Metanoia - The Conversion of Severus Snape

Snape paced back and forth in his bedroom. He wished he had a cat, so he could kick it. For a brief moment, he considered finding a neighbourhood child to hex, but then remembered that there were few children left in this neighbourhood these days. He had to do something, but what? There was nothing left to do. It was over. He was too late. He...

He spun again in frustration, trying to banish such thoughts. His thoughts flew back to last night's meeting, unbidden. Just two days, two days, after Regulus' death, the Dark Lord had called them all back. He had thought nothing could be worse than witnessing that, but now he was not so sure. As awful as that was, at least it was over. Whereas this... was just beginning.

Lord Voldemort was going after James Potter and his family.

Potter's parents were dead, but it was the young child the Dark Lord wanted. Why? Why, why, why did it have to be them? Could he have not waited another year before having a child? Even another day would have been enough!

In exasperation, Snape screamed and punched the wall. He stood there, breathing heavily, and looked at what he had done. There was a hole in the wall, and his knuckles were bloody. Memories of his parents slamming doors and his father breaking furniture threatened to intrude upon his current dilemma, but he forced them aside. His mind was clearer now; the pain had leached away some of his impotent rage. He could do something about this. He did not have to behave like a cornered rat.

***

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, frowning at the letter in front of him. He was not sure why he had agreed to meet with the young man, but there was something compelling in the simple request for a meeting. I am an old fool, if I think I can handle them all just because they are young men. Students, after all, grew up, and his authority as Headmaster did not really extend beyond the castle walls. He liked to think he was respected outside Hogwarts, in the Wizarding community at large, but that probably only went so far. I will listen to him, and see what I can do. I cannot save them all.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in, please," he called.

The door opened to reveal the lank frame of Severus Snape. The young man seemed very intent, but not nervous. His dark eyes met Dumbledore's squarely, but his shoulders were hunched a bit. He seemed ill at ease.

Dumbledore stood to great him. "Please, take a seat." But he did not smile.

When they both were seated, he began. "So, Severus, what brings you here tonight?"

"As I explained in my letter, Headmaster, I am in need of some advice." His mouth quirked, but into a scowl.

"And does your Master know you are here?" Dumbledore continued conversationally.

The scowl deepened. "Yes, but he is under the impression I am being interviewed for a teaching position." Snape waved his hand impatiently. "Allow me to take care of my own business; it needn't concern you."

"My apologies; I did not mean to pry. I simply did not wish to cause you any difficulties later." Dumbledore smiled, unperturbed by Snape's outburst. "So, what did you wish to discuss?"

Snape looked at his hands, steeling himself to begin. "The Potters," he said quietly. "The Dark Lord will be going after them." It cost him something to say that.

"Why would he do that?" Dumbledore murmured quietly.

Snape looked up, his eyes glittering. "You know as well as I do," he snarled. "You heard that prophecy. And I..." He looked away, and his voice dropped. "And the Dark Lord heard it, too."

"I see." Dumbledore frowned. "And you wanted to discuss this with me?"

"Who else can I talk to?" Snape's expression looked pained. "I dare not breathe a word of that prophecy to anyone else, but I cannot stop him..." his voice trailed off. "I was a fool to tell him. I didn't know he would take it so seriously."

"He will always take a threat to his life seriously. Death is his greatest fear."

"Who doesn't fear death?" Snape said contemptuously. "But it was just...words. What harm can one baby boy possibly do to him?"

"He would not see it that way," Dumbledore said, looking out the window. He looked back at the young man seated in his office, his face inscrutable. "And so you came to warn them?"

"No." Snape made a face. "I mean...." He shook his head, to clear it, or to hide behind the curtain of his hair. He took a breath. "I am telling you, so you can do something about it. There is nothing more I can do, but surely something can be done?" He looked up, hopeful, his guilt weighing on him.

"Yes, I will do what I can to keep the family safe," Dumbledore reassured him.

Snape nodded, then said almost inaudibly, "I didn't know it would be her." He stared morosely at the base of the phoenix perch, not seeing the room.

Rousing himself, he looked up, all trace of sentiment wiped from his face. He stood, his expression cold and haughty. Dumbledore was inexplicably reminded of Lucius Malfoy, which was odd, because a pale complexion and a tall frame were the only physical similarities between the two men.

