A Father's Sin

A Father's Sin

By Severitus

CHAPTER 3 -- Looking Through it

Dinnertime came and went, and before he knew it Harry found himself trudging down a dungeon hallway, with prospects of pain and torture in his future. The heavy oaken doors that led to Snape’s classroom soon loomed dark and forbidding in front of him, and he glared at them bitterly. Detention he hadn’t even earned---again. And probably again and again after that, until Snape tired of his sick joy (hah!) or Harry graduated beyond his grasp. Squaring his shoulders and blanking his expression, Harry creaked open the door and stepped in quietly, shutting it gently behind him. Snape was seated behind the desk at the front of the room, his feet propped on its surface as he reclined back in his chair, eyes scanning the pages of an old, yellowed tome.

“Come here, Potter,” Snape commanded, not even lifting his eyes from the open book. Harry obeyed immediately, walking swiftly up to stand before the desk, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat. No matter how angry he could get at Snape, that anger always turned to fear when he was in the man’s actual presence. After a few minutes, Snape finally closed the book and set it aside, swinging his legs down under the desk.

“Now, if you wouldn't mind telling me HOW exactly you managed that potion today?” he said, his black gaze locked onto Harry’s startled green-eyed one. Harry swallowed again and shifted nervously under the glare.

“I just followed the instructions sir, and ground up the wolfsbane before stirring it in…” Harry said, his voice quavering a bit more than he would have preferred. Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise, leaning back in his chair and then looking Harry up and down.

“And how did you know to do that? Wolfsbane isn’t covered extensively until seventh year. How is it that you would know how to add it properly to the ‘Eternal Flame’ potion?” Snape asked, and Harry surprised even himself when he answered almost immediately.

“The potency of Wolfsbane is lessened when combined with flammable ingredients...it has to be added in small doses in order to mix properly,” Harry said, and Snape stared at him in mild shock. The truth was that Harry had no idea how he knew that, he’d simply known, almost as if he’d done that sort of thing before.

“And HOW, pray tell, did you know that?” Snape hissed, angered that the boy had been able to answer so easily. He’d suspected that Potter had gotten the potion correct merely by accident, and he had been looking forward to rubbing that fact in.

“I--don’t know sir, I just sort of—knew,” Harry said uneasily, staring down at the top of Snape’s desk. It was scuffed and decorated by a variety of stains from years of spills and boot-heels, half-hidden under a mess of scrolls and a few tiny stone figurines. Harry had never paid attention to them before, but now, while awaiting Snape’s wrath, they were quite fascinating.

“You don’t know…pitiful answer, Potter. Really, I’d expected something at least a little more creative than that,” Snape growled, his face once again twisting into a wicked smile. So, he could have some fun with the boy after all, he thought. Snape was about to issue some command or another when Potter suddenly looked him straight in the eye, his green gaze bright and determined.

“Professor Snape, what are the Serpent’s Children?” he asked, and Snape froze, his eyes wide in surprise. However, it was past in an instant, and his eyes soon narrowed with hatred.

“Where did you hear of them?” he hissed, barely managing to keep from yelling. Harry didn’t answer, but instead hung on desperately to his newfound resolve.

“What are they?” he asked again, and low growl sounded deep from Snape’s throat as he rose from his chair, towering over his young student.

“Out,” he hissed, his palms pressed flatly to the desktop. Harry looked at him with a confused expression, taking a small step backward. “I said GET OUT! AND NEVER MENTION THEM AGAIN!!” Snape roared, and Harry nearly fell flat on his face in the mad dash for the exit, not even bothering to close the door behind him as he ran in fear for his very life.

The common room was busy when Harry arrived back at Gryffindor tower, gaining quite a few stares for his panicked entrance. He continued straight up to the dormitory instead, ignoring the few questions that trailed after him. He paused at the end of his bed, hands on his knees as he struggled for breath. Thankfully, no one else was there at the moment. Falling back on his bed, he stared up at the stone ceiling, struggling to slow his rapid breathing. He’d undoubtedly hit a nerve with Snape, a very sensitive nerve, at that. Never before (well…maybe once) had Snape ever gotten angry so quickly. And never in recorded history had Snape ever allowed him to escape without his punishment. Although, Harry mused, Snape would probably just reassign detention for another day.

