Unforgiven II

Lay beside me, tell me what he's done
Speak the words I wanna hear, to make my demons run
The door is locked now, but it's open if you're true
If you can understand the me, than I can understand the you 

Severus walked through the tall grass, an occasional cricket leaping up, disturbed by his passage. The yellow-green stalks closed around behind him, leaving no track of the tall, bony youth behind.

It was late May. His sixth year at Hogwarts was nearly done. His birthday had come and gone a month ago without any notice. He himself hadn't realized it until the day after.

The air was warm, the sky clear and cloudless blue. Elsewhere on Hogwarts grounds, students were laughing and playing, flying and talking, enjoying this Sunday and the promise of summer just around the corner. But the boy Snape had been cold inside for the better part of the year, and the sun couldn't touch that inner chill.

Revenge occupied much of his thoughts, in vicious self-fulfilling circles that were slowly gnawing away at his insides, though he didn't know it. He was far too much a Slytherin to ever let his pain and hate, his broken heart and thirst for revenge, show on the surface. But if anyone had dared to look into his eyes, blacker than black, they might have seen some evidence of his inner pain, his terrible loneliness.

They didn't. It was Snape. You didn't cross Snape, not if you wanted to eat your food without fear of getting sick, not if you didn't want every Slytherin in spitting distance sicced on you.

Those of his own house didn't question him either. They were in two groups-- the ones who had a small secret black mark on their forearms, and were for the most part terrified of Severus Snape, the Master's pet snake; and those few who weren't marked, and lived in a terrible isolation. Damned as Slytherin by those on the outside, damned as cowards by those on the inside.

No, none of them would look too closely at Snape's behaviour.

He stopped his measured strides through the grass, turned, looked back at the school. It rose with solid stone walls like a fortress, and he sneered reflexively. Some fucking fortress. Those walls were deceptive-- they hadn't kept him safe.

The sneer dropped the next second. He was tired of it, tired of having to keep it up all the time, tired of the precarious position he himself had walked over the last few months. He was Voldemort's favourite-- and he hated Voldemort more than anyone else in the world. Keeping it a secret from his housemates, his fellows, the adult Death Eaters, and most of all from Him-- gods, but he was tired, his nerves fraying, his mask feeling like it was going to crack.

If. If. There was just one person who he could be honest with-- just one-- it would be such a relief--

He turned and started walking again, unable to look at the stone walls any more.

There was nothing on this side of the school. Not the forest, not the lake, not the broad lawn many students enjoyed. It was an empty overgrown field, slight hills and hummocks all covered by the thick, foot-high grass. Empty and therefore desirable. He'd been coming out here ever since Christmas; this was the closest thing to a sanctum and private place you could get in the infested world of Hogwarts.

Severus crossed one more hummock, a little bigger than the rest, and dropped down onto the ground, the grasses cushioning his form. He exhaled slowly and lay back, doing his best to let it all slip away from him, giving it up to the summer and the sky overhead. So blue, so empty, so relentless; a hammered disk. He wondered, as he had before, what would happen if he cast Wingardium Leviosa on himself and just started flying off for the blue. Sooner or later there wasn't any oxygen, right? Would that hurt, dying like that? Or would you just get sleepier and sleepier?

Time passed. The boy did not sleep, exactly, but nor was he conscious or thinking. He simply let himself exist, lying on the hill out of sight of the school. Severus closed his eyes, opened them, felt the earth under his fingers, the insects that came out and crawled on him. They didn't bother him, and he kept his breaths steady and quiet as the ants worked their way across his thin wrist, as a grasshopper landed on his chest. A tiny spider dangled from a stem, then dropped onto his hair. He didn't twitch.

Better the bugs on his skin, after all; they were natural and clean and wholesome in comparison to the touch of his master, whose hands were demanding and murderous and giving and cruel and life and death all in one. He shuddered. The grasshopper jumped off, and he missed its presence.

