Secrets in the Dark

Chapter 6: Pictures, Papers and a Perilous Proposition

Dumbledore put a reassuring hand on the one that was still clutching his thigh.

"I will help you, Severus, if you are willing to help us. And if you cease to squash my leg, that is." He smiled at the confused look in the young man's eyes and the flushing cheeks as he realized what he was grabbing at.

"Sorry, sir, I ... "

"I know, my boy, don't worry, I'll live." Dumbledore produced a large handkerchief and a box full of candies from the pockets of his silken robes. "Here, my lad, a good sneeze and a lemon drop will make the difference, as I use to say."

After a couple of sneezes, lemon drops and another cup of herb tea, Severus felt much better, almost relaxed. Like the now calm ocean in the picture above the bed.

"Professor Dumbledore, I was wondering about this picture. I know it sounds weird, but somehow it was in my dream, or I was in the picture, I can't tell, and suddenly the weather changed ..." He shuddered at the memory.

"Oh yes, the picture changes a lot. And sometimes, I wonder if it might be linked to the mood of the persons in the room somehow. If this is true, you seem to feel much better at the moment." Severus nodded, still contemplating the picture. As he spoke again, a dark cloud appeared on the horizon.

"I heard his voice. It said that I couldn't run away from him, ever ..."

"Whose voice, your father's - or Voldemort's?" Severus winced as Dumbledore spoke the dreaded name. He then turned around and looked the Headmaster in the eyes.

"The Dark Lord is my father," he said with barely concealed hate and self-loathing. Dumbledore's face fell.

"Are you serious?" A curt nod.

"But how is this possible? I mean ... - So Tom Riddle had an affair with your mother, I suppose?"

"Sylvia Snape wasn't my mother."

"But who ...?"

"Her name was Helena Evans, a Muggle-born Gryffindor." Now, there was only sorrow and longing in Severus's voice.

Helena Evans. Professor Dumbledore remembered well the family tragedy that had made the front page of both Muggle newspapers and the Daily Prophet for more than twenty years ago when the Dark Mark had flashed over London for the first time. Four casualties, Andrew and Achillea Evans, their daughter Helena and her little son Perseus. Almost simultaneously, the memories of a deathly pale Helena in a ward in the hospital wing came to his mind. She had taken an abortive potion that had almost killed mother and child, but both had been saved against all odds. And the image of a beautiful young girl with shining red curls happily waltzing in the arms of a dark-haired, black-eyed boy by the name of Tom Riddle. The Yule-ball. That's when it must have happened. Everything made sense now. Why Helena had been so desperate, why the Evans family had been killed. Tom Riddle had gotten Helena with child, probably raped her, and then he had come to claim his son. The corpse of the baby had never been found ...

"How do you know?" Dumbledore asked looking at the young wizard incredulously. It's true, he has the same black eyes ...

"I overheard a conversation between Scelestus Snape and Caligula Malfoy the other day." And then, Severus recounted what he had learned that fateful night only a few days ago. Dumbledore didn't interrupt the hesitant tale, only nodded now and then. And gradually, the aging Headmaster began to understand why Severus had come to Hogwarts, the boundless hate he must have felt for his Master and Scelestus Snape after the revelation of the dark secret, the turmoil of emotions at the realization that his entire life had been nothing but a lie...

When Severus had ended his tale, Dumbledore stood up and left for his office in silence. After a few minutes, he returned with a couple of newspapers and a Hogwarts Yearbook in his hands. Wordlessly, he passed one of the newspapers to the young man in the sick-bed. On the front page was the picture of a burning house, the flames blazing high into the sky. The title read: "Two wizards killed in a lab accident? Caligula Malfoy, Head of the renowned Malfoy-clan, one of the victims."

"It was no accident, was it?"

"No," Severus answered vigorously. "I did it, and I don't regret having killed those bastards, though I don't really understand how it happened." Then, he told Dumbledore about the duel and how the ceiling had come down burning, setting everything on fire.

"You are aware of that what you accomplished that night in the field of wandless magic was quite exceptional?" The Headmaster gave him an inquiring look. "You are a very powerful wizard, Severus. I'm glad you are no enemy any longer." Dumbledore smiled at the perplexed look on the young man's face. He had obviously expected a quite different reaction to his dark tale.

"What other unusual skills do you have, my lad?"

"I'm pretty good at potions." He looked down at his hands, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. "And I can talk to snakes ..."

"A Parselmouth ... Considering the fact that you are a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin on your father's side that doesn't come as a surprise, I'd say."

