Chapter Text
Severus Snape
October, 1980.
Severus Snape knew something was wrong when he gave his first step into that dark, chilly room.
All around him, the other Death Eaters held stoic expressions, their face unreadable as they faced the Dark Lord sat at his huge throne-like chair in the middle of the old, empty manor room.
The Gaunt’s had long ago been destituted of anything but their name - and even that had been in peril for the last couple of years since the bloodline had apparently been mixed with muggle blood. Not many people knew that, of course, as it was not widely known that the one man behind the revolution in the brink of freeing their world of mudblood was, in fact, a half-blood. A denied, dirty heir to one Ancient and Noble House in the brink of extinction.
A man just like Severus himself.
That was only known to his inner circle and those that still remembered the young, intelligent kid that once arrived at Hogwarts so many years before, desperate for knowledge and attention as his magic grew stronger and more out of control.
For many, Tom Riddle was but a name on a small, forgotten award on the trophy room at the ancient school.
For Severus, he was a warning about the dangers of family magic being left unbound, mainly one as old and unstable as the Gaunt’s.
After accepting the position to teach potions at Hogwarts, Snape had begun to consider in a more indepth way the story of his house – and his lord – and whether there was any bit of truth about Moaning Myrtle's tragic accident many years back.
For some reason, though, he always went back to reading over the few registers and myths surrounding the evasive Salazar Slytherin. It hadn't taken much for him to begin questioning the Founder's sanity at his older years – but his fears had only been confirmed as he watched the man’s last heir rise to power.
As it was, Snape could almost picture Salazar when Hogwarts was founded. A brilliant, ambitious youth with a silver tong and a personality only matched by his partner and counterpart, Godric Gryffindor himself. Unfortunately, he was just as able to picture how the men would’ve slowly descended into madness and obsession, his magic eating away at his mind.
It was probably at that moment the legends about the Chamber of Secrets and the avenging monster it held had begun to circulate.
The sudden hiss of the snake brought him back to the present with a start, his eyes darting to the long, mortal reptile rastejando almost affectionately around her master’s head.
It was a disturbing, frightening sight.
“Severus” Voldemort whispered, his features hidden by the low, dark hood of his cape “I see you have finally decided to join us...” the man spoke slowly, his words low as his voice assumed that husky, harmless quality that always managed to chill him to the bone.
Trying to stifle the tremble to his own voice, Snape took a firm step forward, avoiding eye contact with the higher Death Eaters surrounding him with snears and disgusted grunts as he slowly bowed in respect.
"My Lord, I apologize for taking so long" he addressed the man in his most deferential tone, waiting for a pale, bony hand to gesture at his general direction with the long, dark wand before straightening his stand and continuing "Albus Dumbledore has been keeping a closer watch on me. Since the last battle with the Order, he doesn't seem quite so sure about my goodwill any longer."
Just as he expected, the men seemed to only nod, his stance relaxed against the snake as the wand slightly wavered between his fingers.
It always fascinated Snape how he could alway look so composed, so calm, and yet make the air crack and freeze around him.
Even if no-one could see his eyes under the hood, there was no mistaking the madness radiating from his body language.
From the corner of his lowered eyes, he saw as Lucius Malfoy fidgeted uncomfortably at the farthest syde of the Inner Circle, his discomfort hidden behind a large, intrincated silvery mask. At his side, with hair just as blond and long – if maybe a bit whiter near the top – the one he supposed to be Abraxas Malfoy turned a stern look to his heir, one hand tightening on his walking stick as if in warning. He couldn't recognize the others, of course. Many had similar features, others he didn’t even know had joined the ranks of the Dark Lord.
But there were also those that, wherever they were behind silver masks and dark robes, he knew were laughing, sneering, looking at him as if he was filth under their boots.
The muggle blood running through his veins never did him any good. Not before Hogwarts, not during his school years, and even less after them.
Just thinking about his early life, being raised like an uncough muggle, completely oblivious of his birthright…
"Dumbledore knows the waves are turning" Voldemort said eventually, his voice assuming that deep, entrancing tone he used before every rampage, sowing the lines of power and leadership without needing to wield any magic "Our time is finally come...".
As a loud cheer rouse from the lines of Death Eaters, Snape had to suppress the urge to chuckle mirthlessly.