The sun kept up its slow arch. After a while, Severus felt a tremor. The ground--

Someone coming? He thought frantically, his brain rousing from its daze to fill with fury and indignation. This was his space, his time, how dare they come and take it from him-- he sat up quickly, hand already gripping his wand, and scrambled halfway to his feet, ready to assault (even if only verbally) whoever neared his haven.

On the other side of the hummock, a wizard was ambling in his general direction, a picnic basket in one arm, a blanket in the other. Severus stared in undisguised fury at the figure of the Headmaster, who was whistling to himself as he sauntered along.

The Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore. Greatest wizard of the age, supposedly as great a magician as Merlin himself. There were moments when Severus knew for a fact that one of his purposes, one of the things the Master was grooming him for, was to kill Albus Dumbledore.

There were moments when he didn't think he'd mind that.

But-- how dare the old fool come and violate his sanctity. He snarled under his breath, watched the old man come closer. Dumbledore was looking around him cheerfully as he walked, at the sky; but not at Severus, crouched low on the dirt, until they were about twenty feet apart. Then the blue eyes focused on the black-clad figure grimly observing him, widened in surprise.

Seen, now. Severus wrapped dignity around himself, straightened up from the earth. "Headmaster," he said, in a tone that was all politeness and disgust and annoyance.

"Mr. Snape," replied Dumbledore, stopped in his tracks and blinking owlishly at him. Pause, the two of them staring at each other, and Snape realized to his disgust that Dumbledore hadn't come out here looking for him at all. The man was as unprepared to be dealing with him as Severus was with him.

Dumbledore broke the uneasy silence first. "I... wasn't expecting anyone out here. My apologies for intruding on you, Mr. Snape."

"Not at all," Severus said with the same insincere courtesy. Yes, let's all be mannerly, old fool.

"Hmm." Dumbledore rocked back on his heels. "I, hm, used to come out here during my days as a student. Lovely peace and quiet."

"Yes," replied Snape, not moving. He wasn't going to be the first to get up and leave. Even if Dumbledore, in a sense, had prior claim.

"Hrm." Blue eyes locked with black, in a quiet standoff. Then Dumbledore smiled and said, "Well, plenty of room here for the both of us."

While Severus bristled uselessly, the older man set his picnic basket down on the grass. Humming a tuneless melody, the old man began to stretch his blanket, a garish and bright thing, out on the grass. Severus sneered silently and plopped back down. Fine. He'd just ignore the senile old bastard.

It was harder to do than it sounded, even for someone as skilled at ignoring others as Severus was. The idiot Dumbledore was loud and annoying, that ridiculous humming, the many 'oomphs' and sighs as the man settled down and made himself comfortable, the sounds of the basket being opened and...

...oh Circe. He had freshly fried chicken with him. And pastries, smelling straight from the kitchens. Much to his disgust, Severus's nose twitched and his stomach reminded him, with sadistic glee, that it hadn't been fed that day because he'd been too busy with the potion he'd been working on. Severus bit his lip and stared angrily at the sky.

A few more minutes passed in relative quiet; Dumbledore humming, Severus glaring, the food giving off mouth-watering aromas. A dragonfly that had been planning to land on Severus's nose sensed the youth's anger and flew off in the opposite direction.

The sound of liquid sloshing around, and Severus's keen sense of smell picked up the scent of strawberry cordial. Oh, damn the man. The boy closed his eyes and worked on anger.

When he opened them after a few moments, he found himself looking into Dumbledore's twinkling gaze, and forced himself not to start in surprise. The wizard was standing over him, bent over, and smiling politely into his face.

"The elves seem to have packed too much for me to eat, Mr. Snape. I don't suppose you could help me out with some of this?"

Severus glared furiously into twinkling blue eyes. "I'm not hungry."

And his traitorous stomach chose that moment to give an especially loud rumble. Both of them looked down in the stomach's general direction for a moment, and then Snape sighed and sat up, deciding that in this case, surrender was the better part of dignity.

The meal was every bit as good as it smelled. The silence as they ate their way through the basket, at least for Severus, was uncomfortable. Dumbledore didn't appear to mind it a bit, and the young Slytherin hurled silent mental epithets at him.

