Lost Lamb Returning

Screams rent the air, turning what should have been just another peaceful night into a scene from a demon's nightmare. Voices were everywhere, rising over the roar and crackle of the flames. Tongues of fire reared from the inferno, licking their way upwards as if trying to burn out the stars themselves.

The heat of the flames seared away life and boiled the very air as voices rose and fell. There was a glimpse of hoods, masks, eyes, hands. A voice slithered out of the darkness, crawling over the bodies of the dead and winding itself around the burning wreckage. People were running, but there was nowhere to go. The snake voice caught up with every one of them. It coiled around the mind and wrapped sanity and life in its green coils, its hiss was the last thing they heard.

Laughter began to take the place of the screams-- the fire raged on, the fleeing figures became dancing savages. The carnage had turned into a celebration of the macabre.

The voice came ever closer.

* * *

Snape awoke with a start. For a moment, he panicked, forgetting where he was. He relaxed when he saw the familiar curtains around the bed, felt the clean sheets and smelled the scent of medicine and soap. Something still bothered him, though. There was a nagging thought in the back of his mind, but when he tried to bring it forward it vanished like the remnants of a dream. All he caught was something about fire, about snakes. Then it was gone.

He swallowed and discovered his throat was dryer than three-day bread. Quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone, he slipped out of the hospital bed, wincing as his feet hit the icy floor. He padded softly across the room, searching for some water. He bypassed three bottles of clear liquid; if his Potions training had taught him one thing, it was that you never drink from an unlabeled bottle.

He arrived at the bathroom and cupped his hands beneath the tap. As he drank, Snape happened to glance up at the mirror above the sink. His eyes widened as his hands gripped the edge of the porcelain, water and thirst forgotten.

While no one had ever called him handsome, Snape was now reduced to a sunken shade of his former self. His dark eyes were huge in his gaunt face, underscored by discolored markings from lack of sleep. Black greasy hair hung in in ragged strands, falling forward no matter how many times he tried to push it back. But his skin-- his complexion had always been pallid, now it was bone white and sickly looking. The moonlight streamed in through a window, covering him with its pale blue cast until he looked into the reflection of a drowned man. Snape shuddered at the thought, remembering how close he had come just the day before.

He stood there, gazing at his sickly reflection until the sound of footsteps startled him out of his reverie. He froze, listening, as the footsteps faded away down the hall. He took one last glance at the mirror before opening the door and slipping back to the Hospital Wing.

As he climbed back into the bed, Snape was surprised to hear the footsteps again, this time coming unmistakably towards the room where he lay. He was also surprised to note that a second set of steps had joined the first. He froze as he heard the door open and quickly lay back, feigning sleep.

"What did you expect me to do, Minerva?" The unmistakable voice of Albus Dumbledore reached Snape's ears from behind the curtain. "Leave him in Azkaban? Give him what he wanted and let the dementors have him?" Snape heard McGonagall mumble something too low for him to hear, but Dumbledore cut her off. "It wasn't even what he really wanted, just what he thought he deserved. That is what convinced me." He sighed in frustration. "Merlin's beard, there was good in that boy once, Minerva. You know that as well as I do. Some of that good must still remain if he came back."

"But, Dumbledore, surely you don't expect him to take up a position here? An ex-Death Eater in a teaching position? The students' parents--"

"I've dealt with the parents of students before," Dumbledore said calmly. "Severus possesses what is unarguably the finest skill with potions than anyone alive. They will understand."

"And if they don't?" But she let it drop.

Someone pushed aside the curtains surrounding the bed and Snape made himself go limp, slowing his breathing down to almost nothing. He felt a hand push a strand of hair away from his face and resisted the urge to open his eyes.

"Name of Merlin..." McGonagall breathed. "He looks as though he's been carried through hell on a thestral's back."

"You're not far wrong. Azkaban isn't much different than hell. He's only twenty, Minerva, and barely that. Don't tell me this boy isn't entitled to another chance."