"They say it's a bad sign. A sign of true evil ... "

"No, Severus. Being a Parselmouth isn't evil in itself. It's a rare gift. It's up to the wizard how he uses that gift." Dumbledore locked Severus's eyes in an intense blue stare. "Don't despise yourself for your heritage. You are not bound to be evil by your blood. Even if there were something like innate depravity - what I strongly doubt - you can fight it. And don't forget your mother was a Gryffindor. You carry her genes, too." The old wizard opened the Yearbook. The graduates of 1960. Under the picture of a beautiful but pale and sad-eyed girl with curly red hair Severus could read the name Helena Evans in Gryffindor red and gold. She smiled at him, then averted her face and broke into silent tears.

"Mother?" Severus's voice was hoarse with emotion. But she didn't turn.

There were more pictures. One with a happily smiling Helena in red and golden robes holding the Quidditch Cup. Another one showing her in the middle of a group of students all proudly displaying their Prefect badges. And one of the Yule-ball, Helena in the arms of a black-haired young man ... . Severus's stomach turned as he realized who his mother's dance partner was. The younger self of the Dark Lord - his father.

He slammed the book shut. That picture was too much. She had looked so happy, so innocent, totally unaware of what would happen to her soon, that the same dark boy she had smiled at lovingly would cold-bloodedly kill her and her parents. How he hated that monster!

Dumbledore passed him the other newspapers. Again, there was a house on fire, but the flames didn't move. A Muggle paper. It was a frightening sight, nevertheless. The house of his grandparents. The Daily Prophet of the same day displayed a family picture. A couple in their early 50ies with daughter and son, both red-heads like their father, a daughter-in-law with a similarly red-headed toddler in her arms, and a peacefully sleeping black-haired baby in its grandmother's lap. Severus's hand began to tremble as he looked at the smiling faces. His family. All dead. Because of him. But were they all dead? Unable to speak, he gave the Headmaster an inquiring gaze while pointing at the people he identified as his uncle, aunt and cousin.

"Orestes and Rose died a few years ago in an air crash, I fear, but the little girl is still alive. Grown up, of course, as are you. Actually, you know her. She was a student here at Hogwarts."

A witch. By the name of Evans. Red hair, a few months older than himself, Muggle-born - no doubt, it had to be Lily Evans. Lily Evans was his cousin. The beautiful girl with the sparkling emerald eyes who had tried to help him once when Potter and his gang had played a particularly humiliating prank on him. And he had called her 'Mudblood' in his seething rage ... - And now, his only living relative was married to this same James Potter, his nemesis, of all people. He groaned in exasperation.

"Having Lily Evans as a cousin cannot be that bad, I suppose." Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"No, it's just ... - Potter will be thrilled to hear that we are related of sorts," Severus snorted, rolling his eyes.

"As are you." The Headmaster chuckled. Then he became grave again. "Probably, it would be wise to keep this between the two of us till after the war. For your own safety."

"Oh, I guess, I'll be pretty safe in Azkaban." He tried to make it sound casual but didn't quite succeed.

"You won't go to Azkaban, Severus. I have other plans for you." Dumbledore sounded very confident, more confident than he actually felt. What if he had misjudged Severus's intentions? If the boy wasn't ready for the perilous mission? Could he, Dumbledore, then turn him over to the Ministry after those long days and nights of watching and worrying at the young wizard's sickbed? He couldn't deny it, but somehow he had become attached to the boy in spite of what he had done, of what he was ...

"I told you, Severus, that I would help you," Dumbledore continued. "But we need your help in return. We dearly need a spy within Voldemort's Inner circle. And I want you to be this spy." Severus paled. A suicide mission. That was what they wanted of him. They could as well throw him to the Dementors, the Kiss, at least, would grant a quick death, whereas a traitor's death by the hands of the Dark Lord ... He shuddered. He had witnessed several such executions and the memory still made his blood curdle. And those victims hadn't been spies, just wanted to leave, get out, like that fool Regulus Black.

"I know this will be difficult and dangerous, extremely dangerous. But I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't believe you could do it. As I told you, you are a very powerful wizard, Severus. I trust in your abilities." Dumbledore paused to let his words sink in. "You don't have to decide right now, though. Take your time. Poppy won't let you go any time soon, anyway. Not until you are fully restored." He smiled encouragingly at the young man, then left the room, closing the door softly.

The thoughts began to spin in Severus's head. Dumbledore trusted in his abilities. He trusted him. But did he deserve the Headmaster's trust? What if he failed? He didn't even trust himself, not in the least. But was there an alternative? Probably not. Rotting away in Azkaban wasn't a very appealing prospect, either. As a spy, he might be able to get his revenge, at least, might even be able to somewhat redeem himself. A deathly game, no doubt. But probably worth a try ...

"I'll do it!" His resolve made, he closed his eyes and finally fell asleep.