To Murder a Malfoy

Some days it rains.

I watch it drench the court while sitting before the window in a simple chair the nuns have put in the common room on the second floor. This is where I write my letter... in a beautiful dark wooden chair, high and narrow. Not a very comfortable chair that creaks when I move, but I don't mind the discomfort and mostly I sit very still. Sometimes a flock of ducks gathers noisily in the pond outside and takes flight together. I follow them against the heavy skies until I can't see them any more. At those times it is impossible not to think about freedom. Maybe it has been too long since I was happy for me to remember, but I did once walk around, a free man. I may feel a tinge of regret at those times, but all I have to do is close my eyes and I can hear his screams; the insanity and terror in his breaking voice, the echoes that claw on the solid stone of the dungeon. I see his wide eyes before me, unseeing with terror and panic.

I must look peaceful where I sit before the window in the greying afternoon with my eyes closed, the quill in my one hand, and two fingers of the other resting against my forehead, listening to my world within. I'm sure the nuns are pleased to see the smile competing with the rainy day in lightening my face, a gaunt papery mask of the features that once were so eager to learn about the world. But if they could hear what I am hearing they would be frightened and horrified. Only a madman could listen to the screams of someone driven to insanity by the realisation that he is about to die, like it was a beautiful symphony. A quartet of screaming strings playing the way to Hades by the skeletal hands of the grim reaper, in the form of someone he thought was his friend.

But I must be mad, don't you think? Why else would I be in a place like this?

There was however, nothing insane about me when I carried out my plan. No one knew what devious thoughts of vengeance I harboured in my heart. I concealed my true feelings while I bided my time and waited. Such was my cleverness that they haven't found him to this day. I saw in his eyes that he knew they never would. I saw it in his one visible eye that stared at me from the dark recess as I lay the last stone, that muffled what had now quieted down to a whimper and a moan. At last there was no sound.

Malfoy manor in the winter always meant long walks in the afternoon before tea. The Malfoys were outdoor people, invited by their aristocratic tradition to engage in hunting and riding across the country or simply to take long walks. In one way, it was meant to impress their friends by showing off the vast expanses they had to their name, but I also think they genuinely enjoyed the freedom and freshness of the outdoors.

Of course Lucius, the elder, was involved in politics. That was part of being a Malfoy, and I think he sometimes found it took the pressure off to take these walks. It was also a good time to talk with someone without the risk of being overheard. What business he and my father had together was never clear. They were not the kind of men who would confide in their families their intrigues and plans. I don't think Mother ever knew, and he certainly never told me, his only son. But I was already quite clever then and I could put things together.

I thought one thing and spoke another, as Lucius Jr. and I walked a few paces behind our fathers. I watched the back of Lucius' father's enormous frame as he walked with long strides arguing about something with my own father, who walked a few feet away with his fur coat draped around him. He was listening attentively. The sharp familiar features with the hooked nose and long black hair that fell on his shoulders; he was the image of me. Or I was the image of him perhaps. Both men had walking sticks. My father's was thinner and tastefully ornamented with our family crest, a snake that bit into a heel. The master of Malfoy manor had a huge knobbly one, which was barely a crude stripped branch and resembled a club more than anything. A very fitting walking stick for a man of that size and demeanour I privately thought.

He spoke about how the outdoors would invigorate us and make us strong. The cold air stood in a cascade of smoke from his mouth against his strong face and his long blond hair that was almost as white as the snow we walked across. Occasionally he would pick up a piece of wood and throw it for one of the two bloodhounds that accompanied us in the freezing landscape. They would run to fetch the wood and then jump around Lucius and bark. He would play with them, trying to jerk the wood out of their strong jaws, his loud laughter echoing among the bare branches in the otherwise silent forest.

I didn't like the dogs. They were slobbering beasts and to be honest, they frightened me a little. I suppose, if I had known what would happen next, I might have had more sympathy. But I didn't know what was coming and walked with Lucius Jr. behind the two adults feeling bored, thinking how my toes were freezing and wet, and how much I might enjoy a cup of hot tea with a few spoons of sugar.

We had been walking upwards for some time. I had fallen behind the others and was increasingly paying attention to nothing else but my frozen toes and my longing for the comfort of the fire. The raw winter afternoon was standing still and the cold crept through fur and coats, seemingly chilling my soul with an ascending gloom.

When I caught up with the others in a clearing in the trees, they had stopped and were looking out at something. It was a breathtaking view. We stood before a steep cliff and its exact twin protruded no more than ten feet across from where we were standing. Pine trees hung over the abyss at an angle that seemed to be made steeper by the heavy snow that covered their branches. Below us were unforgiving rocks, framing the small creek that whirled at the bottom of the ravine. The movement of the black water had left the ice open and its clucking could be faintly heard. Surrounding the creek were long stubs of storm broken pine trees. Sharp like spears they looked ready to swiftly impale any unfortunate wanderer who would take a fall towards the bottom of the ravine. Should he by luck or heavenly intervention manage to miss the impaling pines, the ice-clad rocks would certainly crush and break any bone in his body.

I shuddered and stared down.