"I know, I know. It's just...oh Albus, you know how hard it is. You know how many people we've lost, how many friends we've seen die. It's just hard knowing he was there on the other side the entire time, helping them."

"And how much of that was because he never had a chance on this one?" Dumbledore's voice was strained. "Admit it, Minerva. Severus was never really accepted anywhere he went, not even by other Slytherins. Not even by the teachers. Plus, there was simply nothing on this side for him, intellectually. Severus was put into Slytherin, remember? The house that prizes ambition. He needed to be challenged and Lucius knew that. So he offered him the greatest challenge of his life, the greatest opportunity to learn. It was Severus' one great weakness, and that's how Voldemort grows stronger, he feeds on people's weaknesses. But that doesn't excuse the treatment he got when he was here."

"I don't think I understand what you're talking about--"

"Yes you do, Minerva. Severus was hated here. He was hated by the other houses for being Slytherin, he was hated by his fellows for his talents and he was hated by the teachers for his intelligence. He intimidated everyone who knew him. So he shut people out, he tried to act like he didn't care about them, or what they thought. That just made things worse. When Lucius came to him it must have seemed a miracle to the boy to have someone offer him something like that when he'd been shunned and looked over for most of his life. To be someone who was wanted, who was useful. He was talented, Minerva, much more so than anyone ever gave him credit for. And that's what drove him over the line. To know you have talents, to know you're intelligent and still be looked down on and undervalued- it's not easy. Lucius may have been the one to bring him over to Voldemort, but we were the ones who drove him to Lucius in the first place."

Snape fought the urge to sob as he lay unmoving in the dark, listening to Dumbledore's words. Everything he said was the truth, but what hurt was the realization that someone had been aware the entire time. If Dumbledore had known, then why hadn't he done something about it? If he had seen what was going on, why didn't he stop it?

"Yes...well--" He heard McGonagall sigh. "I suppose I don't have anything to say to that. I never really thought about it that way..."

"You should really take a step back and look at things from a different perspective, Minerva." Dumbledore's voice regained its jovial quality. "It can quite refreshing, as well as revealing. Now--" Snape heard the click of Dumbledore's pocket watch. "It's gotten rather late, and if I recall there's a certain chocolate pudding downstairs that I feel I should get to know a little more intimately. Off to bed with you, Minerva."

Snape listened to the retreating footsteps and was about to open his eyes when he felt a cool hand on his brow.

"You don't have to pretend anymore, Severus," Dumbledore said. "You may sit up, if you like."

"Y-you knew I was awake?" he said haltingly, still trying to come to terms with Dumbledore's words to McGonagall.

"Of course I did. I used to pretend to be asleep all the time when I wanted to listen to other people talking. Of course, that was a long time ago. Although there was the time I fooled my Muggle Studies teacher and nearly gave her a heart attack when I didn't 'wake up.' Thought I had gone and died in the middle of her class, poor dear. She was quite a woman, though, Professor Gr--"

"Professor?" Snape waited for a lull in Dumbledore's rambling, and when none came, he interrupted a little guiltily. "When you were talking to Professor McGonagall--" He trailed off, not knowing quite what to say.

"You want to know how I knew all of what I said and why I didn't do anything about it, don't you?" Snape nodded. Dumbledore's eyes grew solemn as he gazed at his former student. "Because I honestly never thought it would grow to the proportions that it did," he said. "I've seen that sort of thing a hundred times in my years as Headmaster, and in most cases it went away by the end of third year. You were different, and I couldn't figure out why. So I put it out of mind until you were gone, hoping the problem would disappear with time."

"You put it out of mind." Snape was surprised at the bitterness of his own voice. He tried to stop his next words, but they were out of his mouth before he could think.

"Like you put me out of mind for those three months in Azkaban."

Time seemed to freeze as neither man moved or spoke. An icy silence surrounded them both. Snape wanted to die, to melt into the sheets, to disappear. He couldn't believe he had just spoken those words to the man who had rescued him just days ago, who had saved him from death, or worse. He covered his face with his hands. "Professor-- I'm sorry. Please, forgive me, I'm not myself right now."