Attempting to roll over, Harry jumped up with a start when he felt something in his pocket poke him. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Harry reached down in his pocket and pulled out the offending object. It was one of Snape’s figurines, a small obsidian lion. As he held it in his palm, wondering how it had gotten in his pocket in the first place, the lion yawned and stretched, beginning a slow pace across his hand. Harry smiled and reached a finger out to inspect the creature, stroking it along the tiny back as it paused its pacing. Harry froze as a familiar feeling suddenly washed over him, and closed his eyes tightly as a wash of images suddenly flooded into his mind.

They were Snape’s memories; Harry realized that the instant the first slid into focus. There were Death Eaters all around, and standing directly before him was a figure that nearly made his scar burn. It was Voldemort, in all his serpentine glory. His eyes were glowing fiercely crimson in the darkness of the strange room, and they shifted back and forth across his followers as a wicked smile formed on his sallow lips.

 

“Well done, my faithful….,” Voldemort hissed, casting a brilliant gaze about the room, before landing a nearly prideful look upon the figure that knelt near to him, one of the few not wearing a mask. It was Professor Snape. Voldemort strode forward, walking slowly in front of the dozen or so cloaked figures. “We have ensured the future…purified the unworthy. Once they have matured and learned our ways, the Serpent's Children shall rise up and fulfill Slytherin’s dream! Muggle blood will run in the streets, dye the fields and our hands, as we take back the place of power that is rightfully ours!” he yelled, his hands thrown in the air as the Death Eaters rose and cheered. Harry couldn’t help but notice that Snape didn’t seem too enthusiastic. “However….,” Voldemort hissed, and the cheers died down slowly, many faces knitting in confusion, “I must say that I am terribly disappointed in most of you. I had planned on capturing 100 for our uses, as you recall…. and would you like to know how many survived?” No one answered, as all were glancing about nervously. “Only 80! Eighty of a hundred prospects! And you must know that not every one will bear our future, even speaking optimistically only half will return to us. That leaves 40. This does NOT please me,” Voldemort hissed, his eyes flaring brightly. Nearly every Death Eater then cringed, and then fell to the floor screaming in agony as Voldemort whispered, “Crucio,” with a sick gleam in his eyes. Harry noticed that only one escaped the Dark Lord’s wrath, and that was Severus Snape, who remained kneeling before him, staring respectfully at the floor. There was also a powerful emotion that accompanied the memory, nearly driving Harry to his own knees as a result. It was shame. Pure, strong, and unwavering shame, tinged with bright anger for the maniacally laughing figure in the memory.

Harry dropped the lion onto the bed with a gasp, jerking back away from it in surprise. The lion sprawled on the bedcover, rising shakily before resuming a slow pace, pausing briefly to lick its stone fur back into place.

“See anything interesting?” a voice asked, and Harry jumped again. Ron was sitting on his own bed, watching him curiously.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, and Ron pointed to the lion.

“The paperweight. You were looking through it, weren’t you?” Ron asked, and Harry stared him blankly, and then looked back down at the lion.

“Looking…through it?” he asked, and Ron rolled his eyes in frustration.

“You haven’t even heard of that? Honestly Harry, how you get through the day…” Ron muttered, and Harry gave him a pointed glare. “Alright, alright! Sometimes if you have an object that’s pretty important to someone, or is associated with some sort of intense emotion, it lets you see certain memories. The thing develops a connection with its owner, and lets you sort of connect with them too,” Ron said, reaching toward the bedside table to pick up the small marble that had claimed its place there since the very first year. “This was my grandpa’s, I look through it sometimes to remember him, it’s like a live photo album for me,” Ron said, and then carefully set the marble back in its place.

“Oh, so that’s what it does…” Harry mused, glancing over at the crystal lily still sitting on the same table.

“So? Whose is it?” Ron persisted, crossing his legs impatiently.

“Snape’s, it was on his desk. It must have jumped in my pocket when I was down there earlier,” Harry said, picking up the lion again. He studied it a moment longer before setting it on the bedside table.

