Sacred to the Memory

June 1995

Severus Snape walked through shadows, yet his gait was not his habitual prowl. He could not walk upright and proudly. Instead, he crawled through foliage, his dark robes seeping into the darkness of the night. There, he waited, broken and rasping, until the slinking shapes of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had melted away, the faint pops of their Disapparition the only noise in the quiet air. When he was sure he was alone, Severus emerged gingerly from his place of concealment (he detested the term hiding), and made his laboured way to the nearby gravestone, which he clutched for support.

He glared down at the weather-stained stone. He felt stained again; he was tainted and corrupted. He was a Death Eater once more, one of the power-hungry, sadistic, slavish mass that served the Dark Lord. At least at heart, he was not one of them. He had been, though, at his initiation so many years ago, until he'd realised the folly of his chosen path. He had been young when he received the mark, still at Hogwarts. 'Yet older than Harry Potter,' he thought, bitterly. It all started with the wretched Potters, and he glared down at the letters on the gravestone, savouring the surges of old hatred. Those letters were what he had left to hate. Those, and the awkward fourteen-year-old boy who had witnessed the return of the Dark Lord just weeks before. Some petty part of himself blamed Potter for what had occurred, although he knew full well that this time, at least, the boy had hardly been at fault. The rational part of his brain knew that it was just as well that Potter had been able to warn Dumbledore of the Dark Lord's repossession of his body, so that Dumbledore could begin to reform his army against him. Yet the emotional, selfish part of Severus Snape argued that if Potter had died, then he, Severus, would not have had to take on his old role as a spy and submerge himself once more into the darkened, despised world that he had hoped he had left for good.

No, Severus had returned, cringing, to his former Master. He was once more involved in a battle. Not only did he have to speak with care and cunning to avoid being caught, but he also had to fight to hide the disdain and loathing he felt as he faced the Dark Lord. It irked Severus that he was not a warrior in the battle. Not for him the glory and recognition that had always belonged to Potter; now, it was saved for his son, the famous Boy Who Lived. Severus, meanwhile, was subjected to suspicion and distrust on both sides. His role was one of subterfuge, one of sly deceit and the acquisition of secrets. It was suited, of course, far more to him than the Potters of the world. Even in his exhausted state, he scoffed. They had no comprehension of the word subtlety, no aptitude for concealment and artfulness, just a misplaced sense of nobility and an intolerable arrogance. The Dark Lord may have been the very heir of Salazar Slytherin himself, but Severus was imbued with enough Slytherin traits to make him a perfect double agent.

It didn't mean he had to like it, though. This evening had been hell. He had known perfectly well what to expect, and he had answered the Dark Lord's call nonetheless. 'And they say that Gryffindors are courageous.' No Gryffindor would have had the ability to manage what he had tonight. Severus sneered at the stone upon which he was still leaning.

"No, Potter, you would have died tonight."

He would have put up a fight, of course, but he would have barrelled into the situation, knowing there was no hope, and been killed. He would have died nobly and bravely, but he would have died, all the same. Whereas Severus was still alive, just. He had dreaded tonight, but at the same time, he had looked forward to it with a sort of grim anticipation. He had known the Dark Lord would call again, and that he would have to respond. He would have to explain why he had not Apparated to his Master's side the first time he felt the Mark burn. He would have to explain why he had been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore as a spy for the Order. He would have to convince the Dark Lord, a Master of Legilimency, that he was loyal to him, and to him alone. He would have to undergo his punishment, which, if by a chance it wasn't death, would be the worst pain he could live through. And he had lived through it. It had been close, but he had survived. That was what Severus Snape did best. He survived. Unlike Potter, who had died too arrogant to believe that one of his friends would betray him, Severus Snape had walked the fine line between life and death for almost two years while spying for Dumbledore, relying on his own wits to see him through.

Seized by an unusual feeling of despair and fatigue, Severus sighed. He was back on the tightrope again.

It had surprised him that the meeting had taken place in the churchyard in which the Potters had been buried. The Dark Lord had deliberately invited his followers to the scene of his defeat and had shown them the graves of Lily and James Potter. Already, there had been some new faces among the group, some who had been too young to participate last time, and some select few who had been contacted by people such as Lucius Malfoy. Following his failure to kill Potter, the Dark Lord had wanted to vanquish all doubts of his vulnerability. He had also desired to illustrate his power, and Snape had been a useful target. Between bouts of pain, Severus had thought how fitting it was that he lay crumpled on the earth which covered Lily and James Potter, before excruciation overtook him once more.

But now, it was over. The sharp agony had dissipated into an aching throb; a little strength was seeping back into Severus' body.

"Did you enjoy the show, Potter?" he whispered to the silent air. "You always liked seeing me in pain."

He let himself sink into memories, drawing vigour from the hatred they aroused within him.

"Or we could hex you. Now." The Potter boy was glaring at him, as he hovered in the doorway of the train carriage. He attempted to laugh off the threat.

"I'd like to see you try, Potter!"

"Which one shall I try?" Potter pondered, turning to his friends, the prospect of bullying someone lighting up his face. He was standing up now, and had pulled his wand from his pocket.

"I don't know," one of them answered. It was the werewolf, Lupin. "There are several quite nasty ones."

"You don't know any hexes," he jeered, hoping that he was right, not understanding why this boy would want to hurt him on their first day of school. Potter hadn't even asked his name.