Albus Dumbledore licked his fingers after chicken with as much dignity as any first year, ignoring Severus's disapproving stare, and laid down on his blanket with a contented sigh. "My, I think the elves outdid themselves with that. What is your opinion, Mr. Snape?"

"... I suppose."

Dumbledore smiled slightly and closed his eyes, reaching up and pulling his peaked wizard's hat over his face to shield it from the sun. He laced his fingers over his belly and calmly soaked up the sun.

Severus sat, cross-legged, and watched him warily for long minutes. A few cookies remained in the bottom of the basket and the youth absently finished them off, his eyes never leaving the old man's form. The silence stretched out in the afternoon, long and lazy.

"Why aren't you watching me," the boy said, quietly, after some time. Dumbledore didn't stir visibly, just enough to murmur under the brim of the hat, "Why, whatever do you mean, Mr. Snape?"

"I mean I'm a Slytherin. I'm one of them, not one of your good little Gryffindors. You shouldn't be trusting me enough to lie down and take your eyes off me, Dumbledore. I could... I could... attack you or something, you know."

He paused, regretting the words the instant he'd said them. He hadn't been able to keep the malice out of his voice-- it had been as good as a confession that he was indeed the enemy. As good as a confession of the mark on his arm. But Dumbledore didn't react, didn't jerk upright and summon the Aurors. The old wizard shifted slightly, re-lacing his fingers.

"Hmm. I suppose you have a point. Let me think.

"...all right, I have it. You lie down too, my boy, and then we won't have to worry about it. How does that sound?"

Severus had been under the Imperio curse, at times, in the course of his service to the Dark Lord. But this obedience, that made him slowly, unbelievingly shake his head, then stretch out on the blanket awkwardly, felt nothing like it. He blinked at the sky, wondered if the world had gone mad, or just himself. Perhaps Dumbledore's famed insanity was contagious.

The ants found him again, crawled up his sleeve. He closed his eyes and slowly, infinitesimally, started to relax.

He didn't understand Dumbledore. It had only been months ago, that the man had gazed at him with the expression saying 'Slytherin scum,' and there had been no understanding there whatsoever, and now, now...

And then, when the silence had stopped being strange and started to feel like coming home, Dumbledore's voice said with infinite gentleness, "What has he done to you, Severus?"
 

He couldn't stop the words, couldn't even begin to stop his mouth. Part of raged and railed at Dumbledore, at whatever sorcery or trick the man was using to get him to speak; part of him screamed its hatred of everything that moved and hurt him and betrayed him so; part of him sobbed an aching and pained relief, because oh god, after so long of the silence, so long being alone, and to tell it to someone, anyone, anyone who'd listen...

"... and, and, his hands, Headmaster, they hurt so much, and you don't know, don't you judge me, don't you fucking judge me old man, you don't know what it's like to want him to touch you, don't look at me like that, don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me! STOP LOOKING AT ME...

"And nights come and I am so tired and so cold and I'm always cold and nobody ever touches me except him and I don't want his hands on me and I need his hands, because nobody ever touches me, get your hands off me, get, fuck, fuck, stop, don't be so fucking understanding, don't you sit there old man and look at me like you don't hate me, I know what I am, I'm his, I'm his, you touch me and he'll kill you. He will. I will," the boy gasped, clenching and unclenching his grip on the blanket.

He turned, shoved up his sleeve with frantic movements, thrust the pale pale skin into Dumbledore's face: Dumbledore who was wide awake and silently listening to everything the boy hurled. The mark was like black cancer on the skin, between the two of them.