"So, Dumbledore, how many Aurors did you think it would take to bring me in?" he asked.

"My dear boy, I did not think that would be necessary. There are no Aurors here tonight." He had been afraid the young man would suspect a trap.

"You think you can handle me yourself, then?" Snape asked, his pride clearly wounded. But he had not drawn his wand yet.

"It may be unseemly to say so, but yes. I would not ask Aurors to accompany me, should I choose to face Lord Voldemort," he added, softening the blow. "But I did not intend to turn anyone over to the Ministry tonight."

Snape stood still, uncertain of how to take that. He had expected to have to fight his way out of here. Before he had a chance to react, Dumbledore stood and continued.

"You may tell Lord Voldemort that you were successful in securing a teaching position here."

A look of shock, mingled with suspicion, crossed fleetingly across Snape's face. "But, sir...you know what I am!"

"I know what you were," Dumbledore corrected him. "But what you have told me tonight makes it clear that your loyalties no longer lie with the Death Eaters. It is unlike them to be concerned about their victims. I am willing to offer you this chance to leave them, if you choose."

Snape's face was working, as if he could not believe what he had just heard. He seemed afraid to look at Dumbledore's face, afraid the offer might be snatched away from him.

"What is the catch?" asked Snape, suspicion winning out over the initial shock.

"Only that you continue to be honest with me concerning any interactions you have with Voldemort. I do not need to tell you that you would make an exceptional spy, as indeed he has already realized." Dumbledore walked around the desk, so that he was standing next to Snape. "That is not a requirement for you to teach here, however. If you choose to sever your connections with the Death Eaters, I will do all that is in my power to protect you. There is still time for you to change the choices you have made."

"No one will ever trust me," Snape said.

"Severus, I am willing to trust you, and I think you will find that many people will trust me," said Dumbledore, with a smile crossing his face. "I can give you this chance. It is up to you to do something with it."

"Thank you, sir," said Snape, looking intently at the man standing next to him, as if seeing him for the first time. "Then...I will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"No, Potions," said Dumbledore. "I've just lost my Potions master; an early retirement spurred on in part by these difficult times. I recall that you were quite adept at that subject. Best in your year, weren't you?"

"No, that was Lily Evans," said Snape, with a dark look. "But I currently work for Gamp, for what that's worth."

"Ah, whatever Professor Slughorn had to say about her, I could not help but notice that your NEWT was superior. I am sure you will make a fine replacement for him. I can only hope that Gamp will forgive me for stealing his help, though if the past is any indication, that is a losing battle."

Snape doubted that even Dumbledore could protect him from the wrath of the Dark Lord, should he abandon the Death Eaters. Regulus' dead eyes would not let him consider Hogwarts a sanctuary. "I will do as you ask," Snape said at length. "I will return to Him, and report to you."

"Will you really be able to hide this from your former Master?" Dumbledore looked sceptical, almost concerned. "He can tell when people are lying."

"I am well aware of that," Snape said in exasperation. "Ask me a question."

"Why did you join the Death Eaters?" Dumbledore asked quietly, his face intent on the young man standing before him.

Snape didn't even flinch. He looked Dumbledore straight in the eye and said, "The robes." At Dumbledore's quizzical look, he elaborated, "I was cold." His face was completely serious, his voice deadpan.

"But surely...that's not really..."

"Of course not!" Snape fairly exploded. "But tell me, could you detect any falsehood in my voice, my face...my mind?"

"I see," Dumbledore murmured, looking at the young man again over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "I'm not sure what I would do for a pair of warm socks, but luckily, no one has ever tested me."

Snape didn't know what to make of this response. Dumbledore could be unreadable even when he told you plainly what he thought, because no one ever knew when to take him seriously.

***

Snape steeled himself to enter the room. He was confidant he could conceal his betrayal; after all, he had something his Master wanted, and the Dark Lord could be so focused.... But then, actually doing it was another matter. He couldn't always trust himself in the presence of those red eyes. Taking one last deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. The Dark Lord was alone - good. He was standing with his back to the door, so Snape dropped to one knee and bowed his head in patient deference, silently waiting.

"So, you have returned from Hogwarts," he began, in that voice so cold it could freeze the marrow of your bones. "And how is Albus Dumbledore?" he asked, turning to face Snape.

