FIC : Only a Memory [PG]

[thescarletwoman]

The last fic before DH!

Title: Only a Memory
Author: thescarletwoman
Rating: PG
Character(s): Severus Snape, ??
Word Count: 3447
Summary: The memories of war are not always what they seem.
Author's Notes: I wanted to write one last fic before the release of DH. It was bunnied when reading OotP in that Snape always removed three memories. I'm guessing this comes into play in DH, so it had to be written now. As always -- to rose_whispers for the wonderful beta. I most likely will be reposting this after DH as there's one thing I want to tweak.


Perhaps the world would never be ready for this.

The shallow stone basin sat in front of him, the characteristic runes etched into the rim. Before him were memories of the war, all perfectly contained in the waters of the Pensieve. Albus Dumbledore's Pensieve no less. He prodded the shimmering liquid with his wand, wondering what the memories would show. At the same time, he wondered if he even wanted to delve into the memories of others. The war was not five years in the past; it was far too soon. He had no desire to relive the terrors of war, even if from the perspective of another.

What would viewing them prove? There was nothing to learn. All that awaited him in the swirling depths was the remembrance of pain and the atrocities of war.

Yet the memories pulled him in with a second prodding of his wand, the man unable to keep his distance. The curiosity was too much for him. Nose to the pool of memory shards, he found himself slipping beneath the surface and into the windows of the past.

~*~

The Great Hall came into focus, a group of Fifth Years sitting for their OWL examinations as announced by the headings on all the test papers.

He remembered this; remembered seeing and watching. And though he had lived the memory once already, he found he was powerless to stop the movie as it played.

Towards the back of the room, there sat Severus, his face so close to the parchment, it looked as if he were asleep were it not for the frantic movement of his hand across the page. Across the room, he could see James and Sirius exchange a look of some sort. He moved slowly along the rows of desks, observing each of the students in turn as they finished their examinations. Nearby sat Remus and a little further away was Peter, anxiously chewing his nails as the time to finish the exams expired.

Parchments were collected, the sensation of flying papers flying through his mid-section a rather unwelcome one. He joined the throng of students exiting the Great Hall for the sunshine outside.

He settled between the Marauders and Severus, keeping an eye on both. He wished he could poke Severus in the shoulder, to warn him what was to come, but he found that, no matter how he hit Severus, the man could not be swayed from his reading.

"All right, Snivellus?"

Wands were drawn and the hexes flew. He winced, watching James and Sirius taunt the boy. Granted, Severus fought back, but it still was an unfair fight.

"You -- wait!" Severus panted.

He moved away from the scene, having no desire to watch it any longer. He knew what happened. The way Severus hung in the air and Lily approached, content to have a row with James. Of course, Severus refused the help.

There was never any love between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin.

~*~

He was pulled from the memory more by his own thoughts than any desire to leave the Pensieve. He stared at the glistening strands, swirling as if daring him to continue on this fantastical journey. They taunted him, beckoning him to lower his face to the pool once more.

It wasn't as if he would find another memory from Severus Snape, after all.

~*~

Though a memory, the stone room gave off the very air of being chilled and dank -- the sort of place he would avoid if given the opportunity. He fell downwards, fingers scraping the stone walls in an effort to slow his descent. He hit the stone floor hard, surprised no one had noticed the sound of his entrance. On the floor was where he remained until he found his bearings once more and trusted himself to stand once more.

Across the room knelt Severus Snape. He cursed, staring at the dark-haired man and wondering why he had found himself in yet a second memory dealing with the traitor. The Pensieve obviously wanted to tell him something. Or perhaps it was his own desire to know the truth about Severus that was continually drawing him towards the acerbic Potions master. Their fates seemed inexorably intertwined as far as the Pensieve was concerned and there was no way to separate them. All he could do was wait out the memory, firmly intent on ignoring whatever was about to be shown.

Yet when the room grew even colder with the sudden appearance of a cowled man, he found he couldn't have pulled away for all the gold in Gringotts.

The hood was pulled back and he found himself staring into a younger version of Lord Voldemort. He let out a very audible gasp, once more surprised that no one's attention was diverted away from their Lord. Cautiously, though he was nothing more than a shadow in the memory, the man crept forward -- wanting to see the earliest visage of the man who would terrorize the whole of the Wizarding World not once, but twice.

His snake-like features were not as pronounced, yet those red eyes seemed to bore into his very soul, as if he were actually there. The effect was so disquieting that he almost wondered if Voldemort's gaze could permeate a memory and He could see him.

Turning, he realised that it wasn't he that Voldemort was staring at, it was the kneeling man behind.

"You wish to join my Death Eaters," came the voice, low and snake-like, the final syllable sounding as a hiss. "You think yourself worthy?" The skin above his eye lifted, as if an eyebrow had once been there.

"I do, My Lord."

A young Severus Snape, barely more than the age of twenty lifted his head. There was a look of fear upon his face, though it was uncertain if it was simply an act.

