Onyx
i. your name instead
You're bleeding all over the place.
'What a mess,' you think.
It's all a vision to you, black and white, metal bars and open spaces. A splash of blood thrown across the floor. You lift your head, weaving with the strain of it all. Red and viscous, flowing like a river out of you.
A flash of silver, a long knife. The crow's breast split open, blood flying out and off the end of the knife like a living thing.
Your mother's voice, "It's a part of nature." An absent pat on your head. "Everything will be okay."
You remember another voice, another time not long before. "Only a few days, Severus. A week or two at most. Don't worry, I won't leave you." A smile. "Everything will be okay."
(No, it won't.)
ii. sanctus dominus
Few people know that it wasn't Dumbledore who got you out of Azkaban. Of course, no one knows for sure who it was, really.
(You know.)
It wasn't him, you know that. Merely a tool of his possession, and the bureaucratic turnings of a corrupt, compromised Ministry.
You walked out of that prison on your own two feet.
iii. you can be a monster
Your mother's augury stays with you.
The man on the floor, the strange little crook in his small intestine and the odd discolouration.
You stand up, vainly trying to wipe the blood from your hands, your arms. "Dumbledore knows."
He leans forward, hungry perched atop the ornate throne. "Knows what? That you're here, that I'm alive?"
You sigh. "He knows."
iv. you've got nothing to lose
You return to your home. Or, what's left of it.
Your neighbours avoid your stares, passing by, looking straight through you.
There's an empty field where your house used to be. Razed to the ground.
If you laugh and no one sees you, does that still mean you're going mad?
Your eye catches sight of the brick left behind, red brown and faded. Brought over from the Florentine home of your ancestors. It was a part of the kitchen floor, or had been. You hold it in your hands, delighting in the feel of its smoothness, worn over the generations by a thousand feet. You turn it over and your eyes slide out of focus.
There, on the back, in the uneven scrawl of an enchanted wand: "Proditor". No common vandal, but written in the language of witches and wizards. Traitor.
v. be loyal, even unto death
You're getting tired of it all.
"You knew when we started this that no one could know. They have to think of you as the picture we're portraying. If any of them know what you're really doing." A pause and a rustle of fabric. "Well, I shudder to think of the consequences."
You stare at the floor like a petulant child.
"I can't get you out, Severus."
You think, how familiar this all sounds.
vi. you're not the only one
You don't know who he is. But you know he's a spy. And if you know, well then, it isn't any stretch for the Dark Lord.
How annoying.
He's standing straight and tall, as if he was a king out amongst the peasants. There's a condescending sneer half-curled on his lips, and that's not fooling anybody.
You sidle up next to him. "You're in danger here."
"I can handle myself," he says.
You bury your knife in his ribs.
vii. and the word will become law
You endure their stares, because really, what else can you do? They point. "My brother says he's the darkest wizard next to the Dark Lord himself." And all the others crowd closer, as if this was just a story and you were only one tragic character out of a dozen.
Another voice. "Why does the Headmaster let him stay?"
Another voice. "Idiot, would you let the right hand man of your greatest enemy out of your sight?"
The first boy again, taking on the mantle of mediator like a well worn garment. "They say he spies on him." Your heart leaps into your throat. "Dumbledore does. That way the Headmaster knows exactly when the Death Eater meetings are. He sees everything that goes on and when Snape leaves, the Headmaster knows he's up to no good. So, it only makes sense that Dumbledore's spying on him."
You like the way they're talking. Like you'd imagine spies in old Muggle films must talk.
You turn the corner. The looks on their faces, that's something you'll cherish for a long, long time.
viii. who you are
You enjoy this little game. Black and white, good and evil. It makes it all so easy.
You're not surprised when the Aurors burst in through the front door; you've been leaving clues a blind man could follow.
And you are only mildly surprised at finding yourself staring down the ten inches of yew of Sirius Black's wand. "And which one are you?" the Animagus asks. "Malfoy? Or maybe Macnair?"
And when you grimly answer, "Neither," those black eyes widen.
"Snape."
"Black."
"I should have known."
"You should know better by now. Play this right and we'll both get out of here."
"I heard what you did to Goldsmith. What did he do, look at you wrong?"
"I did what I had to do."
"Then I'm sure you won't mind if I return the favour. Petrificus Totalus."
You hear Malfoy yell from halfway across the room. No green flash of the killing curse, but the sight of your body falling, a dead weight to the floor, and he's already given up on you.
Flowing robes, a flash of pale hair under the mask. "Severus," a whispered threat of violence to come. You can see his eyes, fixed determinedly on Black, and he's stalking towards you still.
Black's gaze is murder itself.
ix. we all lose our charms in the end
You wake to voices.
"They're all dead." A slightly mad laugh. "Can you believe it?"
You open your eyes.
"Sirius, he's awake."
Under your arms, hands so cold you can feel them even through your robes.
"Come on Snape, on your feet."
You get your legs under you, though it isn't easy. Someone presses a wand into your hand; you know it's yours by the weight.
"Black?"
"The one and only."
"Who else?" You can't see anything.
"Remus," you hear. "There's nothing wrong with your sight, Severus. We're in the dark. The dungeons of Hogwarts."
Black speaks again. "Can you find your way out of here?"
"I- I suppose," you say. "How did we get here?"
"It was the only place we could safely Apparate to."
"Apparate? Then-"
"Hogwarts has fallen," Remus says, and Black is curiously silent. "Albus is dead."
You can't feel your legs. "And Voldemort?" you ask, mouth dry. Your eyes are adjusting to the dark, and you can see the hard edges of the room.
"Dumbledore sacrificed himself to kill him."
"I see," you say, because it's all you can think of. "What are we going to do now?"
"We aren't doing anything," Black says, pushing you towards the door. "You are going to get as far away from here as you can. The Ministry is looking for all Death Eaters, current and former."
"I see," you say again, sounding pathetic.
Remus's hand on your arm and you can feel the throbbing pain where the Dark Mark used to be, a phantom wound that will never heal.
"We'll find you when things die down," he says. "We won't forget you."
You tighten your fingers around your wand and Disapparate.
x. and i think to myself what a wonderful world
A hitching breath, a gasp for air. You stumble down the darkened alley.
Rats scurry out of your way, squeaking indignantly as they go.
Your hand pressed into your side, hard enough steal your breath.
Another gasp of breath and you pull your hand away, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washes over you.
Blood, bright red.
You're bleeding all over the place.