Chapter 2: Light in the distance




When Albus Dumbledore mounted the stairs, he was chuckling to himself. Yes, this had been a most entertaining evening. He licked his lips to savor the last drops of the special Halloween pumpkin juice. It was spicier than usual and popped and prickled on your tongue, before turning it into rainbow colors. The students, especially the first years, had been awed at the decorations, the flying pumpkins, the enormous spider webs lining the walls, the live bats diving from the ceiling, and the hundreds of floating black candles that were casting an eerie light over the Great Hall. The Headless Hunt chasing through the room had been a surprise even for him.



However, after the excitement, he longed for a moment of perfect silence before retiring for the night. And where to find a better place for that than the Astronomy Tower on such a beautiful night?



When he had reached the observation platform, he gazed up at the perfectly round moon and the millions of twinkling stars for a long while. Eventually, his gaze fell and moved slowly over the quiet Hogwarts grounds, the slightly sloping lawns, the empty Quidditch field, the green houses, Hagrid's pumpkin beds. There was still light in the half-giant's hut. Most probably, his gamekeeper was having a late night's swig of Firewhisky with Mundungus Fletcher. Hopefully, the youngster hadn't sold him another Tebo. They'd had more than enough trouble catching the invisible and highly dangerous animal the first time around, before it could cause any real harm. He chuckled again, thinking of the valuable Tebo-hide that was currently drying on a rack behind the little hut. It would make a couple of new, dearly needed protective shields for the Order. Poor Hagrid, he had sobbed over his 'pet' for more than two days ...



Suddenly, he saw a faint glow from the corner of his eye. He turned around and gazed over the silent lake into the distance. Yes, there was indeed a strange light, a silvery glow, emanating from a faraway spot somewhere about the middle of the extensive water body. Someone was using magic there. But what on earth would anybody use magic for in this forsaken place and well past midnight?



Alarmed, he rushed down the stairs and hurried to his office, surprisingly quick for a wizard nearing his one hundred and fiftieth birthday. A war was raging through the wizarding world, and he knew Hogwarts was one of Voldemort's main targets. However, the magical gadgets in his office did not indicate a breach of the wards; they were still intact and hadn't sounded an alarm. Nor was there anything suspicious to be seen in his Foe Glass. And his ultra-sensitive Sneakoscope hadn't produced a single whistle. Very strange indeed.



Frowning, the old headmaster left his office intent on going down to the lake in person to inquire into this mystery.





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No.



Please.



I don't want to wake.



Leave me be, please ...




However, as much as he fought it, consciousness slowly returned to him, the voices he could hear from afar grew louder, and light flooded his sensitive eyes when he finally allowed them to open.



He was laying in a bed surrounded by white, a bright white that hurt his eyes, sending waves of pain through his skull. He wasn't drowned and dead, but obviously in some hospital room. Damn it. He couldn't even kill himself properly without being rescued by some bloody idiots.



"Ah, you are awake, Mr. Snape," a familiar voice came from the far end of the room, and then two sets of quick steps approached his bed. Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. And Headmaster Dumbledore. He was in the Hogwarts infirmary then. Three times damn. Couldn't those blasted Gryffindors even let one die in peace? He closed his eyes again and turned away from the nurse and headmaster. If he pretended they weren't there, maybe they would just leave? But no such luck. Of course. When had he ever been lucky? Not even the water had wanted him ...



"Mr. Snape, I need to talk to you." The headmaster's voice was uncharacteristically stern and commanding.



"Albus, this has to wait. The boy has just woken from a coma. He was out for three days! We don't even know whether there is permanent damage. He was down for much too long. It's a miracle he's even alive."



"Poppy, this is urgent. It cannot wait. Lives depend upon it."



"Then let me at least check up on him first, Albus. And he needs to take some potions and eat."



Dumbledore nodded reluctantly. He had to leave for the Ministry in a few hours, and then an Order meeting. However, Pomfrey was right. The boy wasn't ready to be interrogated yet. "Do what you can, Poppy, I'll be back shortly."



The two sets of footsteps went away again towards the entrance as Pomfrey showed the headmaster out. The nurse then turned to the potions cabinet, opened it and bustled about with some glass vials.