Severus pointed at it, gripped it with his other hand, yanked his hand away as though it burned. "You see it, bastard? You see it? Do you!?! He gave it to me when I was eleven, the fucker, and you didn't stop him, I was your student, why didn't you know, why didn't you step in, why--

"Stop looking at me. Stop looking at me like that. You wanted to know, you know it now, you know it all, so stop pretending you're concerned, I've told you what you want to know, so you can stop pretending you care now. Stop looking at me like you don't hate me! Don't you know, I'm his, I hate you, hate me back, I know you do-- despise me for what I am-- stop looking at me as if I was clean and worth something, you fucker, just-- just hurt me now, get it over with, please, I can't stand it when you--"

The boy took unwilling gasps for air, then started up again, raw words and curses and tears mixing together. He curled into a foetal position, gripping the primary colours of the blanket for dear life, and burned with fiery pain. Under the gaze of the sun, under the gaze of Albus Dumbledore, the numbness and the ice were ripped away. Naked and defenceless before the eyes of god and man...

The headmaster said nothing, sitting next to the sobbing child and clenching his own gnarled hands in the fabric of his robes. He tried, once, to reach out and touch the boy's shoulder, but the flinch, even more than the string of obscenities which followed, made him keep his hands to himself. The headmaster said nothing, his own tears tracing paths down his cheeks, as the sky reigned cruelly over them both.

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there, 'cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven too?
Lay beside me, this won't hurt, I swear
I love him not, I love him still, but I'll never love again
He lies within me, but he'll be there when I'm gone
Black hearts scarring darker steel, yes, he'll be there when I'm gone
Dead sure he'll be there

Dead now, empty, the eyes had emptied all their wetness. Severus curled, still and quiet, on the blanket. He wanted his wand. He would reach for it in a moment. Just a moment.

And whisper the words, so sweet, so final, so tempting. Avada Kedavra. He'd hated saying them once upon a time. But he'd grown to love the way they rolled off the tongue, filled the air like a prayer. And such power represented therein. You could cut someone's life, end it, with six syllables, an exhale of breath.

How could that not be tempting?

He would reach for his wand, inside his robes, pull it out and whisper the words.

The only difficulty was who he'd cast it on. Dumbledore or himself, himself or Dumbledore...

"Do you love him?"

"I love no one," he said blankly, watching the ants crawl onto the blanket again in the aftermath of his screaming.

"Did you love him once?"

"I will always love him. I am his," he whispered unmoving. The grass swayed imperceptibly in the slight breeze. Severus took a breath and spoke aloud words he'd never admitted even to himself. "I am his forever. Marked and given to him, sold myself to him, I belong to him, I exist for him. He lies under my skin, and when I'm dead he will still be. He has formed the steel of me, old man, shaped me to his ends and made of me a weapon. And it would take a hotter fire than any you could conjure to reforge me into something else.

"You could try. You could try, Professor, and he would still be there."

Severus closed his eyes, feeling a burden lift from his chest with that admission. There. It was said. It was admitted. He would never be free of Voldemort; that was not a thing it was possible to hope for. And oddly enough, the annihilation of hope was a freedom in itself. He did not have to dream, did not have to wonder what he could possibly replace his Master with, because his Master would always be there.

Dumbledore's silence to his pronouncement lay over him like the blanket lay under him. Severus exhaled.

"When are you going to call the Aurors?" It needed to be asked.

"I'm not."

Severus laughed harshly and sat up, twisting to stare at Dumbledore with hatred and disbelief. "You-- don't listen, do you? All I just said-- damn you Dumbledore. What game are you playing with me, I am tired of games, just call them and have them take me out of your school.

"Away from your precious Gryffindors, who must be kept safe at all costs."

"I will not give you to the Aurors. Nor the Ministry. I will not do this thing."

The black steel of the dagger that was Severus Snape met and clashed with blue steel; sparks flew briefly as their gazes met and held. Severus looked down first, felt another wave of tears coming when he'd thought he hadn't had any left. He gave a choking laugh.

"What-- why-- what are you going to tell me, Professor? That you forgive me? That you forgive me for killing and breaking and cursing and destroying? That you forgive me for not being a Gryffindor like you? That you forgive me for being His?"

He held up a thin graceful hand to cut off Dumbledore's reply. "Spare me. I won't be-- I will not accept forgiveness. Forgiveness is erasure of what is, what was; I will not be erased. I will not allow you to pretend I am not who I am. Do you understand me?"