"Oh, don't I?" Potter flicked his wand and something exploded in Severus's face, smothering him, making him gag, making him want to wretch. He heard their laughter as he fled the carriage.

He heard their laughter ringing in his ears. They dogged his every movement; he was rarely safe from their idle taunting.

"Slimeball Severus!"

"No, Snivellus!"

"Yeah, slimy, stinking Snivellus."

"Wipe your nose, Snivellus."

"Wash your hair, Snivellus."

"Greasy,"

"Spotty,"

"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's underpants?"

A Transfiguration lesson, where the teapot he was meant to be turning into a tortoise zoomed round the room, earning him a reproof from Professor McGonagall. As he attempted to master the spell, the teapot proceeded to dance, before changing into a pineapple, a top hat, a china poodle and finally a snake, which slithered off the bench.

"Mr. Snape, kindly stop disrupting the lesson."

"But, Professor..."

"Five points from Slytherin."

Behind him, the four Gryffindors laughed quietly.

"Aw, Snivellus, is the big, bad teapot giving you a hard time?"

He spun round in his chair to face his torturer, but the surge of power Severus had felt when James Potter was faced with the tip of his wand evaporated at the sound of McGonagall's voice.

"Mr. Snape! Twenty points from Slytherin and detention tonight."

Needless to say, it greatly amused Potter and his lapdogs.

"Oi! Snivelly!"

He looked warily in Black's direction, gripping his wand tightly, poised to duck and retaliate. Black sidled up to him, hands outstretched.

"Look, Snivellus, no wand!"

Severus narrowed his eyes at his detested foe. His hatred for Black was second only to his hatred for Potter. Black leaned towards him in a conspiratorial manner.

"You want to know where Remus goes every month, don't you, Snivelly?" he asked.

Severus curled his lip in a show of bored contempt, although this was a topic that interested him greatly. He'd seen Lupin sneaking off in the grounds, and his disappearance every month was an intriguing mystery, made more so by the pathetic efforts Lupin and his friends made at secrecy.

"Don't you, Snivelly?" Black said in a sing-song voice.

"Don't flatter yourself that I find either you or your little friends remotely interesting," Severus sneered.

Black smirked.

"Oh, but you do, Snivellus. You'd love to find out what we get up to. Well, if you poke the knot in the Whomping Willow with a stick tonight, you might discover something 'remotely interesting.'"

"I have no desire to indulge you in your little game," Severus spat, as he stalked off, leaving Black staring after him, an odd glint in his eyes.

Yet Severus crept down to the Whomping Willow in the light of the full moon, and he prodded the knot with a stick, ducking under the frozen branches and into a hidden tunnel. The rest of that memory was a blur. Stealthily traversing the tunnel, hearing pounding footsteps behind, glimpsing beyond, the slathering, howling lupine beast. Snape loved the Dark Arts; he knew a werewolf when he saw one. Then, a rough hand on the back of his neck. Potter's pale face, Potter wrenching him away, back out of the tunnel, where he was fixed by fear.

"He was down the tunnel; he saw Remus, sir."

Dumbledore's face tightened. Severus wheeled around, pointing a shaking finger at Potter.

"You...they tried to kill me, Headmaster!"

"No!" Two voices mingled in the air. Black burst in, just as Potter had shouted.

"No!" Black panted, looking from Potter to Dumbledore. "It was me, Professor. James and Remus had nothing to do with it."

"Well, Mr. Snape, you have Mr. Potter to thank for saving your life."

"He planned to murder me, Headmaster."

Dumbledore had not listened. Potter was his favourite, his pet. Severus had had to promise not to tell anyone about Lupin. He had to keep their sordid secret. Black hadn't even been expelled. Potter and Lupin had got off scott-free. Murderous cowards.

"You have Mr. Potter to thank for saving your life."

His hands gripped the stone so hard that his knuckles shone white. That had been another thing for which he could never forgive James Potter. He'd suffered the tauntings, the humiliations, the burning jealousy that Potter was better than he was at Quidditch. He'd put up with the fact that Potter was popular, when in truth he was an arrogant bully. The fact that Potter had finally won over the mudblood Evans, the only girl the wonderful James Potter seemed to want who hadn't wanted him. He'd lived with all that, yet it was the knowledge that he was, in some way, indebted to Potter, that Potter had saved his life, that ate away at Severus. At least he'd been able to save Potter's wretched son's life, thereby cancelling the debt and leaving him free to detest Potter in peace. Even so, in a world where Snape wanted to pretend that James Potter had never existed, his son, his spitting image, was held up as a hero. Their saviour, the Boy Who Lived.

"But it wasn't good enough," Severus snarled. "Your wonderful son failed to vanquish the Dark Lord for good. He's back."

Yes, Voldemort was back, and Harry Potter had been useless to stop him. Now, it was up to Severus to work towards destroying the Master who had destroyed him. He straightened up, feeling strong enough now to Apparate back to Hogsmeade, where he'd use the fireplace in The Hog's Head to Floo to Dumbledore's office, where the Headmaster would be awaiting his report.

He felt for his wand in order to Apparate and then hesitated. It was beneath him, yes, but surely he deserved one little indulgence, after all that he'd been through, and all that was to come. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, and with an odd little private grin, Severus Snape danced a few steps of a jig on James Potter's grave before vanishing and leaving the night behind.