I was frightened and fascinated at the same time. Awed by the power and indifference of the destructive force it projected. I have a weakness for horror, but then I wasn't hardened as I am today. That is why I was so shocked by what happened next, and why it stayed with me through all those decades of dark and light.

The weight of the snow and the commotion of the wanderers made the snow fall from a branch on the other side of the ravine. I looked up and saw it swinging as if a sudden wind had disturbed the windless day.

Lucius the elder was agitated.

"I tell you that it is a fine challenge to jump that cliff." His breath in the cold stood as from a steam engine in full locomotion. He laughed his thundering laugh and pointed across the ravine. "What do you say, junior?" he boomed, turning to his son and pointing across the abyss. "It is not so far. A strong young boy should be able to jump across there very easily." His eyes glittered with something that hinted of madness and obsession.

"Yes, father. I expect they should," his son answered calmly. I saw deadly fear in the eyes of Lucius Jr., but only in his eyes. His face was as calm and pale as ever. Perhaps a nuance paler, or it may have been frostbite, it was hard to tell.

Silence fell between the four people in the clearing.

"What about your boy?" Lucius' dad said, turning to my father. "Would you say he would have it in him to make such a jump?"

My father looked thoughtful, as if he was giving the matter careful consideration. My heart started to race in my chest. I knew that if this was going to turn into a match of power and strength of will with Lucius Malfoy... he would stop at nothing.

My father drew in breath. "I expect he would take up the challenge," he said.

My heart stopped.

Lucius' father tilted his head and fixed me with his piercing eyes. The cold I had felt previously was nothing to the fear that now seized me. It was true the distance across that cliff was not more than what was possible for a man to jump. But the punishment for failure was a painful and agonising death and I was no gymnast. I pictured my splattered blood colouring the snow crimson, and I could almost hear my own screams as my intestines where ripped by the long piercing pine stubs leaving a last minute of suffering before the comfort of death.

I seemed to be drowning in Lucius' eyes.

"But I would forbid him to do it," my father continued calmly.

Many things may be said about the Snapes, but we are not stupid. My father was cleverly slithering out of the challenge sideways. My heart started beating again. It felt as if my father might have saved my life. Not that there would have been any way anyone could have forced me to jump across that cliff. Still, the master of Malfoy Manor exuded a mysterious force. You didn't really trust yourself when under the influence of his formidable will. It was a telltale sign of what I unconsciously knew about these men that I had been so certain that my untimely death at the bottom of a ravine would have been nothing but a terrific joke, at least to Lucius senior.

"Oh, you would, would you?" he was saying, looking amused and surprised.

"Yes, the boy does not yet have the physique nor the training to undertake such a challenging jump," my father said, never looking in my direction. "If the future holds the glory it seems to promise, he will need to train himself in the art of the fight, and undertake challenges far exceeding the jump off that cliff. However, he is not ready yet."

"Do you think so too, Severus? It is not very far across there, is it?"

"No sir," I said, trying to keep my voice even, "but I would never do anything against the will of my father. I have learned to highly value his wisdom and advice."

"Now there's a good lad," Lucius said, and he laughed again. "It is wise to know ones limits and have the wits to avoid unnecessary bravery. You wouldn't want to end up duelling windmills with the lot in Gryffindor, would you?"

We all laughed at this, and the tension was somewhat lifted.

"I bet one of my dogs could do it, though," Lucius senior said.

The clearing was deadly silent again. All eyes were on the tall wizard with the long white hair and that ominous glitter that had returned in his eyes.

"Brutus and Rafael, come here!" The dogs came running from somewhere among the trees, wagging their tails and circling Lucius as the dumb trusting creatures they were.

Amazingly one of the dogs made the jump.

After a minute of coercion, swinging his walking stick at the dog and chasing him back and forth around the clearing, screaming and threatening as well as begging and teasing, suddenly the large dog took the jump. It seemed he sailed through the air forever before he landed on the edge of the cliff on the other side. I was dancing on my toes trying to see if he was all right. For a second he started to slide backwards in the snow, but he clawed and scrambled and managed to gain his grip and climb over the cliff on the other side. Terrified he disappeared into the forest.

The other dog was not so fortunate. He did not have quite the bravery to make the jump and no matter how much Lucius screamed and threatened, the dog only curled up and whined. It was a horrible sight. The poor dog absolutely refused to jump and Lucius was becoming furious. He screamed at the top of his lungs, his face contorted, red and sweaty.

"You stupid dog, you will obey me. OBEY ME!" he hollered.

There was a sickening thud as Lucius' walking stick connected with the side of the dog. I am sure he hit him by mistake the first time. The dog let out a cry in pain I have never heard a dog make before, a tearing piercing wail that must have been heard for miles in the still forest. Lucius Jr. flinched and closed his eyes hard. He looked pained but resigned, as if he knew what was coming. My father stared with closed anger in his face, and I had to turn and look away.

