Feigning Death

Chapter One

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

           “Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready … if you are prepared…”

           “I am.”

           “Then good luck.”

           Severus Snape snorted to himself as he strode through the halls to his chambers in the dungeons.

Sure, you’re ready. Ready to be slaughtered by your former master and your former friends.

Why do I get myself into these bloody messes? Why do I even bother anymore? This is ridiculous!

Damn Dumbledore! I don’t care what I owe him. This price is too high. I won’t do him any good if I’m dead.

He muttered the password and waved his wand at the blank wall before him. It shimmered and he stepped through it. It became solid once more behind him. He felt the magical locks fall securely into place. He nodded to himself and moved forward into his private quarters.

The room was dark and sparsely decorated. However, the few furnishings and decorations that existed had a wealthy air to them. Nothing was shabby or mismatched. The stone walls and floors gleamed in the candlelight. The grand rugs and tapestries that covered the room to keep out the chill were spotless and handsomely woven.

Snape moved stealthily to his desk and tapped his wand against the underside. He whispered an ancient password and a drawer appeared in the thin air. He pulled it open and removed a quill, an inkbottle, and a piece of black parchment.

He scrawled a quick note onto the parchment and called to his owl.

A small, black owl swooped down and lighted on a stand on the desk. It hooted inquisitively at the pale, sinister man before it.

“Yes, Kunagnos. The time has come. Fly swiftly, my friend,” he handed the parchment to the owl.

The owl grasped the paper in its beak and flew out the small, barred window high above without a single look back. It seemed the bird knew what had come and was prepared to fulfill his duty as well.

Severus hung his head and clenched his fists. Damn me. I have no hope at all. And none shall even mourn my passing. I am a traitor and an outcast. How pathetic.

He walked steadily to the bar and poured a Cognac. He returned to his desk and began marking student essays. Strange, how the most mundane activities suddenly become so appealing when you are knocking at death’s door.

He marked the papers for what seemed like hours until he felt so stiff that he knew he had to move. He stood and stretched. He reached his hand into the air and a slip of paper landed in his outstretched palm.

He closed his eyes and prepared for the worst. He drew the parchment to himself and slowly opened his eyes.

It was black parchment, not unlike the one Kunagnos had taken. This one, however, was devoid of any writing, save a small emblem in the bottom left corner.

So be it. They have made their choice. Still, it is better to face it, than to cower in fear. Like Karkaroff will certainly do. I will die with what little dignity I have left.

As was expected of him, he burned the parchment and watched it turn to ashes and then nothing but dust. He hung his head when it was finished. The. Last. Hope. Gone. Forever.

He turned from his desk, waved his wand to extinguish the candles and the fire in the fireplace. He moved silently through the darkness into his bedchamber. He lit the single candle at his bedside with a wave of his wand and opened the wardrobe. He solemnly removed his robes. The robes that created the image of a strict and tightly concealed man who relied on no one and loathed his job. The simple robes of a potions master.

He gently placed them back inside the wardrobe and pulled out the dark robes of his past. The robes that defined who and what he had been for many years. The robes that concealed a murderer and a slave. The ceremonial robes of the Death Eaters.

He shrugged them on, emotions churning just under the surface of his stoic expression. If someone had looked into his eyes at that moment, they would have seen the fear. The fear; and the determination. The violence of a war being raged inside.

But there was no one to look into his eyes. It had been a very long time since there had been anyone who had cared enough; who had been strong enough to look into those icy depths.

He tucked his wand into the belt of the robe, and did the clasp that held the cloak tightly about his shoulders. He reached into the wardrobe, far into the wardrobe, and removed the mask.

Polished white. Pure. Untarnished. Perfect. Two small slits for eyes. A formless nose. No mouth to speak of. Just a space of blank, painfully bright whiteness.

He glared at it for a moment, as though willing it as much ill as he willed to Sirius Black.

Then, without a word he slipped it into place on his face and pulled the cowl of the cloak over his head. After a glance in the mirror to check that no stray black hairs slipped out, he was ready.

He walked to the bedside table and extinguished the candle with a quick blow of his breath. He moved stealthily, assuredly through the pitch-blackness into the outer chamber and straight on to the exit.

With one last glance about his rooms, he slipped silently out.

He moved swiftly through the school hallways. Knowing all the paths far too well. Trying to shove away all the memories that came rushing at him as he passed through the halls. Soundlessly, he made his way to the exit.

The meeting was not this night, but there was a duty to fulfill. He knew it well and he hated himself. This wasn’t right. Dumbledore wouldn’t approve. The old man doesn’t understand. It is necessary. It is my duty.

Your duty is to Dumbledore.

Yes, but the only way to fulfill his wishes is to take this path. Backwards, perhaps, but it is the only way. It is my only choice.

He stood outside of the gates of the school. The gates that were in the Forbidden Forest. The gates that very few even knew existed. With a deep sigh, he resigned himself to the task at hand and apparated into London.

He stalked the streets for a few hours, trying to decide how best to go about it. It wouldn’t matter what the target was. It only mattered that it pleased Lo—the master. But what would please him best? No mere drifter would suffice. It would have to be a worthy offering. Very worthy, if Severus hoped for any mercy.

The opportunity ran straight into him. “Please, sir, please! Help me! They’re going to kill me!” With a swift turn and a graceful move of his arm, he brushed the girl into a nearby alleyway and waited.

He wouldn’t wait long. Her pursuers weren’t far behind.

“‘Scuse us, Mister. Perhaps you’ve seen a scrap of a girl run—” the man never finished his sentence. There was a sinister green light and then four dead men lay at Severus’s feet. He turned from them, sent the Mark into the sky and turned to find the girl staring at him in awe.