"As infuriating as ever," Snape spat, not concealing his disdain, and not looking up.

The red eyes narrowed to slits. "And your interview?" he asked softly.

"I was given a position," Snape said slowly, looking up. "I'll be replacing Professor Slughorn as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House."

"Indeed? This is better than I'd hoped," he said softly, almost to himself. "Much better." His eyes focussed on Snape again. "And how did you manage that?" He did not motion for Snape to stand.

Snape's face broke into a sneer. "Dumbledore," he said, "is always so willing to give people a second chance. He likes to think that we will all come around in time." Vitriol bubbled out as his narration continued. "When I confessed my deep remorse for the last few years, he was ready to eat it up, to take me under his wing and guide me." A grimace. "He thinks it might be for the best if he keep me close."

"Then how is it that you are here?" The cold voice was dangerous now.

"My Lord, you must realise that Dumbledore appreciated the usefulness of a remorseful Death Eater crawling to his door without your knowledge." The dripping irony was not lost on either of them.

"He sent you back to spy on me." It was not a question.

"Yes," said Snape scornfully.

The Dark Lord smiled slowly, his eyes flaring. "The old fool," he said softly. "Surely he knows that I would punish a traitor more thoroughly than he can even dream?"

Snape swallowed, knowing what was about to happen.

"Apparently, he thinks I won't mind so much," he remarked dryly. He watched in morbid fascination as the other man raised his wand of yew.

"CRUCIO!" he snarled.

It hit Snape in the chest. The pain spread immediately through his body, jerking his limbs uncontrollably. As he slid to the floor, the screams finally ripped free of his throat. He didn't know how long he lay there, writhing...

Somewhere above him, the Dark Lord raised his wand. Snape was panting, his breath coming in ragged gasps and wheezes, his shoulders still twitching. He tried to clear his mind, noticing inconsequentially that the floor was made of dark wood.

"Does he now?" the Dark Lord said, continuing their conversation.

Shaking, Snape raised himself to his hands and knees, wondering if he could trust his voice - or his stomach.

"Dumbledore...is an insufferable idiot," Snape rasped.

"No, no," the Dark Lord said lazily. "He has many faults, and he can be blind, but..." He licked his lips. "If you are to be our spy at Hogwarts, you must never forget how clever the man can be, how...perceptive...he is at times." That hungry smile again. "But I have the utmost confidence in your ability to play his weaknesses, Severus Snape. It was a lucky day when Lucius Malfoy met you in the Leaky Cauldron."

Snape closed his eyes, got to his feet, and bowed. He stumbled towards the door and let himself out. He needed to get away from the Dark Lord, needed desperately to be free of him, before the pain in his chest overwhelmed him. He was sick on the landing; he managed an Evanesco to clean up the mess, then Apparated home.

He collapsed into a chair, his breath still coming in small gasps. That was no worse than expected, he thought wryly. Shivering, he wrapped his cloak more tightly about himself. Did the Dark Lord know, though, that his final comment had cut much deeper than the Cruciatus Curse? He had wondered, of course. Why had Malfoy been so willing to overlook his parentage? It seemed rather...uncharacteristic. His lips curled at the understatement. Now he knew what part he had been recruited to play. His Master had wanted a spy in Hogwarts, and Lucius had delivered. He grimaced. Oh, what an honor! To know he was thought to be qualified. To know he was being used all along...for this. He had an overwhelming urge to play both sides false. Malfoy's duplicity and his Lord's insistence on cowing him into submission with crude torture had given him quite enough of the Death Eaters. But was Dumbledore any better? Could he really suffer that man's infernal mercy with any dignity? A niggling voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the apparent sincerity of Dumbledore's trust. To be trusted, relied upon... that was something new to him, after all. He didn't really believe it - surely Dumbledore meant no more by it than the Dark Lord had. But that was easy enough to test. His mouth curled into a ghost of a smile. Oh yes, he could give Dumbledore all the time in the world to prove his trust. And at the slightest misstep... he would be ready with the cruellest revenge he could imagine.

"Yes," he whispered to himself. "I am perhaps more qualified for this work than either of them guess. I will make them both regret their mistake before the end." He sat in the chair for a long time. The dim room fell into darkness as evening came on. Finally, he roused himself, getting stiffly to his feet. He poured himself a glass of wine, continuing to stare into the empty fireplace. It was a long night.

