Hands of Red

Severus watched the owl as flew from the window disappeared into the night sky, its precious bundle parchment clasped fast in its talons. Within moments the bird had disappeared into the darkness, like all Severus' hopes and dreams had vanished into darkness, so many years ago. He closed and stepped away from the window, shaking his head in wonder at the sudden clarity of those memories, which had become as fuzzy and insubstantial as Salazar's ghost, who was rumoured to still haunt the dungeons of Hogwarts.

He seated himself, elegantly as always, in his favourite armchair, and lost himself for a time in those happier times. For they were indeed, happier times. Before the dark times. Before Voldemort. He could see even now the frightened young boy that had seen Hogwarts castle for the first time from the stern of a small boat crossing the lake. The same young boy that had been taunted with awful tales of the Sorting Ceremony, each more terrifying and amazing than the last.

Of course none of them had been true. All it came down to was a dirty old enchanted hat reading one's mind. It was a perverse old piece of clothing, much like what Severus personally believed old Godric had been himself. Severus had spoken to many people during his early years, seeking to find out what it was that the Hat had said to them, for it had certainly ignored what he had said to it. Severus the Younger had desired nothing more than to discover everything there was about everything. Knowledge was what he sought, and like his Ravenclaw Mother, he was going to do exactly that. The Hat, however, had other ideas. It seemed to believe that he sought mastery over that knowledge, to have it at his command. That sounded far too much like how his Father spoke on such matters, and so of course Severus denied such desires. Not that denial achieved anything, for he found himself sorted into Slytherin anyway.

Looking back on that day, Severus supposed that the Hat had been right in its assessment of him. Producing a perfect potion after months, or even mere minutes, of toil, gave the Potions Master a sense of satisfaction that he had never found anywhere else.

He certainly hadn't found it in his other profession, namely teaching. Severus, after examining his mental record of every student he'd taught of the past fifteen years, found that he could label all of them, with very few exceptions, under the same category: Utterly Hopeless Within Ten Feet of a Cauldron. The very few exceptions were split into two groups. Some, like Longbottom, were simply labeled: Walking Disasters; whilst the remaining could be filed under: Barely Adequate. He found mildly ironic that the students that fell into this final category were considered Masters of the trade by the world at large, whilst he was consigned to this level of Hades called education. Severus snorted in disgust, Most of them wouldn't know the difference between Aconite and Belladonna. Speaking of which...

Severus turned to the side table, and with thumb and fore finger picked up the vial lying next to a large goblet of dark red wine. The vial was made of dark green glass, blown into a spiral so that it resembled a pair of creeping vines twisted around each other. The stopper was simple cork, sealed in wax and topped by pewter shaped into the form a of grinning skull. There were dozens of such vials in his collection, each containing a unique poison. This was by far the best of them all. Fast acting, painless, tasteless when added to wine; and from the report of the only known survivor of the poison (its creator who had downed the antidote a gulp after the poison) gave the drinker a sense of euphoria like no other drug known to man.

Severus was most interested to see if the report was true. He broke the seal and poured the powder into the goblet, stirring it in with his wand. As he did so, the colour of the wine seemed to pull at him. It was so much like blood that he was surprised to see that his hands were not the same hue. Instead they were as they had always been. Pale, with long elegant fingers that were sensitive the most minuscule differences in texture. A fine bone structure that had led his mother to write the head of Slytherin house, forbidding her son from trying out for the Quidditch team lest he should damage them. Severus fought off the ridiculous urge to go dip his hands in something that would change them to how they should appear: stained for all time in blood. The blood of the innocents.

There were so many that had contributed to that stain. Severus could remember vividly the first time that he finally realised that his actions had caused the death of an actual human being. Two years out of Hogwarts, Lucius had requested a potion of him, the Dark Lord's favoured Potions Master. More specifically, a poison. A week later at an official dinner attended by hundreds of people, including Severus, the Minister of Magic had died painfully over the main course. The cause of death was determined as an allergic reaction to one of the spices in the sauce. But Severus knew better.

It took several more years, and the deaths of many more wizards and muggles, before Severus' conscience (bearing an uncanny resemblance to the voice of the Sorting Hat) had finally had enough, and demanded he turn himself over to Dumbledore. And so began his career as a spy. As time went on, and Voldemort's plans went ever more awry, Severus expected the stains on his hands, the burden of guilt he carried, to grow lighter. Surely by now, the craven part of his mind had argued, surely by now the debt is paid! And with interest!

But it was not so, the burden remained, his hands remained red. And with each new death the burden grew heavier, his hands became a deeper, richer red. And then the final irony. On one side, Voldemort was defeated, and all was said and done. It was over. But on the other, James and Lily Potter were dead. Two more innocent deaths that could have been prevented. Two more people he had failed. And more than that. The debt of a life saved, owed to James could now never be repaid.

