Never an Easy Way Why do people always think they know everything, after hearing only a few bare facts? Such arrogance. I could tell Harry Potter and his young friends a few things, all right. Set them straight. ...But I choose not to. In the end, it is the easier way. Ignorance is not really bliss, as they say, but it’s a good deal less trouble than the truth, at times.
shanna seanachaiStill, sometimes I have an urge to unveil myself. Secrets are tiresome. They drag at you, like a lead weight, an anchor, keeping you mired to the mask, the illusion you are required to sustain. But despite these feelings of exhaustion, I never give in. In all honesty, I don’t know anymore if I could let go of the disguise, even if I tried. It’s been with me too long. It’s grown a part of me. Sometimes I wonder if it is a lie at all.
(I think I slipped the net but I cut myself free)
Severus Snape was just odd, plain and simple. His classmates were used to him by now, but the younger students couldn’t help but stare at him whenever he passed by in the hall. He paid no attention to them; as he walked, his gaze was always fixed hard and far off at some indiscernible point ahead. His face was usually expressionless, although occasionally one could catch a corner of his mouth tugging upwards, as though he was remembering some sort of private joke.
Not a joke anyone would want to know, Sirius Black had decided. He detested Snape with every bone in his body, and he didn’t want to know what made the bastard tick. After the bad consequences of his practical joke on Snape involving the Whomping Willow the year before, he’d sworn off bothering Snape, period. Better not to give him some excuse to expose Remus’ secret.
Still, in the last few months, rumors had been flying all over the school about Snape and his friends, and Sirius couldn’t help but prick up his ears and listen. Snape had been a bad one right from the start, seeming to know far too much in certain areas; always with this shifty, contemplative look that just infuriated Sirius. So what they were saying about him now had to be true - that Snape, Rosier, and Avery, along with some other slimy Slytherins, were involved in this anti-Muggle crusade that was developing. It left a bad taste in Sirius’s mouth. The idea of this new terror invading the safe haven of Hogwarts was downright alarming. .
Before, Snape had been simply an annoyance, an arrogant twit who liked to get in your face and push you to the point where you were dying to get at him. Now, Sirius was beginning to look at him in a new light, as a real threat, a wild card. Now, when Snape smiled that tricky smile, Sirius wanted to know exactly what he was thinking.
(I’m not losing yet, so don’t forget me)
A perfect summer day; blue sky, bright sun, birds chirping. Severus scowled and checked the time again. They were late.
The graduation ceremony that morning had been tedious, and not only because of the long speeches and the seemingly endless wait for his name to be called. The knowledge and anticipation of what would be happening tonight - his real graduation ceremony, in a way - had weighed heavily on him. It had been hard not to fidget; but he had kept himself calm and carefully blank.
Now it was over, and here he was, with his future before him.
And they were ten - no, eleven, now - minutes late.
He allowed himself an irritated sigh and sat down. Damn it to hell.
He wouldn’t admit the truth, that he was nervous. Nervous as hell, and perhaps wondering if maybe he was making a mistake -
No. He mustn’t think that way. He’d already gone over all of this. Severus Snape was nothing if not analytical. And after careful consideration - and many sleepless nights, though no one was going to know that - this was simply the easiest way to get where he wanted.
What he wanted.
The problem was, he wasn’t so sure what he wanted anymore.
He sucked his breath in sharply and scowled even harder. Why did everything have to be so damn confusing and messy and - and - imprecise? Confound it all - Avery and Rosier for being late, this stupid feeling of doubt curdling in stomach, and all of those boring bastards he’d graduated with today. He imagined them right now with their families, celebrating and happy. As if hundreds of them didn’t graduate every year from that rat trap. As if they were special.
With some effort, he made the muscles in his face relax, until his expression lowered itself from one of self-righteous fury to blank indifference. He bit his tongue to keep himself from muttering swears, and he concentrated on keeping perfectly still. His body, he thought, if left to its own devices, might just jump up and leave if he didn’t.
(I’ll say it, replay it, and try tomorrow)
It didn’t take too long for Sirius to realize he was being followed. He’d first become aware of his shadow as he was leaving the bar; but it was more likely that the guy had been with him since he’d left his flat late that afternoon. Since the rise of Voldemort everyone had learned to become a little more aware of their surroundings, but Sirius had managed to develop it into a fine art.