“Yikes…maybe I don’t wanna know what you saw….”

“It was Vol---er---You-Know-Who, he was talking to the Death-Eaters about the Serpent’s Children,” Harry said, and Ron’s eyes widened, his interest instantly regained.

“Did you find out anything?”

“Not really…he just said that they were their ‘future,’ there are supposedly about forty of them, and that they’d help to accomplish Slytherin’s Dream. I actually asked Snape about them earlier, and it seems to be a REALLY touchy subject with him, he kicked me out before making me serve my detention,” Harry said, and Ron’s jaw fell open.

“I’ll have to remember that next time I get detention,” Ron said, and Harry couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, I’ve never seen him so angry before. I can’t help but be curious about the whole thing now,” Harry muttered, casting a thoughtful glance to the trunk at the end of his bed. An idea was forming in his head that would hopefully put an end to that curiosity…

“You’re not going to do something crazy, are you? I mean, especially if Snape’s already pissed at you….” Ron said, his gaze nearly begging Harry to let it be. Harry only cast him a mischievous smile and laid back on his bed, crossing his arms behind his head.

“It’ll only be dangerous if I’m caught,” he said with a mischievous grin, and Ron fell back on his own bed with a groan.

--------------------------

The halls were completely dark and empty when Harry crept down toward the dungeon, huddled safely beneath the folds of his father’s cloak. The Marauder's Map was held open in front of him, and Harry watched one particular dot patiently. Snape was milling about in his classroom, probably arranging things for the next day’s classes. Harry made it down to the dungeons and the entrance to Snape’s classroom without a hitch, and thankfully without once sighting Peeves or Filch wandering about. He pushed up against the wall outside Snape’s classroom and waited, watching the dot on the map. It was a good fifteen minutes before the dot began moving toward the door, and Harry folded and pocketed it quickly. The echo of footsteps sounded nearer and nearer, until the door finally creaked open and Snape calmly emerged, shutting the door quietly behind him. He began walking softly down the hall, with Harry following silently at his heels. It felt as if he taunted death with each and every step and breath he took.... As predicted, Snape headed toward his office, wand extended as he approached the door. Harry listened intently as Snape whispered the words to disable the charms that protected the room.

“Veneficus,*” Snape said, and there was a small flash of bluish light from the wand tip. Snape opened the door and stepped through, Harry struggling to match his professor’s steps as he followed him, barely slipping through the door before it closed behind him. Snape immediately flicked his wand a second time, and the few floating candles above his desk flared to life. Secluding himself in a corner empty of the many jarred horrors that decorated the room, Harry stood silently as Snape shuffled through the papers atop his desk, running a hand back through his hair. The man looked tired, not just physically, but mentally as well, as if something immeasurably heavy weighed down his mind. It was very strange to see the stern Potions Master looking so worn, his face devoid of a sneer and the harsh lines of anger. For once, Harry thought he looked human.

Snape stayed in the office for another half hour, grading the rolled parchments stacked on the side of his desk. Harry was disappointed, all his hard death defying work to spy on the man, and he hadn’t said a word the entire time. He’d been hoping to overhear something about the Serpent’s Children, but it appeared as if all was lost. Harry was about to follow Snape out the door when he got an idea. Since he was already in Snape’s office, he might as well have a look around, shouldn’t he? He stayed in the corner as the lights went out and the door shut, listening intently as Snape repeated the password, and then headed off into the dungeon depths where Harry presumed his rooms were.

“Lumos,” Harry whispered, and drew the cloak down around his shoulders, peering about the room by the light of his wand. Only once before had he had the ‘pleasure’ of studying Snape’s office, and he hadn’t really been too concerned with its contents then. Now however, he could search to his hearts content, perhaps even find a clue. First off, Harry headed to the desk, making himself at home in the tall, maroon chair. It was surprisingly comfortable, and Harry took a moment to view the desk from its owner’s perspective, searching for anything interesting. A moment’s inspection proved the desktop to be void of anything but school papers, one of which was his own. Another D, Harry grumbled, even though Hermione had checked it over and it should have very well been an A. Replacing the paper to the pile, Harry opened the two desk drawers, flipping idly through the papers. The first held nothing but records and grade sheets, a few permission forms, files on students from Slytherin house…nothing of great interest. The second was equally as dull, although it contained a broken sneak-o-scope and few potion vials, one of which was Veritaserum. Grumbling in frustration, Harry turned in the chair, and sighted a tall cupboard off to the side of the desk.