***

Lucius entered the Dark Lord's chambers. He was alone. Lucius frowned; private meetings with his Master were seldom a good thing. Even more disturbing, he didn't know what had prompted his summons. He always hated being in the dark, but in this situation, that could be dangerous. He made an elegant bow, and smiled. "You called for me, my Lord?" he inquired politely.

"Your man Snape is quite impressive," the Dark Lord murmured, walking about the room with nervous energy barely concealed.

"He got the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts, then?" Lucius inquired, suddenly understanding why he had been called in.

"No, Potions." Voldemort smiled coldly. "It seems that you will have the luxury of choosing your own time to execute the plan."

"That's better than I'd hoped," Lucius replied, not moving. "I'm glad he proved worthy of your confidence."

"Perhaps," he conceded. "But only a fool would underestimate Albus Dumbledore. You must watch them both carefully, if this is to succeed."

"As you wish, Master." Lucius inclined his head in acknowledgement.

The Dark Lord withdrew a small package from his robes. It was wrapped in brown paper, with no identifying markings. He weighed it in his hand, as if reluctant to part with it.

"This may not appear impressive, but in the hands of a student, it will return Hogwarts to the initial principles and ideals of Salazar Slytherin. As you know, the Headmaster will do everything in his power to prevent me from returning to the school, so I am unable to do this directly." His face looked sour. Lucius knew it must gall him to have to rely on someone else. "You must use the utmost discretion if this is to succeed."

Lucius bowed again. "Master, I am awed by the brilliant simplicity of your plan. I assure you that I will act with all due care and ... discretion. However, I beg of you to select the time, so that this... disruption ... at Hogwarts will be in full accord with all of your plans." Lucius hoped he had achieved the right mix of gratitude and subservience, flattery and empowerment.

The Dark Lord smiled, and handed him the package. "I needn't remind you, Malfoy," he said softly, "that the consequences for damaging my... belongings... would be most dire."

Lucius nodded, understanding the barely-veiled threat all too clearly. With yet another bow, he turned to go. The Dark Lord's voice froze him. "And Lucius,... be sure he chooses an unwanted student." That was the closest he ever came to explaining how the object would work. He swept from the room. He sincerely hoped he would not live to regret this responsibility. The thought stunned him for a moment. No, he mused. If I fail this time, I think I can be fairly certain that I won't live.

***

Hagrid the groundskeeper had met him at the gate, unlocking it for him and offering to carry his trunk. Snape refused, being content to direct his luggage to float behind him. He had been treated to an effusive monologue from the overgrown oaf, in which he was informed of everything from the recent weather, to the time the students would arrive, to the state of Hagrid's pumpkin patch. It was overwhelming and annoying, but amidst all the talk, he managed to pick out the pertinent information. He would have the rest of today and tomorrow morning to get situated in his rooms, organise his classroom, and re-familiarise himself with the castle. Tomorrow afternoon he would meet with Dumbledore for his instructions. The house-elves were providing meals in the Great Hall, and most of the other teachers would be arriving in the next few days, though a few were already here.

When they reached the castle doors, he intended to dismiss the gatekeeper, but realised that he had no idea where his rooms were. Being back was different, now that he was no longer a student. Seeing his hesitation, Hagrid took the initiative. "Ri' this way. Yeh'll be down in th' dungeons, near yer House. Must be pretty young for a Head o' House, aren't yeh?" Snape just glared at him, and chose not to answer. "Anywa', I'm sure Dumbledore'll let you know what ter expect. Wonderful man, Dumbledore." Yes, so wonderful he hires incompetent fools - like you and me. He did notice that Hagrid made a lot less noise stumping down the stairs than he'd expected. To be fair, Hagrid may have come with the place - inherited from the previous Headmaster. They had both been here when he arrived, which is all he knew about it. "Here yeh are. Should be comfortable, I suspect. If anything's not ter yer liking, just let the Elves know." Hagrid looked down the hall, and smiled. "I used ter come down here, when I were a student. Lotsa outta the way places, good for when..." he stopped suddenly, and tried to cover his pause with a loud sneeze. "Anywa', I'll let yeh get yerself situated. G'bye, now." With a wave, he turned to go. Snape was glad to see his back, and stepped into the relative quiet of his rooms.