The most frightening aspect of the scene I could hear, but not mount the courage to view, was how it was the suffering and fear of the dog that further drew the fury and agitation of Lucius senior. I realised this was a man who hated all weakness, and he would destroy the weak mercilessly. The pained cries of the dog mixed with his angry screams and curses, as blow after blow fell with sickening thuds on the defenceless creature's body. The horror seemed to go on forever as we stood there. I had to clench my eyes, but I could not close out the screams.

These people are mad, I thought over and over again at the nauseating rhythm of the blows and cries of the dog. Mad, mad, deranged and evil. This man is capable of any evil you can possibly conceive of, and more cruelty than you can ever imagine.

The worst part was when the dog's cries turned into a silent whimper and finally no sound came at all from either the dog, or its master. Only the rhythmic dull thuds of the walking stick, thud, thud, thud.

Finally it ended and silence filled the clearing.

When he turned to us, there were two flecks of blood on Lucius seniors face, one on his forehead and one on his chin.

No one dared say a word. He threw his bloodied walking stick to the side. I stared at the blood that smeared in the snow. Not my blood was the strange thought that flashed through my petrified mind.

"Stupid bloody useless dog," Lucius muttered, as he made his way between us and out of the clearing, heading back the way we had come. At a loss for words, not looking at each other, my father, Lucius Jr. and I followed in stunned silence.

Tea was a subdued affair that afternoon at Malfoy Manor. Even though I had now come indoors, as I had longed for all afternoon, I didn't seem to be able to get warm. I had seated myself as near the roaring fire as possible and I tried to drink the hot tea quickly, yet I still felt chilled. Tentatively biting into a biscuit I wished someone would start talking, because I could still hear the poor dog wailing in my head.

Lucius' mother, Eliza Malfoy, started making conversation and my father was answering politely, although a little absentmindedly. His mind might have been on what had just happened, but as usual he would not share his thoughts with me. Although there had hardly been any opportunity to do so as long as Lucius senior and junior were present, a glance in my direction might have been enough to convey what feelings he had for the episode. But that would not have been like him.

"How are things at the most ancient house of Snape?" Eliza asked. This was a common way of politely starting a conversation among the pure blood families. It indicated respect for ones family and the traditions. The only thing was that you'd better be of ancient family, or it would be a sarcastic slight.

"Oh very well, thank you Eliza," my father said.

I tried to concentrate on the conversation but I kept hearing the cry of a dog in my mind. I desperately hoped it would fade, while fearing I would never be able to forget the violence I had witnessed.

I could not help to turn and watch Lucius' father out of the corner of my eye. He sat in the armchair in a dark and subdued mood. He stirred his tea absentmindedly and seemed far away. I wondered if the had loved his dog. Did he love his son?

He lifted the spoon and placed it on the plate with a clatter.

"No, this is no good," he said. "It was a hell of a winter out there; I don't seem to be able to warm up. We need something stronger."

"But Lucius, such language, and in front of the boys," Eliza said.

But Lucius senior just grinned at her and waved his hand in the air.

He turned to Lucius and said, "My boy, why don't you and Severus go and fetch us some of that old Ogden's I keep in the cellar. It was...it has been..." he glanced at his wife and cleared his throat, "Well, it's been a hell of a grey day. I think we need some of that 12-year."

I saw how Lucius froze. His face looked paler than it had in the forest when his father challenged him to jump across the ravine.

"We have talked about this, my son, haven't we?" Lucius senior said softly. He locked eyes with his son who willed himself to meet his father's gaze.

"Yes sir," he said.

"You know there is only one cure for fear. Haven't I taught you enough?"

"Yes sir, face it or perish," Lucius Jr. said and swallowed hard.

"So off you go, boys. Get us some whiskey and don't you dare taste any on your way." He laughed at his own joke and my father smiled, although his smile seemed a little strained.

"More tea?" Eliza asked him.

To get to the wine cellar at Malfoy Manor one had to descend narrow spiralling stone stairs that were unexpectedly found behind a red velvet drapery in the main hall. The door was close to the entrance to the kitchen. I supposed it was discretely placed to discourage any wandering guests from paying a visit to Mr. Malfoy's vintages.

"Why is your dad sending us down here?" I asked, as we walked down the spiralling stairs. Behind the curtain it was dark, and the torch on the wall that Lucius lighted, provided enough light, but its flickering made the narrow stairs look even more eerie. I found myself whispering. "Can't he send that house-elf, what's his name...? Dobby?"

"Father doesn't like Dobby handling the vintages. House-elves can cook fine, but they do not understand wine."

"Oh, really?"

"Well, you wouldn't know that, Severus, would you? Remind me, but you don't have a house-elf, do you?" The edge of his lip twitched in the slightest beginning of a smirk.

"You know we don't have a house-elf, Lucius," I said.

"They are useless with wine. They get pissed and plastered if they as much as smell the cork. Then they pass out and vomit. Yet they can't stay away from the stuff."

"Is that why you have this gate?"

We had come to a divided iron gate that blocked our passage to the cellar. Beyond it was yet more darkness. It was sealed with a padlock.

Lucius turned to me. He gave me long look of contempt.

"A gate wouldn't keep a house elf out, Severus. By Merlin, I have to explain everything to you don't I?" He produced a black iron key from his robes and opened the lock. "You just have to order them to stay away. A house-elf must always obey its masters." The gate creaked as he pushed it open. It gave away slowly. Clearly it was heavy, old and rusty.