So he had been in a coma. For three whole days. The last thing he could remember was being enveloped by ice-cold water as he went down into the deep, a swift surge of panic as he swallowed water, couldn't breathe, before everything went black and he knew no more. Merciful oblivion. No fear, no pain, nobody who used him, who laughed at him, no cruel, sadistic master, no children crying, no women screaming in terror and agony. No more blood on his hands. The water would wash it away. Why did they rescue him? He didn't want it. He hated them for it. Clenching his fists with the rising anger and despair, he buried his face in the pillows, longing for the cold embrace of the wet death that had been denied to him. It was hard to keep the sobs down which constricted his chest and threatened to erupt any moment. Now he could hear Pomfrey return and feel her move her wand over his tense body, letting it linger around his head for quite a while. She was talking to him, too, but he blocked it out, pressing his face even harder into the pillows to hide the tears that leaked from his eyes. Perhaps he would suffocate like this?



"Mr. Snape. I don't have time for this." The Mediwitch's patience was growing thin. How could somebody be so stubborn? "I know you can hear me. There is no reason for you to sulk. On the contrary, you were very lucky indeed. My wand tells me there is nothing wrong with your brain except for a severe headache, and I can help you with that. You should be thanking Merlin on your knees. Now, don't be so obstinate and turn around already. You really should take these potions. And then eat some soup."



When he did not move, the nurse sighed irritably. The boy needed the potions for his splitting headache and the hypothermia, and he was painfully thin, too. He couldn't afford to lose any more weight. But he obviously refused to co-operate. Darn, what to do with a suicidal Death Eater who refuses to even look at you? He was no student anymore, she couldn't force him, could she?



Sighing again, she decided to wait for the headmaster to return. After all, it had been him who had woken her up in the middle of the night, a dripping wet, deathly pale and unconscious former student in his arms, who wasn't breathing. It had been quite a shock. Fortunately, they had been able to bring the boy back to life, and then she got the next shock when she had undressed her still unconscious patient. The Dark Mark was leering up at her from his limp left forearm. They had saved a Death Eater. Albus hadn't seemed surprised, only sad and tired, when he had seen it. They hadn't had an inkling of an idea as to how and why this Death Eater had ended up drowning in the lake, but when the headmaster had received the owl the following morning, there was no doubt anymore why Severus Snape had come to Hogwarts. He had come to take his life. The long and detailed letter Albus had shown her was his legacy, the key to save many lives, to turn the tide, and eventually, with some luck, defeat the Dark Lord. It was invaluable. Moreover, it was a certain proof that the boy was no Death Eater at heart but wanted to leave. Only that he hadn't seen any way out except for killing himself. She had no idea what would become of him now. In his letter, he had admitted to having killed several Aurors and Ministry people, plus he was one of You-Know-Who's potions makers. Only Merlin knew how many peoples' deaths his poisons had caused. They couldn't just let him go, could they? But why save his life only to hand him over to the Ministry for a life sentence in Azkaban, or the Dementor's kiss? Should they have let him die? But he was still so young, barely twenty, much too young to be a cold-blooded murderer; too young to die ...



Deep in thought, Pomfrey left for her office to wait for the headmaster there. It would be Dumbledore who had to decide what to do anyway. And she trusted him to make the right choice.




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Severus soon found out that it was a lot harder to block out the headmaster's voice than the mediwitch's. Actually, as Dumbledore kept on babbling about Merpeople carrying his limp form to the shore and how the old wizard had cast a Spirare-spell on his former student to save his life, it was quite impossible not to listen, as much as he hated it, and this only fuelled his anger. With a sudden jerk, he turned around, staring defiantly into the headmaster's face.



"Why do you even care? You haven't given a damn all those years when I was a student," he hissed at Dumbledore through clenched teeth. "Why did you save me? I didn't ask for your help! I am doomed anyway. And I deserve to die."



Silently, Dumbledore looked at his fuming former student for a long while, at the sickly pale and thin face and the red-rimmed, pitch-black eyes flashing with hatred. The boy was right. He had failed him back then. He wouldn't fail him again.



"Severus, nobody deserves to die," he said quietly.



Nobody deserves to die indeed, what a laugh! He sneered. His master was right, Dumbledore was a stupid old coot. He could name him a good score of people who deserved nothing but death, including himself. Actually, he had named them. "You don't know what you are talking about, Dumbledore. You read the letter. You know what I have done. YOU KNOW I DESERVE IT!" He was practically shouting at the headmaster now. Suddenly, he clutched at his head with both his hands, groaning.



