Chapters 11-20

Damn And Damn Again

Looking into green eyes so much Lily’s, then sinking into the liberating oblivion of death had obviously been too much to ask for.

He heard Hermione Granger gasp. For a long, agonizing moment of silence, the girl held her breath. When she finally had to exhale, the sound was caught between a sigh and sob.

Her distress, so clearly audible, made the life-debts he owed her tug uncomfortably at the core of his soul. He squeezed his eyes even tighter, and balled his hands into fists, glad that the blankets covered this helpless, overly emotional reaction.

Damn fate and all the Gods, or whoever got to decide that Granger’s idea of subjecting him to Muggle speech therapy was worth yet another life-debt. And of course none of the times when he had saved her counted in his favour. Either because his objective had been to save Harry—or due to his teacher’s oath. Sworn to protect all of his students, saving her life had been part of his job description.

Of course he had to admit that if he absolutely must live, it would be infinitely harder without being able to speak. Or sing. On the other hand, maybe it would be better if he were not able to speak or sing when the door of his cell in Azkaban would shut behind him in three years. Insanity would certainly come faster. Though—would insanity grant him oblivion?

He shuddered.

Damn Minerva, too, when he was already at it: for blithely pushing him into another three years of bondage. And damn him, for being shocked at her ruthlessness, at how she exploited his situation. Had she been a Slytherin, he would have expected her move. He would even have appreciated her stratagem. It was fairly cunning of her to save herself the trouble of having to replace her Potions Master by first securing his services for another three years and then forcing him to take on an apprentice who would very conveniently be all trained up and ready to take over by the time he would be carted off to Azkaban.

Snape didn’t seem able to shake off the sense of horror that gripped him since Minerva had informed him of everything that had transpired since that vile snake had sunk its fangs into his neck.

From Voldemort’s downfall to his trial in absentia and that terrible, ridiculous condition of his probation. Though he should probably be grateful for small mercies: At least Minerva hadn’t suggested that he ask one of the female Order members should sacrifice herself in order to save him from Azkaban.

A painful sneer contorted his lips.

As if he would ever consider that. He had surely ruined quite enough lives without having to add a woman’s life and freedom to that balance, no matter if she acted out of a misplaced sense of obligation or worse, out of pity.

But the worry in Minerva’s eyes had almost seemed genuine when she talked about him returning to Hogwarts to recover. He snorted. Almost as if she was still fearing for his life—as if she were afraid that he would kill himself.

As if he could!

He was cursed to live, Bound by the second of three Unbreakable Vows he had made in his life.

And this second Vow would remain unlifted until he either died a natural death or was killed by another.

His memory was frayed—he was aware of that, of holes and tears and cracks, of agony and anger no longer connected with time or place or event—oh Potter, damn you, damn you, damn you, for being so much like her, so fucking damn noble. So fucking clueless.

But there was one memory he had retained.

The last time he’d seen Lily alive. She’d gone to visit a friend at St. Mungo’s. He’d cornered her and dragged her into the linen cupboard. He’d fallen to his knees before her and begged her forgiveness all over again, had implored her to leave the country. He had seen in her eyes then that she knew what he’d done…And then she had made him swear an Unbreakable Vow to her, using—how Slytherin of her—her idiotic, guileless friend as their Bonder.

She had made him swear to her that no matter what happened, he would not kill himself…

He remembered everything. As if it was yesterday. And even after so many years the same questions tortured and haunted him. Had Lily really known what he had done? Had she forced that Vow on him because she had come to hate him? Or had she done it because she still, somehow, at least a little—well, not loved him, of course, for how could she? But cared for him? In spite of it all?

The fact remained that no matter what the reasons for her request had been, he had done what she wanted.

Since Lily was dead, he could never be released from the Vow. And now, whatever her motivations might have been, this Vow would turn into the cruellest torture he could imagine.

He was alive.

In three years’ time he would be sent to Azkaban for the rest of his natural life.

And he could not kill himself unless he wanted to be forced to return as a ghost.

Of course, he mused, one thing possibly topped even that horror: Gryffindor Hermione Granger of all people would become his apprentice.

There was, however, one bright spot. As his apprentice she would be bound to obey any order he gave her. He smirked. Mentally he began to review the nastiest duties a Potions Master could give his apprentice. Oh, the orders he would give her…

Abruptly he gasped as an idea struck him.

Orders. She would have to obey all of his orders. Maybe there was a way for him to be put out of his misery after all…

Suddenly he had a lot to think about.