Dumbledore looked at him with that same sad look in his eyes that Snape remembered from the time he Apparated to his side when he had run away from the Death Eaters. He shivered.

"I understand," was all he said, but Snape knew those two words meant more than just an acceptance of his apology. He could have killed himself, had he the chance. The only excuse he had for acting that way was he was still getting over his three months in hell. He stared at his hands, knowing he should say something, but unsure what it was. He remembered another time when he had been at such a profound loss for words, years ago, when he had first come to Hogwarts as a student.

* * *

Snape stared up at the ceiling of the Great Hall, bewitched by the magic he saw. Not the enchantment, of course. He'd seen magic like that since he was an infant and the ceiling above his crib had been magicked in a similar fashion. No, what he gazed now at with such rapt fascination was the storm the ceiling mimicked. Small bolts of lightning sparked between the towering cumulonimbus clouds, lighting the entire Hall with eerie flashes of light. He watched the huge clouds roil and churn until the ceiling looked like a mass of tangled gray cotton. Beautiful.

Suddenly, his wordless wonder was disrupted by a hard poke in the back. "Get moving," someone behind him growled. Snape jumped, startled by both the poke and the words. He realized that, much to his chagrin, the other first years had filed into a rough line before what appeared to be a stool with a very old, tattered hat. The Sorting Hat, of course. Severus was just one of many generations of Snapes that had attended Hogwarts, so he knew every detail there was the know, every nuance, every tradition. And, of course, he knew of the four Houses and their reputation. Severus was praying for Ravenclaw, but his father Silias was hoping he would be put into Slytherin, where every previous member of the Snape family had been sorted. Severus sighed as the song ended and the sorting began.

"Avers, Justin!" Gryffindor.

Then again, if he did manage to get himself sorted into Ravenclaw, the tongue lashing he would receive from his father might just make it worth it to end up in Slytherin. As if it were his fault where he was placed.

"Curtiss, Hal!" Gryffindor.

Of course, his blood was so purely Snape, it would be near impossible for the Sorting Hat to put him anywhere except Slytherin. While Severus might not have harbored any ambition of his own, his long dead relatives had put more than enough in his blood to last a lifetime.

"Johnson, Julia!" Ravenclaw.

He was smart enough to be put into Ravenclaw, of course. But then again, his entire family was more than intelligent, so that really didn't mean a thing. Still...he shivered when he looked over at the Slytherin table.

"Malfoy, Lucius!" Slytherin.

Oh, why was his name so far down towards the end of the list?

Finally: "Snape, Severus!"

Ravenclaw, I'll do anything, just put me into Ravenclaw! Severus stepped forward and took a seat on the stool, placing the old Hat on his head. He cringed, waiting for the inevitable outcome.

"Severus Snape. My, I've seen that name come and go quite a bit in my lifetime," the Sorting Hat chuckled in his head. "Snape. Well, you're no coward, but Gryffindor is not the place for you. Neither is Hufflepuff, though you're no slacker, either."

Ravenclaw, please put me into Ravenclaw. Just not Slytherin!

"Ravenclaw, hm? You'd do well there, you know. But-" Snape felt his heart sink. "I'm afraid the choice will have to be- SLYTHERIN!" Just before Severus removed the hat, it whispered in his ear again. "Don't let it bother you. You have the potential to achieve great things no matter what house you're in."

Great, Severus thought. So why did you put me into Slytherin? He took the hat off and slunk over to the Slytherin table, his heart down somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes. At least his father would be pleased.

"How the hell did you end up here?" a voice whispered in his ear as he sat down. Severus turned and saw the face of the boy who had poked him earlier. "I don't think there's enough ambition in you to overcome an anthill." He turned to talk with a thin Slytherin first year girl. "It just confirms what I've been suspecting all along," he told her, making sure his voice would carry to the other students at the table. "The Sorting Hat is getting senile. It's judgment's on the blink."