Severus picked up the goblet, and held it before him, admiring the way the candlelight sparked in reflection off the silver.

Voldemort was returned. And worse than that. He knew. Severus had tried to insinuate himself back into the ranks of the Death Eaters, but for naught. Somehow Voldemort had discovered his true allegiance. The last time Severus had responded to the summons of the Dark Lord, the rest of the Death Eaters were already present by his arrival, and by their grim stances and dispersion he knew that the summons had not been for a standard meeting, but for his trial and execution.

Or so he thought.

His former brethren had spent half the night subjecting him to the Cruciamentum, as well as other, more subtle curses. But at the rising of the sun, the stopped, and a barely conscious Severus Snape had risen to his feet and braced himself for the curse he knew was to come. The Killing Curse. Two words that mocked every muggle child's belief that Abracadabra could change the world into a more magical place.

But it was not to be.

Instead he would be found hanging naked by the feet from a tree on the outskirts of the Dark Forest where he would be sure to be found, Voldemort's final taunt ringing in his ears. "I know you now, traitor. And I want you to think on this while you are imprisoned in your precious school. Every death I cause, every child who wails in agony, every witch who cries out 'why?', will be a personal reminder from me to you of one small thing. You failed. And do not for one second believe that you can seek redemption among those who fight me directly, for the very instant you leave the safety of those wards, I will know, and you will die a most slow and painful death. And for a month afterwards random students will open packages expecting treats from home, only to find instead treats from me. Your eye, perhaps, or your ear. Your toe, or your spleen or whatever little backbone you ever possessed. And one day, I shall have the very great pleasure of personally presenting you empty skull to that doddering old fool who call himself a Headmaster. Think on that, dear Severus, and suffer."

And that was why Severus was now finding it necessary to bring the goblet to his lips, to end his own life in the only way a Potions Master should. By Poison Most Potent. A small smile graced his features as he did so. After all these years of contemplating suicide in the second week of a new school year, he was finally going to do it and it had nothing to do with bumbling first years.

If Severus Snape considered the Sorting Hat to be perverse, then he knew for certain that fate had to be its vindictive older sister, for only a sadistic bitch like her could bring a knock to his door at this particular point in time.

And that, of course, is exactly what happened.

Severus glanced at the clock, Surely Albus could not have received it yet? The door echoed hollowly once more, and was followed by a muffled female voice. "Professor. Professor Snape, are you in there?" No, it was not Albus. It was that other bane of his existence. The one who, when not haring about with Potter in an effort to make his life miserable, was sticking her hand up into his face to inflict her know-it-all self on him and the rest of the laboratory. It was of course, Hermione Granger. Insufferable little Gryffindor. Can't even let a man die in peace. However he could not risk the very likely possibility that she should determine that something was wrong by his lack of response, and thus it should be her duty as prefect to investigate. How it was that the Gryffindor Dream Team could know his location at any given moment was a mystery that had perplexed him on many an occasion.

Severus had planned for Albus to be the one to find him, an easy smile on his very dead face, to set the old man's heart at rest that maybe Severus had at last found peace with himself. Even if that wasn't the case. But for a student to find his body was not to be allowed to happen. That much Severus could at least make sure of. And of course there was the ever so remote chance, being that the student in question being Granger, that she would be able to revive him, and thus muck up his plans completely.

Severus allowed himself a large sigh. "Better see what she wants, I suppose." He picked up his wand, undid the numerous wards on his door, and allowed her to enter. She stopped in the middle of the room, a full five feet from where he was sitting, and appeared to be looking anywhere but at him. If anything, the girl appeared to be nervous. I wonder if it's because she's in my personal chambers. Probably scared the nasty old potions professor is going to molest her. Severus was almost tempted to ask exactly that, just to see her reaction. After all, it wasn't like he was going to be here in the morning to be lectured on proper behaviour towards students. But instead he opted to be his usual irascible self. "What is it Miss Granger? I have much to do and precious little time to do it in." It wasn't the first time he'd told a bald faced lie to a student.

Severus watched as she summoned her precious Gryffindor Courage, looked him in the eye, and spoke two words with complete and utter sincerity and honesty. Severus blinked several times in disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, Thank You."

"Whatever for?"

"You may not have noticed because I didn't miss any Potions classes, but I was a few days late in arriving at Hogwarts this year. Our car overturned on the way to the station, and my father was nearly killed." Granger looked beyond Severus at this point, and he supposed that from her point of view, she was looking toward wherever her parents were.

Severus raised a sardonic eyebrow, "And you're thanking me for this?"