He stopped casually under a streetlight to light his cigarette, and as he did so he let his eyes rove the street. There weren’t too many people around. It was late and this wasn’t a very nice part of town. Smiling, he picked out his suspect, wandered over to him nonchalantly, and without further ado, grabbed him by his shirt collar and shoved him against the adjacent wall.
“You shit,” Snape spat at him.
“I should have known,” Sirius said. “What do you want?”
Snape wrenched himself out of Sirius’s grasp and sneered at him. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re on about, Black.”
Sirius tapped his ash and rolled his eyes. He hadn’t seen Snape since they had graduated - well over a year ago now - but it was obvious the bastard hadn’t changed a bit. “You’ve been following me all night. Do you think I’m dense?”
Snape just stared at him, and smiled in that way that Sirius had always despised.
“Don’t fuck around with me, Snape,” he warned him. “You think I don’t know what you are? You think I won’t take this opportunity to nail your ass to the wall, you piece of filth?”
“I’d seriously like to see you try, Black,” Snape replied.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Sirius said, and flicked his cigarette into the street. “Now, are you going to tell me why you were following me, or should I just cut to the chase and put you in a bodybind?” He smiled, one hand in his jacket, fingertips resting on his wand.
A nerve spasmed beneath Snape’s left eye. It was the only betrayal of an otherwise calm countenance; the eyes were opaque, the mouth drawn in dark, hard line. But it was enough for Sirius. He realized that Snape probably didn’t have a reason for following him. He was just being Snape.
“You know,” Sirius found himself saying, “you’re wasting yourself.”
Snape blinked, taken aback. “What?” he snapped.
Sirius cleared his throat and looked away. “You’ve got a lot of potential. You always have. And you’re throwing it away.” When he looked back up, Snape was staring at him, his eyes both angry and incredulous.
“Really? And what should I be doing?” He put his hands on his hips, all thoughts of precaution blown to the wind in the face of his childhood enemy. “Should I be spending my nights drinking and riding around on motorcycles? Would that be a better use of my skills?”
Sirius pointed a finger at him. “Don’t claim to know what you don’t understand, Snape. Things aren’t always what they seem.”
He rose an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, I see. Sirius Black, fighter of evil. Defender of the helpless. How quaint.”
“Really nice, Snape,” Sirius shook his head. “You’re fucking hopeless. Forget it.”
“No problem,” Snape answered. Smiled. And apparated away.
Leaving Sirius to wonder why he hadn’t done that in the first place.
(I’ll say it, replay it, and live with sorrow)
It was the third night he’d done this - stood in the dark and stared up at the windows of Black’s flat. Daring himself to go up there. His mind kept trying to work out what the best thing to do was, but he kept slamming into the metaphorical brick wall. Over and over. He couldn’t solve this particular problem, no matter how hard he tried.
Going up there meant confession. Going up there meant giving in.
But not going up there...he was scared of what that might mean.
That he was a monster - that he was everything Sirius Black wanted to believe he was - and that, he supposed, was the idea that surged him forward, made him cross the street, open the door, and climb the stairs to the fifth floor.
Once he reached Black’s hallway though, he froze. What would he say? He licked his lower lip and tasted blood - he’d been gnawing at it all the way upstairs.
“Getting a bit lax, Snape? This is the second time I’ve caught you.”
He turned around, knowing what he’d see behind him - Black himself, smug and bloody right as usual. He wished he’d never come. Severus put his hands in his pockets and said nothing; just stood there trying to get up the courage to do what he had come to do - ask for help.
“You got any friends with you?” Black queried, only half-joking. “Because I was really looking forward to just going to bed. Think we could hold off any big show-downs until tomorrow?”
It was then that Severus noticed how tired Black looked. His face - still as boyish as it had been when they were in school together - was pale, and there were circles under his blue eyes.
“No,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“No-what?” Black asked.
“No friends.” He plunged his hands deeper into his pockets and sighed.
Then Black had him by the arms and was pulling him so close he could smell the whiskey on his breath.
“What do you want. Why do you keep bothering me.” They weren’t questions. They were demands.
