then."

Dumbledore laughed. "What, Minerva, you don´t think I can defend myself against a sick, half starved boy?" He stood, sending the tea tray whisking back to its place on the shelf. "Let´s go, then. I don´t want the boy to kill himself while I´m gone."

When they arrived at the washroom, Dumbledore thought for a single, horrifying moment that Snape had gone and done just that.

His back was turned as he entered (McGonagall choosing primly to remain outside until Dumbledore made certain Snape was decent) and all Dumbledore could see was black hair and reddish tendrils staining the water. As he got closer, he realized Snape was clutching at his wrist.

Oh God, no

He rushed over, heedless of the now-cold water soaking his robes, fully expecting to see the water stained red with Severus´ lifeblood, a razor sitting beside him on the marble floor.

Instead, what he found nearly broke his heart.

Snape looked up at him, his eyes so full of sorrow they almost drove Dumbledore to weep. "It won´t come off," he half sobbed. "I can´t get it off."

He clutched his left wrist in his other hand, both stained with blood. Long gouges ran down his wrist where he had tried first to scrub, then claw the Dark Mark from his skin. The hideous skull still jeered up at Dumbledore from beneath the bloodstains.

Without a word, Dumbledore lifted Snape from the water. He weighed surprisingly little for such a tall figure. Though more than thrice Severus´ age, Dumbledore carried the young man easily and wrapped him in a huge, soft towel.

"I tried," Snape whispered through his tears. "I tried. I didn´t want them to think you were wrong about me. I tried, I´m so sorry. I tried."

"Shh." Dumbledore held the young man close, trying to soothe away his tears, his pain. "Minerva?" he called. "Would you please go and fetch Madam Pomfrey?" McGonagall took one look at Snape´s arm and her eyes widened. She nodded and rushed out.

How long Dumbledore sat there cradling Snape in his arms, he never knew. Eventually McGonagall returned with Madam Pomfrey but by that time the bleeding had stopped and Snape was sleeping fitfully. Together they all three brought him up to the Hospital Wing where Dumbledore and McGonagall left Pomfrey to take care of him with explicit instructions to come find either of them when he woke up.

"It may have been kinder to have him killed outright," McGonagall said softly as they made their way back to Dumbledore´s office.

"Perhaps," was all Dumbledore could say as he looked at the curtained hospital bed. "We shall see in time."