She scowled at him and he could almost hear the 'no, silly' that she would have delivered to one of her friends. Instead she used tact, and said. "No, Professor, I'm thanking you for the knowledge skill that you have instilled in me over the years. I was able to retrieve my potions kit from the car and use it to heal some of my father's injuries and give him enough strength to survive until the ambulance arrived. If not for this gift that you have given me, my father would be dead right now, so; Thank You."

Severus was... well he didn't know exactly what he was, his mind was failing him. Stunned? Bewildered? Flabbergasted? Here he was contemplating, Contemplating? hell damn near doing!, his own death; and here was this slip of a girl thanking him for the gift of life! It was amazing how such a simple act of kindness could change a person's position on the value of living.

"Professor? Are...are you all right?" Hermione had taken a step toward him now, a look of concern on her face. Severus caught a glance through his bedroom door of the mirror within and he could see why she might be somewhat alarmed. He had his chin in his hand, and a look of shock on his face.

He waved away her concerns, "Quite alright," Then caught sight of the vial still sitting on the side table. Quickly, before Hermione could see it and recognise it for what it was, Severus stood and strode towards her, allowing his billowing robes to obscure her view. "You're welcome Miss Granger. I'm glad that your father is recovering. Now as I said, I have lots to do and precious little time to do it in."

Hermione allowed herself to be gently ushered out into the corridor. As Severus went to close the door, she spoke again. "I'll pass that on to him, sir. And once again, thank you."

"You can thank me more effectively by making sure that your paper, which I believe is due tomorrow morning, is complete."

Hermione couldn't help grinning at that, it seemed. "Already done, sir. With an extra six inches to make sure."

Severus grimaced in mock exasperation, "Now be off with you before I'm forced to take points off for being out after curfew."

"Goodnight, sir."

Severus watched for a moment, as the girl, No, young woman, who had turned his life around with two small words, dashed up the corridor and out of sight. Then he closed his door and walked over to collect the vial and goblet, shaking his head over the last exchange. Imagine! Me! Bantering with a student! He chuckled. I wonder what Albus would say...Oh shit! Albus! The letter! Oh crap!

At that moment the door burst open, and there stood Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, recipient of the Order of Merlin, and the one wizard feared by all dark wizards. There stood Albus Dumbledore, frantic with worry and fear. Severus bit back an hysterical urge to snigger. Or at least he hoped it was a snigger, for no Slytherin worth his wand ever giggled.

"Severus, don't do it. Life is worth living, even in these dark times. You..."

Severus held up his hand to calm his old friend. And for the first time he realised that Albus was exactly that. His friend. An small part of his mind wondered quietly how many others on the staff he could count as friends, if he let them in. "Albus, relax. My moment of melodrama has passed, and I have decided to stay here a while. I assure you there will be no advertisement in tomorrow's Prophet for a new potions professor."

Dumbledore slumped in relief against the door jam at the Potion Master's words, eyes closed as if in thankful prayer. "Thank Merlin for that!" His eyes snapped open then, as the Slytherin nature of the former spy occurred to him. "Are you sure, Severus? You aren't just humoring an old man, are you?"

Severus smirked, and collected up the goblet from its resting place. He raised it as if toasting Dumbledore's health, and casually flung the goblet, contents and all, into the fireplace. "Incendio." Flames tinged with a sickly green momentarily roared to life, before settling back to a normal level. For once, Severus' chambers seemed almost cheerful, instead of dank and dismal as all good dungeons should be.

Albus nodded gently. "Ah. You are being honest with me then. How refreshing. But, I fear, your 'moment of melodrama' is far from over. You always were something of a showman, Severus."

Raising an eyebrow, Severus smiled. "From anyone else, that would be an insult. But from the master, a compliment of the highest order." Dumbledore of course, made an elaborate bow. Idly Severus wondered if he were any relation at all to the Weasley twins, for they certainly seemed to embrace a similar sense of humour.

The elder wizard then settled himself into the armchair he was accustomed to using, and gestured towards the china cabinet. Severus' tea-set promptly assembled itself and began to serve. Severus rolled his eyes and sank into his own chair. Despite Albus' claims that his fears had been calmed, he was obviously still concerned. This would be one of their 'long chats'.

A small scowl dissuaded the tweezers from dumping a cube of sugar into his own cup. Albus, of course, took three lumps.

"So tell me Severus, what monumentous event occurred to change your mind, hmm? After all, should you find yourself, shall we say, down in the dumps?, again; I think it would be useful to know what happened, so that I might repeat it."

Severus had heard of Aurors who could gain a confession out of any prisoner with mere hours. They were amateurs compared to Hogwarts' Headmaster. He had been in similar situations before, and knew that it was useless to resist. After all, only a few words would be needed from a complete stranger and Albus could tell you his entire life story. "Not what, Headmaster. Who."