His eyes darted about the room, not resting on any one person or object for longer than a moment. They were all there, watching from their circle around Severus. Bellatrix, the Lestranges, Macnair... he shivered with each name spoken in his head. Voldemort's voice drew attention once more, his gaze resting not on the self-proclaimed Lord, but watching Severus instead.

"To enter into my service is not a contract to be taken lightly."

"I understand, My Lord."

Voldemort lifted his head, red eyes falling on each of his followers in turn. "Do any of you, my most faithful, care to speak on his behalf? I will not take the word of one anymore, after too many have dared to desert me. It has happened once and it will never happen again."

Severus bowed his head low, waiting for one of the others to speak up. Silence reigned supreme. It was only when Voldemort lifted his wand, pointing the tip at Severus did anyone speak up in his defence.

"My Lord," Bellatrix said, lowering her head in a sign of supplication, "I shall take full responsibility for him. He will be under my charge. I will speak for him."

"Understand, Bella," Voldemort said, his lips twisting into a cruel smile. "His failures are your own."

She nodded curtly and apparently that was enough for Lord Voldemort. Voldemort swept across the chamber, his robes billowing behind him. He hid a smile, noting the similarities in the way Voldemort and Severus moved. It was an air of grace, yet knowing exactly how to move one's body to the best of his ability and to cause the most fear. Briefly, he wondered if Severus' movements had been an unconscious adaptation of Voldemort's. He wouldn't have put it past Severus.

"Your left arm, Snape."

The screams as the tattoo bore its way into Severus' skin could be heard for miles. One did not enter lightly into the service of Lord Voldemort.

~*~

The screams were enough to hurl him from the Pensieve. He rocked backwards, gripping the table for support as his own body threatened to expel the contents of his lunch. It felt as if the Dark Mark had been burned into his own skin rather than Severus'. Rubbing his forearm, the man backed away from the Pensieve. He had half expected to see the faint outline of a skull on his arm. The sigh of relief to see only pale skin was quite audible.

He had seen enough.

There was no need to gaze into the Pensieve once more, even if he had to delve into the memories of the past. He had no desire to find himself in another of Severus' memories. Anyone else but him. Besides, what was left? To see the day he finally triumphed with the murder of Albus Dumbledore? Or would it be the day his actions successfully brought about the murders of Nymphadora Tonks and Neville Longbottom. An unlikely pair to be working together to be certain, but a dead pair nonetheless.

There was nothing more to see.

And yet, as the adage went, curiosity killed the cat. He was unable to keep from returning to the table; unable to stop himself before he lowered his nose to the glassy surface once more.

~*~

The presence of a warm office seemed such a stark contrast to the chill of Voldemort's chamber. This time, to realise the memory belonged to Severus did not seem as jarring as he had wholly expected it to be Severus'. The office was familiar and it was only when he examined the whirling devices and portraits of sleeping Headmasters did he realise whose office this was.

But a memory to be set in Albus' office and not on the top of the tower seemed out of place.

Yet as he stared at the details of the memory, the more he realised this was not a fabrication. There was no smoke, there was no booming voice indicating the presence of a modified memory. This was the real thing.

He found he was at a loss, staring at the back of Severus' head while the man stared at the empty chair behind the Headmaster's desk. What he would have given to possess the skills to know what was running through Severus' head at that given moment. Age was impossible to tell from the back.

The shutting of a door caused them both to jump, turning to watch Albus walk into his office. The Headmaster was younger, a trace of auburn in his long beard. It was then that he could also see the signs of youth in Severus' face. The memory couldn't have been more than two years past the taking of the Dark Mark. What on earth could Albus have wanted meeting with a Death Eater?

"Is it done?" Severus asked without preamble.

"It has been. James and Lily have been moved once more. I will not trouble you with their location as you have enough to concern yourself with, but the simple answer is that they have and the Order is glad for your assistance."

Severus looked away from Albus for some reason, unable to meet the Headmaster's eyes. Albus swept into the room, passing through the wispy form of the man, proof that he was no more than the proverbial fly on the wall for this meeting. He wasn't sure why he was so paranoid about being discovered within the confines of the memories.

"I must say, Severus," Albus said, adopting the fatherly tone he took with so many of his students, both current and otherwise, "This is the second time you have come to me with information that has saved the lives of my Order members."

Words were mumbled, though he was too far away to hear what Severus spoke. He slid closer, passing through chairs and other pieces of furniture to get close enough to eavesdrop.

"-- doing what I should have done," he could finally hear Severus say. "My past transgressions being whatever they were."

This seemed to satisfy Albus, the Headmaster taking a seat behind the desk at long last.

"You wished, then, to speak with me?" Albus asked, tenting his fingers and resting his chin on them.

Severus nodded, though didn't take the immediate request to speak. They sat in silence, the only sounds in the room coming from the various instruments resting upon Albus' shelves.

"I wish to teach Defence."

The words were spoken so faintly, he nearly didn't hear him, though he was standing a scant few inches from Severus. Apparently, Albus seemed to have the same reaction, though if he was shocked, it never registered in his face.