"But I don't understand," I said. "A padlock could be opened by any wizard with Alohomora, or some other simple spell."

"Don't ask so many questions, you snooty little brat." Lucius grabbed my shoulder and pushed me brusquely in front of him into the darkness ahead. I caught a glimpse of his face in the torchlight. It was whiter than snow.

I hurried my steps, confused by his anger. We walked ahead through a dungeon, the darkness lighted only by the torch that Lucius held above his head. Our shadows were cast long on the stone floor. There was a dripping sound coming from somewhere in the darkness.

"So, do you like wine, Severus?" he asked me.

"Oh yes," I lied. I had rarely tasted wine, but I didn't want to seem too young and stupid to Malfoy.

"Well, you know a little something about wine, then?" I could imagine the amused smirk that must be playing on his face in the darkness behind my back.

"A little bit," I said.

"Well, here we are." Lucius reached a head of me and pushed a wooden door with the hand. "Our little wine cellar."

Of course little was a deliberate understatement. The room was huge with hundreds of bottles in racks and caskets on shelves that seemed to go on forever. I couldn't see the end of the room, the shelves faded away in the darkness without revealing how far. Mostly it was wine, but I could also see there were spirits. I supposed it must be cognac and whiskey. Maybe the clear liquid was gin.

"Well, Severus, since you know a thing or two about wine, why don't you pick out something that you like."

"Eh, didn't your father tell us to get Ogden's fire whiskey?"

Lucius laughed. "But you and I can have a little toast down here, can't we? That way you can have anything you like." He swept the torch slowly over his head to light up different parts of the cellar. I looked around trying to make out what the different bottles might be. It wasn't damp and cold down here, as I had expected in the middle of the winter. It was cool but not unpleasant. There were perhaps spells in place to carefully control the temperature and humidity to best preserve the delicate and expensive bottles.

I was at a loss of what to do, so I walked slowly around pretending to study the bottles with interest. Lucius followed silently behind me lighting the way. I stopped in front of a small table where there was a single wooden box with a few dusty bottles. They looked like they must be something special, so I decided on them. I lifted one slowly out of the box and studied the bottle.

"Ah, Amontillado," Lucius said. "Normally, I would say cherry is for ladies, but this is something special."

"It is my favourite," I said.

"Is it now?" Lucius said. He sounded amused, "Well, Amontillado it is then."

He put the torch in a torch holder and took the bottle from my hand. On a shelf he found a couple of small glasses. He produced a wine opener and started to peel the lead from the bottle. Then he opened the bottle and poured the pale liquid in the two glasses for us.

He lifted his. "Cheers, Severus."

"Cheers, Lucius," I said and took my glass.

I was not used to alcohol and it was very strong. It felt as if my tongue curled up, and I involuntarily wrinkled my nose.

"Too dry for you?"

"No, its fine, I like it." I forced myself to smile and take another sip. Once I got over the sharp taste it wasn't so bad really. Of course I immediately began to feel light headed. Lucius slowly drank from his glass. I was relieved and glad that he liked it. My random choice had been a happy one.

My eyes fell on a set of rusty shackles and chains that hung on the opposite wall. They looked like they belonged in a medieval prison.

"This place was used for other things in the past," Lucius said as he saw where I was looking, "and occasionally still is."

I remained silent, slowly sipping the cherry, looking at the ghastly chains.

"Do you know how they used to train dark wizards in the country where your favourite cherry comes from, Severus?"

"No, not really."

"If you can channel extreme fear into your magic there is no end to the powers you can achieve. You have to face your worst fears. It will either drive you crazy or make you immensely powerful."

"But aren't the Dark Arts illegal?"

"Down here there are no laws. Would you like to try?" He reached for one of the rusty chains and rattled it.

"No, not really," I said, feeling terrified.

"Don't you want to become strong and pure, Severus?"

"Yes, I would," I whispered.

Lucius raised his eyebrows. He held up the chain and gave it a thoughtful look.

"If you start young, you will be the more powerful. But you need a strong willed mentor or you may easily give in before you can turn fear into power. Someone strong enough to teach." He let go of the chain and it fell back against the brick wall. Then he put down his glass and reached for another bottle on a shelf. He uncorked it and took a swig. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he said, "Let's go, they will be waiting up there." He pocketed the bottle of Ogden's fire whiskey in his robes.

When we passed the gate, it occurred to me that it might not be a match for a grown wizard to open the padlock, despite the obvious few protection spells to stump the simple Alohomora, but for an under-aged wizard being locked in the dark for hours and days, while not trying to go insane with fear, it might present quite a challenge.

The way the rest of the evening developed, I soon came to regret I hadn't tried to jump that ravine and failed. It had not been obvious to me before how my father's problem with alcohol had developed into an inability to control his intake, or himself when he was under the influence. I was mortified when I heard Lucius mutter under his breath, "By Merlin, he is worse than a house-elf."