***

Entering the faculty room felt out of place, trespassing like a student. Snape took a deep breath to steady himself when he noticed the lone occupant of the room. The grizzled old man with a stack of worn parchments at his elbow did not look up or acknowledge him at first.

"So," he began abruptly. "You're Horace's replacement?" His eye lingered over Snape, appraising him. "We could do worse, I suppose. But you certainly have some big shoes to fill." He shook his head. "Clearly I've been at this too long. When your colleagues look like students, you feel even older." Professor Elwin Futhark sighed. "At least you're tall enough to stick out," he acknowledged, looking up at the young man from his seat. "Of course, it doesn't help that most of them are former students. Binns doesn't count, but at least there's still Minerva... and Kettleburn had the decency to avoid my classes. So, what brings you here?"

An unsettling piercing glint lit his eyes as he turned this question to Snape. It lacked the calculation of Lucius or the Dark Lord, but also the warmth of Dumbledore. Exactly like being a student again.

"Dumbledore was in need of a Potions professor - and a Slytherin. I seem to fulfill both roles, and I've yet to meet the man who will turn him down."

A grimace crossed the old man's face. "True enough. You don't sound overly eager, though. What's the matter, aren't you thrilled at the prospect of drilling knowledge into the next generation?" The cynicism was not masked.

"I...no." He couldn't help but be bluntly honest in the face of such honest scorn.

"Yes, well, it is a thankless job, I suppose. The dunderheads seem more dim-witted with each passing year. At least I don't get them til third year, but even so, it is wearing to pound into them over and over the idea that there is more than one runic alphabet and more than one language each can represent. You would think two years of magical education would prepare them for that, but no. It is amazing I can teach any of them anything beyond basic translation." Snape smiled thinly, remembering the rant. He had heard it as a fifth-year.

"You underestimate your students, professor. I know for a fact that some were passing rune-encoded notes in Charms class. Not the intended use, perhaps..."

"No, it is not. But since they all run off to play Quidditch or gad about the world while pretending to work for Gringotts after graduation, I suppose it doesn't matter. It's a dying art. Most of them wouldn't know a runic curse if it bit them..."

"I suppose your knowledge will die with you. What a comforting thought." Snape was getting annoyed with these old rants.

"I've told you, I'm getting too old for this job. But let's see how long it takes you to turn into a bitter old man while doing it." The glint in his eye was far too knowing for Snape's taste. "I wager your encounter with first years will wipe that patronising smile off your face." A silence fell.

"Oh, I suppose I'm supposed to welcome you, offer to help if you need it, and all that rubbish. You're no fool. I remember you were always conscientious about getting work done. You won't need any of that sort of help. No, you'll just be beating your head against the wall wondering why you let Albus talk you into this. And I'm sorry, but I can't help you with that." There was a brief pause, as he knocked the ash out of his pipe. "At least you'll likely last longer than that mooning idealist Schipper. She doesn't seem to have noticed that her class is meant to be practical. Even if she's never met a Death Eater, her students are likely to." With a curt nod, he put the pipe back in his mouth and turned back to the book he had been perusing.

Snape blinked, trying to remember what he had come in here for in the first place. Remembering, he checked the shelf for Potions books before turning to leave. Uncertainly, he said "Good day, Professor," before stepping out of the room.

"Good day, and good luck to you," was the gruff reply.

***

The meeting with Dumbledore was a bit bewildering. He had thought he knew Hogwarts already, but the past two days had taught him that he did not know what it meant to teach at Hogwarts. The instructions he had just received were a tad overwhelming, but he was sure he would get the hang of it.

"Now Severus, before the year begins, I would like to discuss your other responsibilities," Dumbledore was saying. His attention snapped back. "I have made certain that getting into and out of Hogwarts secretly is nearly impossible, for the protection of the students. So, we need to decide how you will receive and respond to messages." Snape did not have to ask from whom.

Rather smugly, Snape remarked, "The Dark Lord has methods of contacting his Death Eaters. Don't worry, no one will detect it."

Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully. After a moment, he said, "No, I suppose not. Would this have something to do with that mark on your arm?" His eyes twinkled guilelessly, but Snape felt as if the floor had shifted under his feet. "What do you mean?" he asked warily. Dumbledore's lips twitched, and he said softly, "You are forgetting that I taught him Transfiguration. I have a fairly good idea what he is capable of."

