And When Duty Is Done

When you have lost your purpose for living, the only thing that keeps you alive is that you must do your duty. When everything you hold dear on this earth no longer exists, when you just want to surrender your will and embrace the eternal blackness and nothingness known as death that is your release, your duty remains the sole factor pulling you back.

By the age of six, I knew about duty. Duty to my mother was what led me to become the youngest Potions Master in all wizarding history. As she lay on her death bed, as I sobbed and pleaded with her not to leave me, she whispered, "It's okay, Sev. One day, when you grow up, perhaps you will make clever potions that help sick people get well."

Up till now, it has been the only duty I have done out of love, the only thing I have actually enjoyed doing. My mother hadn't been sick. My father had abused her to death. Following her passing, I learned not to make a sound in complaint or pain no matter how much it hurt after he beat me until I could no longer scream, my voice gone. Yes, I was six.

Duty to my father. Well, after I became a Death Eater, I gave him a quick painless death and the dignity of a funeral just to show that I wasn't like him. As a son, I probably owed him that much. I sure as anything didn't owe him any other duty.

I entered Hogwarts with the foolish hope that it was to be my salvation. My refuge for nine months out of twelve every year, away from my abusive father. Why I entertained such innocence, I have no idea. Hogwarts was hell. I did enjoy carrying out my mother's final wishes. Potions was time-consuming and continuous. It took my mind off whatever was troubling me, it had a soothing routine, and it gave me a sense of accomplishment that I was doing something in remembrance of my mother. Unfortunately, it also left me with sallow skin and greasy hair as a result of the many different and sometimes dangerous ingredients required.

Abused, thin, sickly-looking, socially-lacking, financially poor. Was it any wonder I became the instant target of those bloody Marauders? There is no point in describing what they did to me. I am not writing a novel. Suffice to say that a peaceful day was a rare, if non-existent, day. I've never understood it. What Gryffindor courage is there to be found in mercilessly bullying those not as fortunate as you?

But it was the duty of a Snape not to complain. I bore it. It almost cost me my life, too, when the mutt Sirius Black decided to up the ante to an attempted murder by introducing me to Remus the werewolf. If it were not for bloody James Potter, the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, I'd be six feet under. Still, it was my duty not to tell anyone. Couldn't betray the fact that dear Remus was a werewolf, after all. Tough luck that you suffered severe injuries, you'll just have to keep them silent. We can't expel Mr. Black, there'd be too many questions. It's your duty to protect them, now.

There are nights when I wish that arrogant Gryffindor hadn't saved me.

Tonight is one of them. I killed Albus Dumbledore. Oh, Merlin. I can't even say that without retching. I killed him. I killed the only man who had ever given me a second chance, who ever trusted me, the only man who had ever treated me like a human being, the single being on earth who had given me just a tiny bit of affection that I had so ever craved since I was a small boy.

That was duty as well.

How I pleaded with him, how I raged at him when he told me I had to kill him. I was ready to die. I had no choice but to make the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa (yes, that was duty too). I had given as much to the Order as I possibly could - both sides were now starting to view me with suspicion, and I had taught Mr. Potter as much as he'd let me. I thought I could finally leave. And then Dumbledore, then one man I could never refuse, the sole person I could never say no to, asked me to do it. Because he trusted me. Because I was the only person he knew that could carry it out. Damn him for knowing me so well. Damn him for playing on my strengths and weaknesses. He knew I'd do it because it was my duty. He knew that no matter what the cost, I'd do as required. So I did.

I became a Death Eater because I craved acceptance. The one person to show me that at school was Lucius Malfoy. So desperate was I for this, I followed him into his dark journeys. Too late did I realise what it was I had become. I had been Marked. Returning back to Dumbledore, he had me play double-agent. Was it preferable to Azkaban? I don't know. Azkaban would have granted me release. But I had to spy for the Light. After all, it was my duty. My penance for straying to the Dark side. And when I had to join my fellow Death Eaters in their debauchery, in their torturing and killing for the sake of the Dark Lord? Well, no matter how that tore at my soul, that was duty too. I had to do it or else I could not continue my double life.

And after all this, my time on Earth is still not up. After all this, there is still duty to be completed. So I'll stay. I'll do it. I'll not stop until I've helped this Boy-Who-Lived, this 'Chosen' Harry James Potter to defeat Voldemort. I'll not stop until the dark bastard is dead and gone forever. But by Merlin, if there is any mercy left in this god-forsaken world, when all this is over, let me go. There is a saying: "We live to die and we die to live." I believe that with all that is left of my heart and soul. Let Mr. Potter kill me to avenge Dumbledore and his beloved Godfather after he kills the Dark Lord. Let me finally close my eyes to the oblivion I've been denied for so long. Let me go, once my duty is complete. Let me go.