And there were still those who believed the Dark Lord was using the Imperius curse to gain followers.
Fools. All of them.
None of those on that room had needed magic. No-one behind a silver mask never did. Only a purpose. A leader strong enough to make them believe all those ideas taught’em since birth had a higher purpose, a way of implementation.
Voldemort gave them a way to feel right and justified. To feel better, higher, special.
More times than not, words could be more dangerous than even the unforgivable curses.
"Now, Severus" the man called at him at him again, making his head wip up in a almost painful way "Tell us again… What is it that you heard Dumbledore listening to at the Hog’s Head..."
Suddenly, a terrible feelling made Snape’s body stiffen, cold fear slipping into his very bones as he faced the one man he had given everything up to follow.
He gulped, trying to make the words sound firm as he repeated, once again, the lines of the prophecy he had overheard almost five months before. There was no hesitation when he finally spoke. Only the same placid, drawling tone he used with his students. Failing at nonchalance was not an option at that moment, not on a room surrounded by the Lord’s Inner Circle Death Eaters.
As he went on, he could almost feel the shocked gazes of his fellow Death Eaters.
He doubted the Dark Lord had seen fit to share that piece no news with any of them before. The only one that didn't react, keeping the same smug smile on her face, the mask pending from the belt on her dark dress, was Bellatrix Lestrange.
Her eyes, he could not help noticing, looked just as crazed – if not more – than her deranged Lord. At every word that fell from Snape’s mouth, the woman seemed to become more and more giddy, a glinting of laughter and taunting shining on her dark eyes as she laughed at him, enjoying her own personal joke.
The cold feeling only intensified, tightening on an iron grip around his stomach.
Something was not right there.
His eyes darted carefully all around the room, going from one masked face to the other, trying to understand what his subconscious mind was trying to alert him about. But suddenly the last word left his lips and the place fell in a tight, nervous silence. Snape almost cringed. Even at that moment, he knew it was to late.
"Born as the seventh month dies..." Lord Voldemort repeated, almost savoring the words on the tip of his tongue as Snape could see a maniac smile starting to tug at his thin, snake-like lips "It seems you might be useful, after all. Come here, child, and remind us what exciting piece of news you just heard from the blood-traitors Potters...".
Everything stopped at that moment.
In a single heart-beat, Snape felt the blood freeze in his veins, a uncomfortable whistling taking his years as he watched, in stunned silence, as a small frame stepped forward. One that he hadn't quite noticed before. One that, until the last meeting he had been present, didn't belong to the Dark Lord.
Slowly, he took off his silver mask with a light wave of his wing, the dark cape wrapped around his shoulders clearly too small for his chubbier frame, ending near the curve of his bulky shoulders.
"My Lord." He bowed.
Just like Severus had done before him.
But it was not the same. It would never be the same.
Because there, half hidden under his vests and tendrils of red blood, he could see the recently burned dark mark on the pale, disfigured forearm of Peter Pettigrew.
What have I done?
Snape trembled, his mind reeling dangerously close to shatter as fear like nothing he had experienced before burned on his eyes and made his hands shake.
No… No, no… This can't be...
Pettigrew held his head high, the bush of curly, mousey hair denouncing his former tormentor as his beady dark eyes shone with cobice. That rat was a traitor.
The high and mighty Sirius Black and James Potter had been fooled by their coward friend.
This can’t be… Can’t...
He was only half-aware of Bellatrix’s crazed laughter as Lily Evan’s eleven year old self flashed on his mind, her smile as caring and friendly as always.
Only, this time, it didn't sooth him, instead making the raging flames of his silent agony burn brighter.
Oh… Oh Merlin, what have I done?
What have I done?
____________
Severus Snape looked at the large fireplace on his rooms at Hogwarts, a handful of floo powder held tightly between his fingers as he watched the tall red flames dancing around the darkened stone.
He didn’t know how long he had been there anymore, letting his mind fight a final battle with all his self-preserving Slytherin instincts. In his heart, of course, he knew there wasn’t a choice to be made - not really, not when her life was jeopardy.
But the mind was a tad bit more difficult to convince.