The cupboard was very old, and the doors gave a loud squeak as he carefully opened them, wary lest any exceptionally nasty ‘specimens’ were hidden within. Thankfully it was nearly bare, save for a few jars of different colored powders, and an object that caused Harry to grin from ear to ear. A Pensieve. Without a second thought, Harry canceled the spell on his wand and prodded the silvery substance within the basin, setting it into cloud-like motion. Leaning forward, Harry was shocked when he was greeted by a scene nearly exactly the same as the one he'd seen through the lion.

He was looking down into a large, non-descript room, with chipped stone walls and rotting rugs thrown across the floor. A few rickety wooden tables and chairs lay scattered about the edge of the room, with one cushioned chair sitting solitary against the largest wall, with the Dark Lord himself seated within. He looked rather disinterested at the moment, merely watching his followers filing into the room through a staircase at the rear. As they came, they knelt before him silently, pressing their foreheads to the ground. Again Snape was near the front, and Harry could see his head turned slightly to watch for the last few Death Eaters. Those last few entered in a different fashion than the rest, apparating directly into the midst, and each latched onto a female hostage. There were four women in total when the last arrived, each currently a victim of the Imperius Curse, for they stared blankly ahead of them without a word of protest.

Harry nearly jerked back when Voldemort suddenly stood from his chair, strolling forward to inspect each of the women. He looked them up and down, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled their scent, reptilian eyes shining with satisfaction.

"Excellent," he hissed, then turned on his heel and headed back to the front of the room. "They are powerful, though tainted...and we shall purify their line....” he said, his lips curling in a sinister, hungry grin. He turned and addressed the rest of the room, spreading his arms wide. "I promised you pleasure this night, did I not? Lucius, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott...I believe you had claim to these four? Have your way with them, but be sure that they still live when you've done," The Dark Lord ordered, and four robed figures next to him and Snape rose and bowed, heading back to take hold of the women. It was impossible to tell which was which, as they were identically robed and their faces hidden behind silvery masks. They dragged the women carelessly away, carting them up the stairs in the back of the room. Many cheers and whistles rose as they disappeared up the stairs, and the Dark Lord himself chuckled in sick delight. "You will all have your turn, more than one, if you wish. Severus, I trust you returned yours with no troubles?  McNair said she was quite difficult to capture...." the Dark Lord addressed to Snape's kneeling form. He didn't raise his head as he replied, and though his voice was calm and reverent, Harry had the strange feeling that if he'd been viewing the scene through the lion, he would have felt that same powerful wave of shame and revulsion.

"All went well, Lord. I thank you for your generosity," Snape said, and the Dark Lord nodded in satisfaction. Loud shrieks suddenly belted down from the staircase, and Harry was sure he saw Snape flinch at the sound. The Dark Lord was no longer looking at him, however, and he began laughing at the sound, face twisted in masochistic joy.

Harry had had enough. He pulled back out of the cupboard and closed the doors a bit more roughly than he’d intended. Shocked and sickened by what he’d seen, he fell back into the chair, not bothering to re-ignite his wand. Before now, he’d known that the Dark Lord was sick and twisted, but never in that way. Harry could still hear the screams in his head, fearful and pleading, wrought with pain and torture as their will was taken from them. But there was more to it than that, something the Dark Lord had planned for those women beyond being simple pleasures for his followers. Hadn’t he asked Snape if he’d returned his, not killed? Harry shuddered at that; disgusted by the possibility that Snape had done something so horrid. Quickly passing that thought out of his mind, Harry ignited his wand and walked back to the door, pulling the invisibility cloak over his head once again. After quickly whispering the password, Harry slipped quietly from the room, pausing briefly to seal the door once again

*Veneficus=poisoner

----End Chapter 3--