"We have spoken of this once before, Severus," Albus said slowly, as if weighing each word. "Given..." he made a hand gesture rather than finishing the statement. "I still stand by my decision to take you on as our Potions master."

This was not what Severus had been expecting, if the vein throbbing on his temple was any indication. Severus flew to his feet, bracing his arms on the edge of Albus' desk. He leaned forward so far that his hooked nose nearly brushed Albus'.

"Because of my 'past transgressions'," Severus raged, "You will refuse me the post I truly desire? Do you think me that easily swayed?"

"You know I do not," Albus said, his voice calm as Severus' was angry. "I however, do see you as being of greater use in Potions. Briar Leifton has already agreed to sign on as the Defence professor this upcoming year."

"He won't last a day."

"Be that as it may, he is the Defence professor for the upcoming year. I suggest you accept the idea."

There was a hint of warning in Albus' voice. Severus heard it as well, sinking slowly into his chair, face drawn. There was no play of emotion across his face, a look the man had seen all too often.

"Unless, of course," Albus continued, his eyes boring into Severus', "You regret your decision."

Severus snapped his head upwards, the carefully schooled face registering shock. He looked as if Albus' words had slapped him, though the rare trace of venom in Albus' voice had had its desired effect.

"You know I do not," Severus replied. "I merely thought --"

"You merely thought that, because of your assistance over this past year, I would re-evaluate my opinion of you." Only after Severus nodded did Albus resume his speech. "The truth is, you have proven yourself time and time again to me, Severus. You have not only just now saved the lives of the Potters, but you have managed to thwart your compatriots whenever you are able. I do not blame you for the deaths of the Prewett boys. There simply was no time and for you to have done anything would have jeopardized your own position.

"You see, Severus, I trust you more than perhaps I should. But that is the folly of an old man. The truth of the matter is that you are of more use to me in your current position. You are aware of how unstable the Defence post is. You had seven different professors when you were a student."

"But I thought I could break the curse," Severus interrupted.

Albus held up a hand. "There is no curse," he replied simply. "Consequently there is no need for you to take it upon yourself to be the one to fix it."

Silence reigned in the room, and he wondered if Severus would speak once more. It was not Severus who opened his mouth next, but Albus.

"There will come a time when I will find myself in great need of your service. The night young mister Black was so ruthlessly murdered, it was only through sheer luck that I arrived in time to assist you home. Perhaps, had I been delayed, we would not be having this conversation."

Severus' jaw visibly tightened, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. If he wished to speak, he seemed incapable of forming even a single word.

"You may have made a mistake entering into the service of Voldemort," Severus flinched at the name, "but you also saw the error of your ways. There will come a day that will truly test your loyalty to both me and the Order. The day may come tomorrow or it may come fifteen or twenty years from now." Albus paused. "Or we may both be saved this pain should the day never come."

"You know I am loyal to you," Severus replied quickly, almost too quickly for Albus' tastes.

"A man cannot serve two masters," Albus spoke carefully.

The meaning was not lost on Severus. "If you are implying that I would betray you as soon as look at you, then you are mistaken. I am aware that I owe you my life. I was a fool, I will admit. It's because of you that I did not wind up as Regulus did.

"It seems I owe too many wizards a life debt, a prospect I am not happy about. But even if you had not saved my life that night, I would still be sitting here. Asking you for the Defence position. And..." he drew in a breath, his eyes locking with Albus'. "And I would still be swearing to you that I will do whatever you ask of me if the day arrives. Even if it damns me to hell in the process."

~*~

Expelled from the final memory, he found himself breathing hard. He stared into the swirling depths of the Pensieve, unable to comprehend what he had just seen. However, a Pensieve did not lie and there had been nothing in the memory to show that it had been altered. It was a true representation of events that had happened. This was reality, this was nothing that had ever been tampered with.

Severus Snape had died a traitor but had truly lived the life of a hero -- and no one ever knew the truth. That was, though, how Severus would have rather lived and died. To live the rest of his life as the hero would have been out of character. He died playing the part of a villain; a part Severus played better than anyone ever could have guessed.

And yet, he wished the world would know the truth. A small part wished there would be a way to redeem him, to show that Severus Snape was a friend and not the foe they all believed him to be.

That, at the end of the day, Severus had been a good man. Misguided, perhaps, but good at heart. More importantly, there had been a heart beneath the cold exterior. Very few had ever seen it, but it was that heart that had allowed Severus to murder Albus Dumbledore that night.

But no, it wasn't as if the man was really interested in telling anyone the truth of Severus Snape's involvement in the war. The memory of Snape's promise and loyalty should die with Dumbledore. They would certainly die with the man.

Without a second thought, the man levelled his wand with the bowl, shards of stone flying everywhere as it exploded. The silvery threads ran along the edge of the table and evaporated until they were no more than a memory.

The truth would die with him as far as Remus Lupin was concerned.

It's what Severus would have wanted.