Secrets in the Dark

Chapter 3: Piercing eyes and piercing questions

The way to the Headmaster's office seemed to take him hours. Just setting one foot before the other was a terrible strain. At the same time, Severus wasn't prepared to actually find himself standing before the stone gargoyle that warded the entrance to Dumbledore's realm, yet. What on earth should he tell the man? Would he listen at all? But there was no way back, now.

"Gingersnaps."

The gargoyle sprang to life, hopped aside, and the wall behind split in two revealing a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upwards, like an escalator.

"Follow me." Professor McGonagall stepped onto the ascending staircase. Just looking at the ever spiraling movement made Severus dizzy again. He closed his eyes and followed the Professor gingerly. He did feel sick. But it wouldn't do to come here and throw up into Dumbledore's face. Or pass out on his doorsteps.

Finally, they reached solid ground again.

"You wait here and don't mess around." McGonagall rapped at the oak door with the griffon-shaped brass knocker while surveying Severus again. The boy does look sick. Definitely feverish if nothing worse. The door opened silently. With a worried frown on her face, Minerva entered her superior's office and whispered a few warning words into Albus's ears. The Headmaster's face was grave as he called Severus in.

"You can leave us alone now, Minerva. And thank you."

"Are you sure, Albus?"

"I guess I can cope with a wandless youngster, don't you think so?" A smile played around the corners of his mouth, but it didn't reach the eyes. One glance at Severus in his wet, bloodstained black cloak had convinced him that this wouldn't be a pleasant tea-and-cookie discussion. The young man was nervous and frightened. And Albus sensed a strong undercurrent of guilt and despair mingled with loathing.

"Please sit, Mr. Snape." But the young man didn't seem to take in the words. He slowly raised his eyes to the inquiring gaze of the old wizard and whispered,

"I have come to turn myself in."

"Turn yourself in?" Dumbledore held the gaze as if looking deep into the soul of his former student, reading his very thoughts and feelings, revealing all the dark secrets, exposing his entire life. Shuddering, Severus averted his eyes.

"What crimes are you guilty of?" Dumbledore asked in a neutral voice.

"I'm a Death Eater."

And now, a painful interrogation began. It seemed to last for hours. Severus had finally accepted the seat Dumbledore had magiced to his side. He felt lightheaded and had to concentrate hard to follow the rapid succession of questions. But he would answer them as truthfully as he could. Give away as much information on Voldemort and his Death Eaters as possible. Provide his enemies with a decisive advantage, so they could bring the monster down one day. As a member of the Inner circle, he knew a lot, as much as one could possibly know considering the fact that Voldemort didn't trust anybody except himself.

After joining the Death Eater ranks, Severus had quickly advanced to this Inner circle of the organization, in spite of his youth. None of his classmates had achieved that much, not even Lucius Malfoy. Merit came before name and status among the Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord had been the very first person in all his life to acknowledge Severus's brilliant mind, his talent and thirst for knowledge, as well as his desire to not be at the receiving end any longer but to be the one in power. But now, he had found out that all this were delusions as his entire life had been a lie. He was nothing but a willing tool of terror. Had tortured and killed. Probably not with the sick pleasure many of his accomplices in crime displayed during a raid. But with cold calculation. He had believed in the cause, in their leader. Had swallowed the doctrine of pure-blood superiority from early childhood on. Had despised half-bloods, Mudbloods and Muggles with all his heart. And now, all this was shattered. He was a half-blood himself. And he was a mass-murderer.

Dumbledore's face was lined with suppressed anger and fatigue. What he heard made him sick. How could this boy, hardly a man yet, just sit there and confess the most terrible atrocities in such a quiet, detached voice? He could slap him in the face. And why on earth had he come here, to him, in the first place? Death Eaters didn't just drop by and pour out their hearts - provided they had one - without bargaining. Always it was information for remission, for a new identity, a new life in the States. How he hated this scum that got away unpunished. And, most often, the information they gained was rather marginal. But this boy was different. He didn't only give detailed and profoundly important information on how the terror organization worked, how Voldemort's mind worked, but hadn't mentioned any bargain yet, not once.

"So, now, Mr. Snape, why have you been telling me all this?"

"He killed my family."

"I thought your mother died of a weak heart many years ago. And your father surely is still alive and kicking?"

"No, he's dead. But they weren't my parents, anyway." Had it been only yesterday that he had overheard the conversation in the living-room? It seemed ages ago now. Far, far away. Everything seemed to be increasingly far away, remote and bleary. Even the Headmaster who sat behind his desk only a couple of feet away. Dumbledore's voice ebbed and flowed like waves on some distant, rocky shore. The faint buzz in the back of his head had become a maddening cacophony of sounds and there were searing flashes of light disturbing his vision. He was slipping ...

"Severus?" Dumbledore rushed towards his former student and caught him as he collapsed to the floor.