"Mr. Snape, for Merlin's sake, calm down. You are too sick to agitate yourself like this!" he heard the reprimanding voice of the mediwitch, who came rushing to his side. "Lay back down. Try to relax. That's right. That's a good boy."



He groaned again, as another bout of pain shot through his skull. Why were they so confusingly friendly? He was no good boy. He was a bloody murderer. And they knew it. This headache was killing him. And he was so tired. Tired of it all. He could feel the tears starting to his eyes again and angrily brushed them away with the sleeve of the nightshirt he was wearing. Snivellus. Now you'll soon be crying like a frightened baby again. Potter and Black would have a field day watching you like this, a sarcastic voice in the back of his aching head scolded, but this time there was no keeping back the flood as strangled sobs escaped from his throat, shaking his entire body and threatening to suffocate him.



When gentle hands sneaked behind his neck, slightly lifting his head and holding a vial to his trembling lips, he did not resist any longer, but opened his mouth and swallowed the bitter potion. Then another one. And another. His well-trained senses faintly registered that the last one was a Draught of Dreamless Sleep before he sank into oblivion.




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"Madam Pomfrey told me you were feeling better. Can we talk now, Severus?"



The young man in the hospital bed nodded weakly. He had slept for more than twelve hours, and sleep had finally returned a little color to his face, but Albus didn't like the emptiness he saw in the boy's eyes. Dead eyes. This was much worse than the seething anger of the previous day.



The meeting with the Minister of Magic had been more than tiring, and rather a waste of time, too. At least the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix had mostly gone like he wished. The Order members had been gaping at him when he presented the newly acquired intelligence about the Death Eaters and their activities, and he had used their perplexity to explain the plan he had cooked up in the meantime. And they had agreed, if reluctantly. Now he only needed to convince the young wizard laying in the sickbed in front of him.



"According to our mediwitch, you can leave tomorrow after breakfast," he started with a twinkle in his eyes.



"Leave? You mean ... I can go? You won't hand me over to the Ministry, the Dementors?" It was barely a whisper.



"What would you do if I let you go, Severus? Would you try to harm yourself again?" The headmaster's blue eyes bored into black ones until the young wizard lowered his gaze, his pale cheeks slightly flushing with shame. It was enough of an answer. If his plan worked though, it might not only help save many innocent lives and gain a decisive advantage over Voldemort, it probably would also give this broken young man a reason to live.



"In your letter, you wrote that you couldn't bear seeing women tortured and raped and children killed just for the fun of it. That this was the reason for your betrayal. However, as invaluable as your information is, it will give us a temporary advantage only. As soon as the first raids go wrong, Voldemort will draw the connection to your disappearance. He will suspect treachery and change his plans, rendering much of the intelligence useless. What we really need to destroy Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the only way to put an end to the suffering of the innocent, is a spy. A spy for the Light. You could be this spy."



The young wizard stared at the headmaster unbelievingly. Dumbledore would trust him to be their spy? Him, a confessed murderer, a dark wizard, and a Slytherin?



"I do trust you, Severus, " the old headmaster affirmed as if reading his thoughts.



"I ... I don't deserve your trust. I would fail pathetically. Nothing I have done in my life has ever worked out." Not even killing myself ...



"It won't be easy, my child, but you won't be alone in this. I will help you. And I'll swear a wizard's oath that you won't have to go to Azkaban when all this is over. I'll vouch for you."



The young man still looked doubtful, but was there a tiny sparkle of hope in those empty black orbs?



"You don't need to decide just now. Rest some more and think about my proposal. I'll talk to you again tomorrow morning." With a warm smile and an encouraging twinkle of his eyes, Dumbledore left his former student and the hospital wing.



No, it wouldn't be easy. And it would take a lot of work and patience to give Severus back enough self-confidence and self-esteem to carry through with this dangerous mission; to restore that fiery temper of his; his fighting-spirit; his stubbornness, defiance and determination; the sparkle of rage; the ambition, courage and cunning that had always been there when he was a student; and to bring back at least a tiny bit of hope to those dead eyes; to give him a new aim in life; but he would do everything in his might to help him. This time Severus would succeed. They would succeed.




The End




Author notes: ‚Spirare‘ = lat. to breathe