"You taught him?" Snape asked, surprised. "But that means..."

"Yes, the man you call the Dark Lord was once a student at Hogwarts. He was a few years behind Minerva, I believe." Dumbledore sighed. "Usually, it is a pleasure to watch old students grow up. But in Tom's case...well, I cannot help but feel that we failed him."

Snape thought that over for awhile. This obsession with Hogwarts (and with Dumbledore) was far more personal than he had imagined. The Headmaster was in many ways the natural enemy of the Dark Lord; they would have antagonised each other, regardless. But to know that they had both lived in this castle for seven years, seeing each other in class every week. Why... it made Him seem almost human to think of it. Almost unconsciously, he rubbed his left arm. As soon as he noticed what he was doing, he stopped.

Should he ask the Headmaster about it? He had been unable to solve this, the first puzzle he'd encountered as a Death Eater. Lucius did not have the answers, and no one dared to ask the Dark Lord.

"Professor..." he began, and stopped. Why was it so difficult to ask? Dumbledore just sat there patiently, not eager nor expectant, but not hurrying him, either. He looked away, and fingered the hem on his sleeve. "How will I leave the school, if I am called?"

"The Main Gate is the easiest," the Headmaster replied. "It will not seem suspicious for a teacher to be heading down to Hogsmeade, at least not at reasonable hours. I will ask you to inform me, though, so I know when you are away."

Snape nodded; he had expected not to be given free rein. But by the same token, he had almost expected Dumbledore to demand he be escorted on and off the grounds.

"Can you tell me what this is?" he finally blurted out, wrenching up the sleeve and revealing the welts on his forearm. His eyes were intently focused on the Headmaster, awaiting his reaction and ready to flee at the least sign of revulsion. Dumbledore frowned, but he did not recoil. He looked at the Mark for a moment, and then stood. He opened a drawer in a cabinet and fished out a pair of small silver tongs. He turned to face his youngest professor. "May I?"

Snape had let his sleeve drop, and it now half-covered his Dark Mark. "May you what?" he asked.

"May I touch your arm?" At his nod, Dumbledore took his wrist and turned it palm up. Then he touched the tongs to Snape's pulse and slid them up to the dark purple scar - neither fresh nor old - that showed a snake wrapped around a skull. The Dark Mark. He prodded at it for a moment, and then pinched them together. To Snape's surprise, he saw that as Dumbledore pulled away the tongs, they held fast a filmy image. At first, it was just a ghost of the intertwined snake and skull. But when Dumbledore tapped the tongs with his wand, it transformed into an image of the Dark Lord, with a snake entwined upon each arm. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at that, but then released the tongs. The shadowy image dissipated like smoke in an unseen draught.

He walked back around his desk and sat down heavily. He laid the tongs down carefully, and then at last looked up at Snape. "You will not need me to describe the effects, of course," he began quietly. "But that mark is his magical fingerprint. The two snakes represent his will going out, and his will returning. A more benign form of a fingerprint merely acts as a signature, to let others know who has performed the magic."

"Graffiti?" Snape asked in disgust.

"Not quite. Fingerprints of wizards who have been forgotten by history can be read to tell us not only their name, but who they were. It was a primitive form of record that has gone out of fashion, now that we have portraits." Snape looked at the Headmaster sharply. Just how old was Dumbledore? Portraits had been around for ages...hadn't they? "But the fingerprint that he used has been...altered. He was not content to leave a portion of himself behind, as a residue. Rather, he has linked it to himself so that he has, in fact, never left it behind at all."

"The...alteration. I suppose that has never been done before?" Snape asked. He at least had never found anything about this in a book.

"Not to my knowledge, no. Though..." Dumbledore paused, closing his eyes for a moment. He was clearly hesitant to go on. "If I am not mistaken," he continued quietly, "it owes something to the magic that binds house-elves to the families they serve."

"No." Snape stood up with a snarl. "I am not his slave!"

Dumbledore's expression was pained, but he said nothing over Snape's harsh breathing. Suddenly, Snape's face broke into a harsh smile. "But if I am, the others are as well. The self-important pure-blooded fools!" He laughed mirthlessly. "That is a secret I shall enjoy keeping, Headmaster."

***