So that was why Snape had spent the last couple of weeks trying to decide on what to do. Even though he hadn’t exactly been truthful on his excuse for avoiding the Dark Lord of late, it also wasn't wrong to say Albus seemed particularly wary of him since the last time the Order had faced the Death Eaters.
The Headmaster was watching him more closely, his knowing, blue eyes studying him from afar every-time Snape was not enclosed on his rooms or teaching a bunch on talentless brats the fine art on potion brewing – which, as far as he was concerned, would mostly turn a waste of his time at the end.
What it all amounted to, however, was that simply going to Dumbledore and outing Voldemort’s for the Potter's was not exactly an option.
The Headmaster would want more information, and unfortunately, there were too many vows and spells connecting the Death Eaters so that, if anyone dared to openly betray the Dark Lord, he would meet his end at the hands of Bellatrix and her husband before even a couple sentences could be uttered. Snape had, of course, been working on ways to free himself from most of those charms since the madness of the Lord had become apparent to him.
His beliefs remained unchanged, but he was not so unhinged that he could watch and help a madmen take control of the entire Wizard Community on England.
Unfortunately, even though in theory he should be able to revert some of the nastier jinxes connected to the Mark, he hadn't as of yet made up his mind about the testing. There was no telling what side effects or magical backlashes he could suffer from self administrating those experimental formulas (or even if the Dark Lord would not feel that someone was trying to temper with that wretched tattoo). Also, there was the fact that the more problematic curses were such that not even the Half-Blood Prince was able to counteract.
Like the vow that made him unable to out any other Death Eater besides himself.
As far as his research had gone, there was no way around that particular curse, no roundabout way to give the Order the list of names they so badly wanted.
That meant no Death Eater would be trusted.
Lord Voldemort had effectively left his followers without the only bargaining chip that would ever allow any of them to change sides.
It all went a long way for discouraging treason.
Unfortunately, that also meant that, even though Severus could try and talk to Dumbledore, he would not be able to warn him about the traitor. The rat that had betrayed Lily and James Potter.
And without that information, it didn’t matter whether the order knew about the prophecy or not, Lily would never be safe. If worse came to worse, word could even end up reaching the Dark Lord about a double agent between his followers. There would be no forgiveness when he was found out - because Severus Snape was never under the naive impression that he would be able to hide something like that from the wizard. He might be a decent, even good, occlumens, but even Narcissa Malfoy’s defenses would crumble under the Lord’s wand - and, like every Black before her, the woman had been raised for her mind defenses to be impenetrable. A literal fortress.
And that was when he remembered.
That was when, with a startled realisation, Lucius’s uncomfortable fidgeting on that night finally made sense.
How come he had forgotten?
Draco Lucius Malfoy, born on september 20th of 1980.
Severus was one of the very few, selected people who knew about the birth of the next Malfoy heir.
Narcissa had asked for him at the first sign of complication during her fifth month. He hadn’t been obliviated after trying his best to decide on what to do - he was no healer, after all - but there was no escaping a unbreakable vow. The two of them might have been close at school, but Severus would’ve been sorely disappointed if the cunning woman didn’t take any precautions against him.
As fate would have it, his presence at the birth had proven to be a wise call.
If for anything else, Severus was grateful for those months of closer contact because, finally, he had begun to understand the conundrum that was Lucius Abraxas Malfoy.
It had been there all along, on the older wizard's eyes. The raw desperation, the fear for his family and for himself should the Dark Lord prevail.
Lucius had always been a sorry excuse for a death eater, but until that point the potions master had attributed it to simple lack of talent. Now, though, he was aware that, despite his arrogant façade, the man wasn't even trying to succeed.
Snape, who had almost felt sorry for him at the time, couldn't help the thankful prayer for Merlin that left his lips at that moment.
Lucius Malfoy might still be hindered by the same curses that he was, but his wife was not.
Narcissa Malfoy had never been given the dark mark.
She was the only one that could warn the Order, that could speak up without repercussions. Even if the woman didn’t want to help, Snape felt he owed it to himself to at least try. With a last, fortifying breath, Severus closed his eyes tightly and trew to floo powder into the hearth, letting the fire flame green before stepping into the fireplace.
With one last, longing look at his personal rooms, the potions master closed his hands into fists and called for the last place he had ever seen himself returning to.
“Chateau Rosier.”