"Severus?" The young wizard in his arms didn't respond. He felt hot to the touch and was obviously delirious. With a sigh, the aging Professor magically transformed the chair into a sofa and gently laid him there. A sick Death Eater to worry about, that was exactly what he needed on top of all his worries and work. He could contact the Ministry and hand him over, he was a murderer after all and didn't deserve any better. But something kept Albus from doing so, some vague feeling that there was still hope for the boy, that he wasn't entirely evil. That he might merit a second chance. A plan began to form in his mind.

"No need to hurry a decision." Albus muttered to himself. The boy wasn't in any condition to run away or cause major trouble for some days. Better sleep it over. There were many questions still unaccounted for, anyway. But they had to wait. He cast some powder into the fireplace.

"Poppy, would you please come to my office for a moment?" the Headmaster asked as Madame Pomfrey's head appeared above the flames.

"Whatever you wish, Albus." And only a few minutes later, the Mediwitch knocked on the office door.

"Come in, please. I know you are busy with various cases of influenza. But I fear I have some urgent work for you, Poppy." Smiling apologetically, he pointed to the dark form on the sofa.

"What happened, Albus?"

"He collapsed during an extended interrogation." A brief glance at the patient was enough to arouse the Mediwitch's wrath.

"Albus, how could you interrogate the lad? Even a blind man would have noticed that he is sick with a bad fever. And look at his robes, they are drenched with rain and blood! You should have called me immediately!" Dumbledore gave her a slightly guilty look.

"Sorry, but there were important matters to discuss, first. So, what's wrong with the boy?"

Still scowling with indignation, Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand at Severus, moving it slowly up and down the length of his body. His pale face was covered in sweat, his whole body shivering with chill.

"Looks like pneumonia with high fever and ague," she announced the results of her medical screening. "And he has lost quite a bit of blood. His blood pressure is much too low, what explains his passing out."

"So, it's his blood on the cloak, then? I thought ..."

"You thought, Albus?"

"I do think on occasion, Poppy." Albus chuckled. "But I'm rather glad I was wrong this time."

With a flick of her wand, Madam Pomfrey then removed Severus's cloak and outer garments. The shirt's left sleeve was soaked with blood.

"Albus! Look!" The Mediwitch gasped when she saw the deep seeping cuts and scratches on his forearm. "You don't think he wanted to take his life?"

"I don't know, Poppy. But it might be so. He seemed quite unbalanced, to be honest." The concern on Madam Pomfrey's face deepened.

"Poor boy, we better transfer him to the hospital wing immediately, so I can take care of his injuries and fever properly."

"No, Poppy. We can't. He's a Death Eater." Pomfrey's face fell, her eyes widened in horror. "Nobody must know he is here. For the boy's own safety. I have not figured out yet why exactly he has come to Hogwarts and neither do I know what to do about all this, but it has to be kept secret by all means," said Dumbledore with conviction.

"He is a former student, isn't he?" Madame Pomfrey asked reluctantly.

"Yes, Severus Snape, Slyterin house."

Snape. Of course. How could she not recognize the young wizard? He had given her at least a few more strands of graying hair. She would never forget the days and nights she had spent at the bedside of a deadly pale twelve-year-old Slytherin by the name of Severus Snape, fearing for his life. It had happened right after the welcoming feast. One of the last students to leave the Great Hall, the scrawny Slytherin had suddenly collapsed to the floor, moaning softly and clutching his abdomen. Acute appendicitis was what first shot through her mind then, or probably some malicious prank. But it was worse. When she had reached the boy's side, he was already unconscious with an acute liver failure. She was in a bad predicament because the strong healing potions she had to give him, in turn, would have a negative effect on his damaged liver. So, she had to be very cautious with the medication. He had pulled through in the end, but it was a close call. And he had ended up with a slight chronic insufficiency of the organ.

The Mediwitch had had the worst suspicions about what had caused the dangerous injury and the many bruises that had covered the dark boy's body but he had stubbornly insisted that he had fallen on the stairs. His parents never showed up to visit their perilously sick son, not once. Hadn't responded to the urgent Hogwarts owl at all. No presents, no get-well cards. As if they didn't care at all. Nor were there any friends to visit or bring chocolate frogs or candy. The boy's loneliness had cut through the Mediwitch's compassionate heart, and she had promised herself to keep a sympathetic eye on him. But after he had been released from the hospital, the busy witch had soon forgotten about her promise. And Severus had never been seriously ill after the incident.

"Albus," Pomfrey returned to the present from her musings. "I fear, this will be more complicated than I anticipated at first. Usually, I could treat these symptoms within two, three days at the most, but in this case ... . I cannot use any strong healing potion in high dosage because of the boy's weak liver."

"But you can heal him, can't you?"

"I do think so, but it will take much more time and care."

"Well, Poppy, how can I help you, then?"