Lucius the elder was drinking quite a bit too and didn't seem worried about my father's behaviour. We were supposed to have a nice dinner, but my father was talking in a loud voice and was telling crude and inappropriate jokes. Only Lucius' father laughed.

"Well, I would like to toast for the lovely hostess," Father said, and lifted his glass, spilling some of the wine on the white linen cloth. I looked at the pink stain growing on the white.

"It was very good of you to come," Eliza said, although she looked like she regretted the invitation. "I'm sorry Ellen couldn't make it."

"Yes, well, she was indisposed," my father murmured. "Anyway, to a most generous host, the most generous in all fair England." He raised his glass, producing a couple of additional stains on the cloth.

The grin faded from Lucius the elders face and he looked at my father intently. "You need to pay back all the money this time, all of it."

"Yes, yes," my father said, still holding the glass in the air, "I will Lucius, don't worry about it. Things are looking up now, I'm getting sorted and on my feet again. There have been some rough years in the trade you know. Those damned Muggles get up to all sorts of interference, inspecting herbs and any fungi they do not understand. I lost a few shipments, that's all. But I had banked on the money; I had invested in the red fly fungi from our friends up north. I explained this before, didn't I?"

"Yes, very well. Let's not talk about business during dinner. Also keep in mind the help I need at the Ministry. Your vote will be for a good cause, a cause we both share, of course."

"You really don't have to remind me, Lucius. I don't want my boy to go to school with Muggle born riff raff any more than you do. I need no pressure to help you. I'd be helping all of us. We need to be united."

Lucius the elder laughed and raised his glass. The rest of us tentatively raised our glasses as well.

"To a most generous and inspiring host," my father said.

The slurring of his voice and unsteadiness of his hand made my face feel hot with embarrassment. As the evening progressed however, things got worse. In the end my father had to be helped out to the magical sled by Lucius and his father, me, and the ugly little house elf called Dobby, who then drove us home across the snow and over the treetops.

I do not blame the Malfoys for the path I took in life. I made every turn willingly and with open eyes. Power worked like a magnet on me and I was addicted from early childhood to anything that would bring it. It was the only antidote to fear that I knew of, and I needed it. Love could have been another, but I ended that myself. I do not blame Lucius for pulling the trigger so to speak, it would have happened anyway.

It was inevitable because at that time I believed firmly in the Dark Arts.

It is hard to explain to wizards today, how we all believed that the rise of the Dark Arts was a good thing. It may seem strange now, and the victorious in every war get to write the history books, leaving out the thoughts and ideas that motivated the defeated, usually leaving them painted as pure evil. I'm willing to admit I was in my formative years and my mind was easily influenced by the one-sided views and the information I was given, but I was at one point a true believer in the Dark Lord.

Perhaps if you had ever walked through the halls of Malfoy Manor, large and quiet, filled with the art and treasures of so many generations of wizards that it baffled your mind, you would understand. There were statues from old Egypt, gifts from ancient snake wizards that had once found reason to pay respect to the house of Malfoy, artefacts from the Middle Ages brought on horse-back over mountains and through deserts from the Far East, wonderful magical objects gathering dust on shelves. Objects that had once been instrumental in the demise of kings and emperors, the changing borders and redrawing of maps, in the days when powerful wizards of the past had the run of things. There were paintings that re-enacted battles and important moments in history when the name Malfoy inspired admiration, fear and awe from the hills of Scotland, along the trading paths that ended in China, all the way into the glittering halls where the rulers of the Ottoman Empire deliberated and made up their plans for the world. You only had to stand in the echoing vast entrance hall and look at the painting that hung next to the twelve feet tall mirror where guests could inspect their attire before entering the main hall of the manor. In the painting a very tall advisor, with remarkable long blond hair for those parts of the world, was leaning in and whispering something in the ear of a man in a Roman uniform with the chiselled features formed by ultimate power and many years of battle. The thought of all this disappearing would be unbearable. If you stood there and considered that all the tradition would vanish, being swept away by the Muggles and their modern ways, diluting and overtaking the wizard world with their mixed Muggle marriages, factoring in a certain lack of information about the positive aspects of the Muggle world, maybe you would understand how Lord Voldemort could appear as the saviour and the restorer of order.

You need to keep in mind that these were worrying times for the wizards. The wizard world was in chaos and turmoil while the Muggles' own brand of magic was becoming increasingly powerful. They now had the power to destroy the world at the press of a button, and they preferred to fight their own battles. Many fine wizard families had lost their influence and income while a lot of the lesser families were lured into the comfort of the Muggle lifestyle and the possibility to escape a stature in a world that provided less respect than the modern Muggle society with its constant change and eradication of boundaries.

I know now that Lord Voldemort only used these ideals and worries to make himself powerful and that he ultimately ended up doing more harm to the cause he was promoting than even the Muggles had managed.

But it took a long time before I realised this, and by then we had lost whatever power we once had. The Dark Lord had all the power and all we could do was to obey him or die. We had very little choice back then, but exercising the small options that presented themselves made all the difference. I chose to join Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, Lucius chose to suggest recruiting Peter Pettigrew. He chose to do this, although he wasn't forced to. It was an idea he produced to please the Dark Lord and to save himself from his wrath after mistakenly letting a number of Order-members escape. He did not know, of course, that information from me had made this possible. Yet I blame him for making this choice and therefore I planned to kill him, although the execution would have to wait.