“Mister, you didn’t have to kill them…” she looked up into the mask. Terror spread across her face, but it was too late. “NO!”

He lifted her effortlessly. She pounded her fists against him. Severus shut his eyes for a moment. He then clasped her arms to her sides with one arm. With the other, he waved his wand at her and whispered, “Imperio!”

She went limp in his arms. He carried her a few feet further into the alley, and then dissapparated.

Soon, he was trudging through the trees in the darkness. He found the spot he needed and set her down. Se made no move to resist. She stared, glossy-eyed, straight-ahead at nothing. He cast a powerful spell around her and left her there, knowing no one would find her.

He returned to his quarters in the dungeons of the castle and removed his robes, being mindful of them and hanging them carefully back in their place. He removed the rest of his clothing, drew on his gray nightshirt, and slipped silently into bed.

 

 

 

Severus returned to his duties as potions master, determined more than ever to drill the students even more. He wanted them to be prepared. As prepared as was possible for what was to come. Of course, with so little time left in the term, and in light of the recent events, he was severely limited in the amount of drilling he could do.

He visited the girl every night. Always dressed impeccably in his Death Eater robes, he never removed the mask. He dare not break such protocol now. He fed her and made sure that she was kept firmly under his power. She only stared emptily at him and did only as he commanded. She wouldn’t even eat or sleep unless he commanded it. She was not feeble-minded, but she never bothered to fight. Perhaps she had no reason to, but he would never know. She would not be released from the curse until she was in the Dark Lord’s grasp. And then it would be too late for her to explain.

It was at the Leaving Feast that he remembered Potter. He saw him sitting at the Gryffindor table with his friends. He thought about all the boy had done in his four years at Hogwarts.

The boy is quite brave, and very powerful. Good, because he’s going to need every ounce of his strength. I only hope it will be enough. He’s worth far too much.

It’s just too bad that he knows it. He’s insufferably arrogant and he has no respect for rules. That’s going to be his downfall, I’ll wager. And I won’t always be there to save him.

He let his eyes linger on the boy for a moment. I only hope he doesn’t know what I’m up to. If he catches me this time, Albus isn’t going to be pleased.

He turned away, unwilling to face the possibilities of such consequences. But he could feel the boy’s eyes lingering on him, and he didn’t like it.

 

 

 

The students were all gone. The halls were empty. Silence penetrated everything. The walls themselves seemed hollow.

The time had come.

Severus withdrew from the staff room and the few remaining professors. Swiftly. Silently. As though severing all ties; relinquishing all hope of ever seeing anyone or anything in these halls of refuge that had become home.

Once in his private quarters, he returned once more to the wardrobe. He removed for what was surely the last time, the robes he wore as Hogwarts professor and Head of Slytherin.

With a heavy hand, and a heavier heart, he reached into the wardrobe and retrieved his formal Death Eater robes. With all the ceremony and gravity due such an action, he pulled them on and fastened the clasps tightly and firmly, as though hammering in the very first nails into his own coffin.

He removed the mask from its hiding place once more and glared at it fiercely before giving in and placing on his face. He pulled the cowl deftly over his head, careful to hide his hair as always, and it was finished.

His fate was set, his doom sealed and he was left no choice. No way out.

He left his dungeons, wand at the ready, and slipped undetected out of the school and into the forest.

He reached the girl moments later. She still sat; unseeing, uncaring just as he’d last left her. Her last hope gone.

So this is whom I shall die with? A nameless muggle girl stripped of her will. Of her soul. By me. This girl is whom I shall face Judgement with.

How pathetic. How fitting. His acerbic smile flitted across his lips for a moment, concealed by the mask. Then it was gone, taking the last of his sense of humour with it.

He lifted the girl easily and gently. He held her in his arms as tenderly as he would have once held a lover.

Then with a ~pop~ and a flash, they were gone.

 

 

 

The Death Eaters stood in a circle, with Voldemort at its center. Two figures apparated before him.

“Ah, Severus. You have returned to me at last.”

Severus set the girl aside and bow low to the ground, “Forgive me, my Lord. I could not answer your call. Dumbledore keeps me on a very short leash.”

“So you are his lap dog then? What use have I for you? A traitor so low, so unworthy? What purpose could you possibly serve?”

“Whatever my Lord commands, I shall do. I bring an offering.” He indicated the girl, but did not rise.

“I see.” Voldemort waved a hand and two Death Eaters stepped forward and lifted the girl so he could inspect her. A thorough examination of the girl and then he spoke to Severus, still groveling on the ground. “You have done well. She is a prime specimen, Severus. Your Imperius curse is flawless. She is completely yours to command.” He paused for what, to Severus, seemed an eternity. “Remove it.”

Severus did not hesitate. He couldn’t afford to. He lifted the Imperius curse from the girl.

She looked into the face of Lord Voldemort, and she screamed.

Severus flinched. No one noticed. Everyone else was too focused on the greedy, hungry look on the Dark Lord’s countenance.

Severus watched, as he was expected to, but he took no joy; no peace in witnessing the girl’s horrific end.

She put up a good fight and lasted much longer than anyone expected. The Dark Lord was pleased.

Severus wished she would stop fighting and just die. He had never thought she would suffer this much.

When at last the girl was dead, Voldemort turned his attentions back to Severus. “You have done very well, Severus. You have earned mercy. A swift, honorable death.” Voldemort raised his wand.

Severus waited stoically for the end. He would at least die with dignity before the others. His brothers. His friends. That was enough.

“Stop, my Lord,” A Death Eater broke rank and stepped into the circle.

Severus recognized the voice instantly. He would know that voice anywhere.

Lucius Malfoy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

FanFiction

 

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