"I was not going to tell you that you are forgiven, Severus," the Headmaster said quietly. "Forgiveness... is not for someone like you. Forgiveness-- is not for people like us."

Severus narrowed his eyes, staring at the old man who, for the first time in Severus's recollection, looked deadly serious. The wizard nodded, his eyes never leaving the boy's. "Oh yes, Mr. Snape. I am unforgiven as well. For my guilt; my part in what you became."

The Slytherin laughed again, harsh and grating as a crow's call. "And who judges you, Headmaster Dumbledore? Who forgives or unforgives you? Who would have the nerve."

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "You. Myself. No one. Everyone. The other students, like you. The others that I have failed. Tom."

Severus observed the man through his dark lashes for long silent moments. "You believe that, don't you. That you are responsible. For us. Oh yes, you believe that..." he trailed off into quiet, his instinct for the jugular whispering in delight that this was Dumbledore's weakness.

That if he wanted to hurt the man, this was how to do it. To blame him, to accuse him. To stand before him as living remonstrance. It would be so easy.

Severus let his gaze drop to the bright colours of the blanket once more. Red and yellow. Green and blue. The pattern they made together was intricate and compelling, fragile and mind-numbing.

He didn't want to hurt the man. This realization surprised him. He clasped his hands together in his lap and stared at them for several minutes.

"Headmaster. ...you're losing the war, you know."

Dumbledore's silence was acknowledgement of this. Severus watched the sun on his pale skin, shifted his fingers to note the play of skin over tendons and bones. His hands, he knew, could kill. Give them a wand and they could curse. Give them a cauldron and they could poison. Give them a knife and they could murder.

Give them a chance... and what could they do?

"You need a weapon, Professor. You need a dagger of your own, to match Him."

Dumbledore took a breath that was-- shaky. Albus Dumbledore, greatest wizard of the age. Shaky. "I will not-- I will not-- ask that of you, Severus Snape. That would seal my damnation."

The boy smiled. "You don't have a choice. You need me too much to refuse. You don't fully trust me, either; but you need me too much. Your cause needs me too much. You won't get another opportunity like this, and you know it. You'll not get offered such a weapon, such a chance, again.

"Listen to me-- I can hand you His supporters on a platter. Names, locations, plans... I can give you the Death Eaters, Dumbledore."

He looked up, squinting in the bright sun, searching for sky-blue eyes. "Tell me you don't want that."

Sky-blue eyes met his. And looked away, hunger and shame burning in their eyes. "I can't deny that. But I can't accept it from you, either. You are-- a child."

"I was never a child. I am a weapon. You are not fool enough to discard me, and you are too squeamish to lock me up. Use me, Dumbledore."

Sky-blue eyes still stared, out at the meeting place of sky and horizon. "Then we are both to be damned, then. Both of us unforgiven."

"Yes," said the boy Snape with a heartless smile. He exhaled, feeling clean and righteous. He lay back down on his back, let the sun of May seep into his skin, traced its passage across the sky with black eyes.

Albus Dumbledore sent a silent prayer up for forgiveness, then left his morals behind and began to ask the names of the Death Eaters...

And thus began the spying of Severus Snape. 

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there, 'cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven too?
Lay beside me, tell me what I've done
The door is closed, so are your eyes
But now I see the sun, now I see the sun
Yes, now I see it
What I've felt, what I've known
Turn the pages, turn the stone
Behind the door, should I open it for you

I take this key
And I bury it in you
Because you're unforgiven too
Never free
Never me
'Cause you're unforgiven too

Title: Unforgiven, Part Two
Author: Dien Alcyone
Rating: R-ish. Angst/language.
Summary: The next little vignette of Albus, Severus, Voldemort, and rock fic. Severus is now sixteen, as this is a few months after Unforgiven Part One.
Disclaimer: Albus, Sev, and Voldie all belong to JKR. Metallica owns the song, though I have reserved the right to tweak lyrics in places.