I bore the many slights of Lucius Malfoy as best I could, but when he ventured upon insulting your memory I vowed revenge.

It happened that his self-proclaimed expertise in wine would be the weapon I needed, and the places wine is usually kept played nicely with the way I wanted his demise to be staged. At the time I had myself developed into something of an expert in the vintages and I bought generously whenever I could, building up a bit of a collection of fine winery as time wore on.

It was in the Quidditch-season when I decided the time was right. The games were yet again hosted in Scotland and we were all making merry at the campground. But as they lived nearby and were used to more comfortable accommodations, most wizards of the finer families preferred to Apparate or use port keys from the closest Floo point, a couple of miles away in Ushers Well.

Patiently I waited at the Portkeys for Lucius and when I spotted him I hurried forward looking as if I had only just arrived.

"Lucius, my old friend. Just the person I was looking for." I extended my hand as I came forward and shook his vigorously. Lucius smiled and looked happy to see me. The blankness of his eyes and the unusually content smile confirmed my assumption that he would be quite intoxicated at this hour.

"You don't know how happy I am to see you, old chap," I continued, still pumping his hand.

Lucius smiled, looking amused, yet curious. "I'm certainly glad to see you again, Severus, but what is the great urgency. Has something happened?"

"You could say that," I said," but it is not anything unpleasant or worrisome per se."

"I'm glad to hear that." Lucius looked at his hand and I let go of it.

Scratching my head, I arranged my face as if troubled by a dilemma. "It is a very pleasant thing indeed, but I am afraid I might be making a mistake, which is why I need your help."

"How so? What can I do for you, Severus?"

"Well, I know how knowledgeable you are with finer wine, but I really don't want to trouble you. I can see that you are on your way home and surely your family is waiting for you."

"It's no trouble at all, Severus. Have you managed to get hold of something valuable?" He leaned forward on his cane, his face revealing that I had managed to tickle his curiosity.

"No, it is nothing really," I said thoughtfully, "I will ask Bellatrix to advise me. A member of the most ancient house of Black should be able to determine if it is the real thing."

"Ha!" Lucius exclaimed. "Bellatrix can not distinguish a fine wine from a Wellington boot full of mud. If you need advice on wine, you should talk to me."

"Yes, I realise you are the expert. I wanted to show you, but I'm afraid it would be a big inconvenience to you. We would have to go into my wine cellar to have a look."

"But for Merlin's sake man, what is this wine you are talking about," Lucius said, waving his hand and swaying slightly, "Why don't you tell me and I will help you as best I can."

"Well, I have acquired this cask of Amontillado," I said. "It seems to be the real thing, and so rare in those troubled times. You know, it has always been my favourite among favourites, and I was very excited to find it."

"No," Lucius whispered, "a cask of Amontillado. I haven't tasted that in how many years, I don't know. Amontillado, are you sure?"

"That is the trouble. I think it is, or otherwise I have squandered quite a bit of money. But if it is genuine, then it is priceless of course."

"Yes, I'd say so, priceless indeed."

"I would have wanted to share it with you, but I know the hour is late and you must be on your way back to your family."

"Nonsense," Lucius said. His eyes were glittering with excitement. "You must take me to you cellar immediately. I haven't tasted Amontillado in ages."

"But it will be too much trouble, I will ask Bellatrix instead."

I knew then I had him hooked, and suggesting that anyone from the Black family would assist me in an area where he considered himself supreme made him even more insistent that we go and investigate what it was that I had bought. I pretended to try talking him out of it a little more and humouring his derisive expletives towards the Black family, and their inability to distinguish a fine wine from a hole in the ground.

Eventually we walked the short distance to the Portkey I had left in the nearby forest (an empty milk bottle that looked like inconspicuous trash, in case a Muggle should come by). Still arguing to keep his excitement going, we took the Portkey to the most ancient house of Snape.

The house was empty when we arrived and our footsteps echoed in the hall that was lit by a single torch. I had told the house elves I wouldn't return until the following day so they had not lit the main hall or any of the rooms. The fireplaces were gaping black and empty and the inner parts of the rooms fell in dark shadows.

"Please keep you coat on, Lucius, the dungeons are chilly this time of year."

We proceeded down the stairs to the massive oak door where the dungeons lay.

"This is a fine door," I said, playing the part of the pleasant host entertaining with chit chat and small facts about the house. "See how massive it is. No sound can escape from down here." I put my hand on the door feeling the solid wood.

"Why would you be concerned about sound escaping? Do you have wild gnomes in there, or perhaps a troll?" Lucius asked, while I held the door for him to enter.

"Not yet, but a troll would make a good addition to my collections, or something equal in character perhaps."

This made Lucius laugh and he stepped before me down the stairs. I held the torch high to light our path and followed in his steps.

"Are we going very far?" Lucius asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid we are going to the very end," I said, "but here is something to make our journey a little more bearable."

