“We weren’t even aware that he had faked his death. It seems he wanted to escape more than just the dark side.” Minerva said quietly over tea.
Gwen wasn’t aware that she knew anything about the matter. She was about to say so when Minerva interrupted. “Yes, I know. Dumbledore has briefed me on the situation. As Deputy Headmistress I should know who is and who is not present at this institution.”
Gwen nodded. “It seems silly grieving for him now.”
“But you love him?” Minerva said, correctly reading the dry tone in Gwen’s voice to be more a discomfort with believing he was dead than truly feeling she had wasted her tears on him.
“Deeply.” Gwen said with a rare smile. It felt like she hadn’t really smiled since her trip to France. It had been so long since she’d felt truly happy.
Perhaps this was a chance to start over.
Graves had died and in a different context been reborn. He was here at Hogwarts, a well guarded secret. As such he had only Dumbledore, McGonagall and Gwen to talk to. She would retire to her room after an afternoon of students parading in and out of her office and working on the Ouranian Barbaric project to find Graves sprawled out on her bed, his new invisibility cloak folded neatly and placed on her desk.
They would chat about the news reported in the Daily Prophet that morning, the strange times they were living in and of course, his involvement with the death eaters and the Order. His story came out in bits and pieces, slowly stringing itself together. It was almost as if he couldn’t bear to tell the entire thing in one sitting, he had to leak it out like a drip from a faucet in order to prevent the deluge of tears he couldn’t stand. He hated displays of emotion; he felt his tears were a weakness, betraying him.
From what she could tell he had started working for the order before Gwen, shortly after his graduation. His membership was kept highly secret; it was necessary for his own safety. He was working both sides, his loyalty firm to the Order. He had become a death eater before the Carcer Tristitia incident.
The death eater who cast the spell on him knew the effect it would have. It was Graves’ warning to limit his association to the school. It had worked well. Graves hadn’t spoken to Gwen that whole summer and he only met her over the Christmas holidays when he was absolutely certain the death eaters’ eyes were elsewhere.
And then he was silent. He would not say what had driven him to fake his death, what had pushed him so far over the edge he would rather be dead. She didn’t ask, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know herself, let alone put him through the process of revealing something so painful.
His left forearm was still burning with the image of the dark mark. It was black, hideous and painful to the touch. Graves sometimes scratched at it, as if he could rip it off with his frail attempts. Gwen was reminded of the odd pre-term behavior of Snape. Scratching at his arm just before he disappeared.
Of course she knew Snape had been a death eater and that he had tried to turn around, change his life. He was in great danger now, having turned his back on the dark lord when he was rising again. He had returned from whatever venture he had taken his sabbatical for, but he seemed even nastier than usual, barking out at students, taking away house points for almost nothing.
Gwen was torn, while the times they lived in were demanding and depressing she didn’t think his attitude was truly warranted. But without anyone knowing Snape had noticed his own bad behavior and was make an effort to reform.