Unkind laughter swept the table as Severus felt his face go red. He gazed down at the table, but not before he noticed the one student at the table not laughing. Lucius Malfoy, the boy who had been sorted a few students before him, was watching him, oddly silent.

"Shut it, Kel," another Slytherin whispered fiercely. "Hagrid's watching."

Severus glanced over to where some of the other students were looking and his eyes widened. There was no physical way that "Hagrid" could be human. At least, not fully human. And true to the student's word, he was glaring straight at the Slytherin table, black eyes flashing. The table fell silent as the rest of the Sorting was completed.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stood and began his welcoming speech, but Severus' mind had wandered off again.

At least he would have good news to write home to his father about.

The rest of the year proved to be no better than the first day. Severus, due to his bad start with the boy Kel, was shunned from every Slytherin circle. He had few friends and those that he did have were barely more than casual acquaintances. It didn't bother him much at first; he was a solitary boy by nature. After a while, though, it grew boring with no one to talk to. The teachers were no better. At the beginning of the second month, Severus had proved several of his teachers wrong and managed to produce a potion even better than the Professor in charge. Classes bored him, he could sleep through lectures and still pass exams with higher marks than any of his classmates. Teachers referred to him as "troublesome," "easily distracted" and "disrespectful." In short, they shunned him as much as any of his house fellows.

Once, Severus sought company elsewhere, namely a group of Gryffindors. He soon learned the error in that and returned to his own house, more lonely than before. Years crawled by in similar fashions as Severus began to feel increasingly that the school had become a prison. There were, however, two escapes from his stifling lifestyle.

One was the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Severus had always found the Dark Arts fascinating, and the teacher was one of the few that didn't bore him to tears. No small part of that was Professor Settra himself. He wasn't a tall man, but he didn't need to be. It was the way he carried himself. Tall, proud, straight and upright, he could give the impression he was seven feet tall if he wanted to. He was soft spoken, but his voice carried the intensity of a man who had long ago found a place in his true calling. And he brooked no nonsense from anyone.

"Mr. Snape, if you would please remain behind for a moment after class?" he said one day. "Thank you."

Severus froze in his seat as his classmates rushed out of the room, chattering loudly as the made for the doors. He waited.

"Mr. Snape." Professor Settra walked over to his desk in measured steps. "I wanted to have a talk with you before you went to join your fellow students outside."

Severus thought about the irony of that statement, but held his tongue.

"You're undisputedly the best student in my class. I've heard what other teachers have said about you, and quite frankly, I find it hard to believe." He placed a hand on Snape's shoulder. "I understand," he said quietly. "I was like you once. Few friends, school no challenge, can't find an interest anywhere, right?" Severus nodded. "I know. And I wish I could offer you some advice. But I can't, and I won't try to offer you false hope. I was lucky enough to find my own calling and land a job working with it, but that's a rare chance. Don't expect something like that to happen to you."

Severus nodded again, wondering why Settra was telling him all this.

"But the reason I asked for you to stay is this," Settra said, seeming to read his mind. "You're by far the best student I've had in ages."

"Thank you, sir." Severus didn't believe Settra had asked him to stay just to be complimented. He was right.

"Now, I know my class isn't exactly the most interesting for you-" he held up a hand to forestall Snape's protests. "But I want you to listen to everything I say in class, learn everything I teach." As if he ever did anything else. "Because I've got a feeling you'll need this knowledge one day," he continued. "It pains me to say it, but there's a very good chance that in a few years you'll be using it against some of the people who sit by you in class every single day. You know the story behind Slytherin graduates?" Snape nodded. "Well, I don't know why, but I've got a real bad feeling about this group. Real bad. Be careful, and remember what I said. Pay attention. It may save your life someday." How odd those words had seemed!

His other escape, oddly enough, lay in the dungeons. The only place where Snape ever felt truly at home.

Potions was not an exciting class for him, by no means. Professor Carroay seemed to find his job as unpleasant as Settra found his own pleasing. However, it was not the teacher that lured him time and time again to those drafty stone chambers.