"Ah! Miss Granger then. I wondered what it was she was doing down here, so late in the evening. Unfortunately I did not have the time to enquire, other concerns were more pressing at the time. Perhaps you could...?" Albus gestured in a way meant to encourage Severus to begin.

"Of course, Albus. Miss Granger found herself...."

And it was in this manner that the two wizards spent much of the night discussing three most important topics. Topics considered most weighty and important by all wizards of any stature in all of Britain, indeed, the whole Wizarding World. Life, Death and...

Quidditch.

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Breakfast in the Great Hall was, as usual, all hustle and bustle. Students coming and going, eating and laughing, whispering and shouting. Most mornings, Severus avoided the Great Hall at breakfast, an absence for which the staff were most thankful. One of which had even been heard to whisper that the Head of Slytherin was simply not human until he'd had his third cup of coffee, and no one, especially students, should have a caffeine deprived Potions Master inflicted on them.

Minerva strongly denied ever having said anything of the sort.

Which is why they at first viewed with dread, the sight of said wizard at their breakfast table. Then they looked utterly and wholly confused when he tucked into a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, complete with a large goblet of orange juice.

It is amazing what an epiphany can do for the appetite.

Towards the end of breakfast, Severus was sitting back in his chair, sipping at his juice and perusing the Prophet's morning edition, when he happened to look up and over at the Gryffindor table. As usual, Potter and Weasley were stuffing themselves and discussing the upcoming Ravenclaw/Gryffindor Quidditch match. Either that or they were trying to fly by flapping both jaws and arms at the same time. But it was Miss Granger who caught his attention. Perhaps as much as it seemed that he had caught hers. She was staring at him with the most peculiar look on her face. As soon as she realised that he had caught her staring, she ducked her head down and finished her breakfast, refusing to look anywhere but her plate.

Folding his paper, Severus sighed and shook his head. "Albus." With that he got up and walked along the table to where the Headmaster sat, where he stopped, leaned in and whispered. "You told her."

Dumbledore merely smiled. "As she saw fit to thank you for her father's life, I saw fit to thank her for yours."

"Do you realise you've just made my life so much more difficult?"

"Or simpler, depending on how you see things. Now don't you have a class to teach, Severus?"

Severus walked away, muttering.

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The first potions class of the day was ending, and students were gathering up their equipment and vacating the laboratory as fast as their legs could carry them. Despite the events of the previous night, Severus had seen no reason to carry his good mood into the classroom. Thus Gryffindor was down twenty points, Longbottom was still terrified of him and Potter was seething. All was right with the world. Even Granger, it appeared, had some sense of tact, and had alluded in no way to what she now knew of him. Except perhaps, in that she had been somewhat hesitant in volunteering answers, for once allowing his class to progress smoothly.

Or as smooth as it gets with Longbottom in the class.

Severus sat at his desk and began grading a paper while waiting for the next class to arrive. A small commotion drew his attention.

"Hermione, come on. We'll be late for Herbology. You can ask about the OWLs later."

"This'll only take a moment, Harry. You and Ron go on. I'll catch up."

"All right."

Severus could feel her presence by his desk, sort of the same way one could feel a noose about one's neck. "If you wish to convey your sympathies, Miss Granger, forget it. I have no desire to be pitied by you, or anyone else." He felt her flinch at his acid tone, and felt a twin moment of both satisfaction and regret at causing it.

"No, sir. I cannot pity you. I cannot imagine for a moment what it is to be you, to know what you know, and so forth. Instead I wish to convey my apologies."

Severus looked at her and raised an eyebrow, "You are sorry for preventing my death?"

"Professor!" she admonished, "I would never wish any living being death or torment. I am sorry because in saving your life I feel as if I have invaded your privacy. I interrupted something most... intimate, and did so without invitation. It is for that, and that alone, that I apologise. Good day, sir."

With that Hermione turned on her heel and strode off towards the door, leaving Severus stunned in his seat. Just as her hand closed about the door handle, he jumped up from his chair and called out to her. "Wait!"

Hermione turned, and watched him approach her. "Yes, Professor?"

"I...I have few friends Miss Granger. Even among the staff. I am...not an easy person to get along with. Yet, considering all that has happened over the past day, there is no one I can think of who I would rather have...invaded. I would consider myself as lucky, I think, if I could count you as a friend."

Hermione smiled at him, and Severus realised that it was the first time that anyone besides Albus had ever granted him the gift of an sincere smile since he began his career as a teacher. It... warmed him, and he found a reflection of it on his own lips.

"I would be honoured, Professor."

"Then be off with you," Severus' smile turned into a smirk, "Before I find it necessary to deduct points for being out of class."

Hermione just laughed and dashed off down the corridor. Severus found that laugh to be most delightful, and the first students to arrive for his next class discovered something they had never thought possible.

A grinning Snape.