"The end of what?" Lucius asked.

I didn't answer. Instead I produced a bottle of wine and two glasses from a small shelf behind the door. I had prepared this in advance to entertain Lucius and make him mellower.

"Ah, excellent," he said. "I was beginning to dry up a bit."

"We can't have that," I said, and handed him the glass of wine.

Lucius swirled the wine in the glass before taking an eager gulp. He looked at the glass approvingly and smiled. "Merlot, a most pleasant and agreeable choice, very fitting for the late hour as well."

"Yes, wouldn't you say so? But of course you would, I learned from you."

The flattery made his drunken smile even wider.

We walked down the winding stairs and through the narrow stone vaults deeper under the house of Snape to where I was sure no sound would ever escape. Lucius didn't know of the spells I had so carefully prepared against Apparition and any simple forms of escape.

"You keep your wine quite deep in these vaults, Severus."

"Well, you know how things are nowadays. Nothing is sacred. You have to protect yourself against Apparating thieves and Muggle born wizards...common criminals with a wand."

"Yes, I see what you mean," Lucius said with a sigh.

We walked on in silence for a while. Then I offered Lucius more of the wine while saying thoughtfully, "You know, sometimes I wake up at night from a troubled dream."

"Oh, you do?" Lucius said, while holding out his glass for me to fill.

"Yes, it is always the same thing, but I can't remember any details. The only thing I remember is the wailing, piercing cry of a dog in pain and agony. Then the cry suddenly stops and I wake up drenched in sweat. Do you know what that might mean?"

"I have no idea. Then again, I was never much for psychology or Divination for that matter. Does it tell about the past or the future?"

"It is a childhood memory, but I'm quite sure it speaks of both," I said.

Lucius gave me a curious look. Then he emptied his glass of wine.

"Sometimes I wish I would wake up with someone beside me. If there was someone, perhaps there would be no dreams," I said.

Lucius raised his eyebrows and then smiled uncertainly. He seemed a little embarrassed by this sudden display of emotion. It was an unlikely confession coming from me, but I hoped he would never have an opportunity to tell anyone about it. So what did it matter?

"Here it is," I said, and gestured towards a low door in the stone wall.

"But this is your family crypt. Do you keep your wine in the crypt?"

"Yes, as I said you can never be careful enough these days, and who would ever think of looking here. We are below the river now. You will notice it has become quite damp."

"Yes, you are right. It is cold and damp, yes it is."

We stepped into the small room. The walls were covered with lilies climbing on the stone shelves, some with coffins, and on some the bare bones of my ancestors. But Lucius did not notice. He only had eyes for the cask and the two glasses on the stone table in the middle of the room. A candle stood beside the wine and the glasses making their flickering shadows cast long on the wall.

Lucius stopped in the middle of the room waiting politely for me to invite him to drink. But there was no mistaking the eagerness in his eyes. Seemingly with great effort he took his eyes off the cask and looked around.

Suddenly I was overcome with indecision now that my moment of revenge had finally arrived. I stood behind him without speaking or moving. Did he really deserve the horrible end I had planned?

"I see you've planted lilies here on these dungeon walls. They are very beautiful. How can they grow in the dark like this? Are they enchanted as to not need light?" Lucius said when the silence had grown uncomfortably long.

"Yes, they are enchanted by a powerful memory," I said and paused. I waited, but Lucius did not catch on at all. This infuriated me and made my wavering resolve to commit the insane crime I had planned return with full strength.

"In fact I put them here solely for you to look at so you could contemplate their beauty," I said, fighting to keep the hatred out of my voice.

"Indeed they are beautiful, and the weak light makes the white so prominent. It is very kind of you to show them to me, you must have planned my visit for a very long time," he said, and chuckled a little. Had he not been so intoxicated he might have been wondering what this meant, but now I think it merely seemed amusing and stupid to him, as if I was still trying to impress him by decorating my dungeons and wine cellar.

"Oh yes Lucius, I planned for you to stay a very long time," I said and smiled. "But why don't you have a look inside the small recess there. You will find the Amontillado I need you to examine."

"In here? But what about this one?" He walked to the small table and pointed at the bottle.

"No it is in there, just take a step inside and you will see it."

"I can't see anything," he complained, while stepping inside the dark niche in the wall. He was busy looking in front of him while holding out his hand to feel the way. When he noticed the devil's snare catching his legs it was already too late. He managed to turn before he found himself quickly getting more and more stuck in the grip of the slimy and rubbery plants tentacle like branches. The plants pulled him back into the dark shadow of the niche. The light fell so that only half his face was visible. He stared at his hand as it became ensnared and immobile.

"Severus, what is this? You have devils snare in here. I can't get out." He held out his free hand towards me where I was standing a few feet behind him holding the torch. "Give that to me, will you, so I can get rid of this blasted plant, I can't move my legs any more."

"Oh, is that so?" I said calmly without moving any closer or offering any help. "I expect it will soon have your other hand too. But don't worry. I don't think it will kill you. Unless it winds itself around your neck, but it looks like it won't do that. In fact if it should strangle you that would be most unfortunate."