There was a magic for him there, leaning over the simmering cauldron. Not magic as most wizards knew it, but of a kind with the magic of the storm. To Severus, the potions classroom was a place of beauty and information. The ease with which potions turned in his hands did not bore him as his work in other classes did, instead it soothed him. He was unsurpassed in his skill and knowledge when it came to stirring cauldrons, chopping ingredients or heating solutions. Perhaps it was the utter lack of magic that was involved; no potion would work, of course, without the infusion of a witch or wizard's inherent magic, but the process was just that: process. A series of precise steps that lead from one thing to another. Combinations of certain ingredients never failed to reach an expected conclusion under normal circumstances, certain solutions acted thus under certain conditions. It was so simple. So logical.

That, of course, was the reason behind it all. Severus had always been a creature of logic, of steps and processes. A man of science, if science could be used in the world where magic reigned. Whatever the reason, Severus never felt more at home than when hunched over a gently boiling cauldron, or more at peace than with his rather prominent nose stuck in one of the volumes of Life in a Bottle: A Study of Famous Potions and Their Creators. More so, in fact, than at Snape Manor itself.

Ah yes, that was another factor that contributed to making his life at Hogwarts one step up from hell. Home visits were few and far between, and far be it from him to change that schedule. After his initial pleasure at his son's placement in Slytherin, Silias had treated Severus exactly as he always had. That was to say, he ignored him completely.

No matter how hard Severus tried, his father never seemed pleased at him. The only thing important to Silias was that his son continue to live out his Snape heritage and see to it that the family name did not die out when he did. Pureblood to the last.

As a result, there were few times during his stay at Hogwarts when he was truly happy. And he never once remembered in any of his years, at school or otherwise, a moment during which he could say he was content.

It wasn't until almost the end of his final year at Hogwarts that someone rescued Severus from the downward spiral that his life had become. It wasn't until he was nearly a graduate that he met the young man who had showed him a life he had never dared dream of, a life in which he was needed, where his skills and efforts were not only appreciated, but rewarded.

"Severus Snape?" The cool, silky voice snaked across the Slytherin common room, penetrating Severus' thoughts and invading his mind. As he put down the book he'd been reading, prepared to lash out at the student who had disturbed his concentration, Severus caught the blue eyes of a young man he remembered. It had been years since he had last seen that measured, calculating gaze, leveled at him from across the Slytherin table at the Great Hall. Though he had not thought about the incident since it happened, nearly a decade ago, a sudden thought sprung into Severus' mind. He had been the only one who hadn't laughed.

"Severus, I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced," the young man said with a smile. For an instant, Severus was reminded of the warning Settra had given him once. You may be using this knowledge against some of your own classmates one day...

The young man extended his hand. "Lucius Malfoy." His hand felt like velvet wrapped over steel rods in Severus' grip. "I believe I have an offer that just might interest you..."

* * *

Snape shook his head, banishing the memory to the depths of his mind from whence it came. It was too painful to think about now, too vivid, to real. He knew one day he would have to face the memory again, that one and many more, but that would come later. Right now he was just so tired, worn out from the simple task of keeping his thoughts in focus from one moment to the next.

And right now, he had to find some way of keeping his tongue under the control of his mind, not his heart.

"Professor," he started, but trailed off. What was there to say?

"Go to sleep, Severus. You need rest. We'll talk again tomorrow." Dumbledore stood and silenced Snape's would-be protests with a stern look. All Snape could do was nod. He watched as Dumbledore pulled the curtains around his bed closed and listened to his footsteps recede own the hall, cursing silently as he left. Of all the stupid, thoughtless things to say-

He sighed as he pulled the sheets closer and rolled over in his side. Tomorrow, as they said, was another day. Another day to think things over and try to come to grips with his new life, his new existence. Another day to try and keep the demons at bay while he searched for a way to exorcise them entirely. Another day to heal the wounds in his soul that still burned like storm lightening and bled like a overturned cauldron.

Another day, and he might be bled dry.

Snape stared at the blank curtains with dry, open eyes. Tomorrow would be a long time in coming.