"What is this? A joke? Severus, give me the bloody torch so I can get rid of it!"

The devils snare now had him so entangled that he could no longer move. He stood ensnared, staring at me while jerking and wriggling to get free. He didn't look angry or afraid yet, only annoyed.

Calmly I walked across the room to place the torch in the holder at the door.

"Don't leave me here!" Lucius shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you, Snape?"

I turned slowly and smiled. Lucius was now only lit by the candle on the table. He had fallen silent and he stared at me.

"I am not going to leave you, Lucius, not yet. There is still some chance that you could escape with some clever spell, or communicate and scream." I smiled pleasantly but Lucius didn't reply. I took out my wand. "So first, Accio Lucius' wand!" Lucius was taken by surprise and could do little more than let out a gasp as his wand flew into my hand. I looked at it for a moment. Then I waved my wand again. "Incendio," I said, and Lucius wand burst into flames. He gave an angry scream, which made me laugh.

"You won't need it anymore, Lucius. It's no loss, really."

I walked over to the table and carefully poured myself a glass of Amontillado from the bottle. I lifted it to my nose and smelled the bouquet. It was lovely and the first sip tasted wonderfully rich. "Let's talk about old school memories, Lucius," I said at length.

"You have gone mad. Snape, tell me this is a joke," he whispered. His voice had a hoarse quality to it and I could sense panic was not far off.

"Perhaps it is a joke, but it was you who gave me the idea. Originally, of course I believe it was the Spanish Inquisition, but you told me about it. I merely decided to enhance it a little, or shall we say enchant."

I shifted the glass to my left hand and grabbed my wand. "Accio brick and mortar," I said. I had prepared a pile of bricks in the corner of the room. Lucius had of course never noticed. It looked like it was part of the rubble that cluttered the little room. He surely took note now as I proceeded to slowly build a wall in front of his feet. Lazily I waved the wand to make brick after brick fly in place and the mortar pour on thick, all while I sipped the glass of Amontillado.

It had never tasted better.

"What on earth are you talking about, Severus?" Lucius said. His voice had become high and winy at this point, quite unbecoming for such an aristocratic man.

"How cruel," I said, "that the perpetrators should so soon forget their evil deeds when their victims often carry the memories with them for the rest of their lives." I paused and pointed with my wand towards the walls. "Haven't you noticed the flowers? I put them here to remind us about a memory, but you have already forgotten. As you seem to have forgotten the dog that your father beat to death. I have never managed to get that scream out of my mind. It has haunted me year after year."

"Lily Evans," Lucius whispered "But, Severus, you aren't still thinking about that little Mudblood whore are you? She didn't want you, and she married Potter. You can't be serious."

I threw the glass of wine in his face. He sputtered and looked shocked. "We were friends," I said. Then I resumed building the wall in front of him. He kept his eyes on me while I waved my wand as if I was conducting an invisible and soundless orchestra.

"I never forgot the dog either," he said, finally. "I never really forgot it, not really..."

Eventually Lucius started to scream and curse, demanding I let him go. Then he tried to bribe me with the Malfoy family fortune. When there was only one row of stones left he started to scream incoherently. It seemed his mind was finally going and only fear remained. Then he started to laugh, congratulating me on what a terrific joke this was and how we would talk about it many times over cognac and cigars at Malfoy manor.

When I lay the last stone only a low whimper remained. The stone cut it off and there was silence at last. I filled my glass with the remaining Amontillado and drank it down slowly, savouring the last drops. Then I lifted the candle and held it for a moment, admiring the new wall. No one would suspect there was something behind it. It looked like it had always been there. Soon the lilies would grow to cover it and make it invisible.

I blew out the candle and left the room.

So maybe I am insane. Maybe this murder was the work of a madman. However, I suspect it is Dumbledore's last favour to the one who betrayed his trust, becoming a murderer and a common criminal, but who once was a loyal member of the Order of the Phoenix, to not let me rot in Azkaban. Instead I'm allowed to retire to this relatively pleasant asylum under the pretence of insanity and the cover of powerful friends. Also, the fact that Lucius was never recovered made a conviction for murder much more difficult, although plenty of people could attest that I was the last person he was seen speaking with. I do not know what strings Dumbledore had to pull, or what stories he told of my hardships and mental state, but I am sure they did little to enhance the glory of my memory to the world, or to the most ancient house of Snape.

I know you would have thought I betrayed not only the ideals of my old world but also those of my new won friends, the ones who fought for the world where you grew up. I have had a lot of time to think of how I wandered down a dark path of lost wishes and ideals. Each step I took robbed me of yet another dream, made me betray another, killing hope and burning all my energy in the service of evil and destruction. Maybe if you knew it all, you could have seen how the last goal and hope that left me, was for revenge.

I had that.

Still one last wish never leaves me. It is with me in the empty useless shell I have become, deep in a heart that hardly beats.

If I could bring back one single day of my life it would be that day in the Dark Forest you spent with me. I would try to explain. If I hadn't always been so afraid maybe I could have made you understand. Things could have been different, but you are long since dead and there is no hope.

Your friend forever,

Severus Snape