“What you said -” Severus cried out, letting his voice break. “About me, the other night. What if I -” He stopped, scared to say the next words.
“Yes?”
“What if I wanted out,” he managed to say, his voice dying down to a whisper.
Black just stared at him.
“Would you help me?”
“Help you?” Black seemed to be cutting right through him with his eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “I can’t just leave. They just don’t let you leave...” He lowered his head, unable to stand those searching eyes anymore. He was so exhausted...
And then Sirius Black said, “Of course.”
(You’d think I’d learned by now, there’s never an easy way)
Sirius had hoped to be fast asleep by now, but that was looking like less and less of a possibility as the night progressed. Three hours now - three hours! - Snape had been in Dumbledore’s office, and now night would soon be morning, with a whole fresh set of problems to deal with.
He might have just gone home. Or he might have just tried to nod off here outside of the office. But he didn’t, or he couldn’t; he wasn’t sure which. He wondered what they were talking about in there. He wondered when they would be done. He wondered if he’d made a mistake, bringing Snape here.
But he’d never seen Severus Snape look as lost and out of control as he had tonight, and something - some mad little voice in his head - told him that taking Snape to see Albus Dumbledore was possibly the most right thing he’d ever done in his life.
The door opened just then, Snape emerged, looking so pale and frightened that Sirius’ own pulse sped up for a moment. Behind him, Dumbledore poked his head out and spotted Sirius.
“One moment, Sirius,” he said, with a small smile. “I have some business to take care of, and then I’d like to speak to you.” He shut the door.
Snape stumbled over to a chair and sat down. He didn’t say anything; just stared at the floor, his shoulders hunched, his hands gripping the sides of the seat.
Sirius waited a few moments, and then asked quietly, “So you’re leaving them?”
Snape looked up, startled - he still looked fairly green. “Yes...no...it’s complicated.” One hand wiped at his mouth nervously.
“What do you mean?” Sirius asked.
“I’ll be explaining that to you now, Sirius.” Dumbledore had reappeared. He nodded towards Snape. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”
Snape shook his head slowly and stood up.
“Be sure to contact me tomorrow with your decision.”
“Yes,” Snape said, his voice barely audible. His hands were clenched into fists. He looked up once more at Dumbledore; then he swallowed, drew himself up, nodded, and left.
“What was that all about?” Sirius asked, when he had sat down in the chair opposite Dumbledore’s desk.
“I have asked Severus,” Dumbledore began, “not to leave the Death Eaters, but to continue in their ranks, and to give us whatever information he can on their movements.”
It took a few moments for this to sink in for Sirius. “You mean, you’ve asked him to spy?” he asked, incredulously.
“Yes.”
“But - but -” Sirius stood up, shaking his head. “He could be telling us anything! He could feed us a bunch of lies, and give away all our secrets to Voldemort!”
“Yes.”
“Well, then why are you bloody asking him to do this?”
“Because I trust him.” Dumbledore paused. “And so do you, or else you never would have brought him here.”
Sirius stopped. He was dizzy. He was tired. He was confused. “I suppose so.”
There was silence for awhile. Sirius sat down again. He felt as though he could fall asleep right there. And then he remembered something.
“You asked him to get back to you with his decision.”
“I did.”
“So you’re letting him make one?”
“I am.”
“You do know this is insane, don’t you?”
Albus Dumbledore smiled broadly. “Severus will make the right choice,” he said. “I am sure of it.”
“And if he doesn’t,” Sirius shot back, “he’s a bloody dead man.”
(I’ll get through somehow, I’m on my knees to pray)
What kind of a choice is this?
Severus covered his eyes with his hands, and made himself breathe.
I’m better off dead, he thought. I might as well just do it and get it over with. I’ll end up dead eventually.
Spy on Voldemort! Lie to Voldemort! Good Lord - there was no way he could pull this off! He’d be found out in no time flat, and then they’d catch him, they’d get him all right, and he knew what they would do to him...
He could not stop himself from shaking. He wrapped his arms tightly around his body, hugging himself. He was a miserable human being, he had nothing but horrors behind him and more horrors ahead of him - but he didn’t want to die.
“I don’t want to die,” he whispered aloud. “Please, I don’t want to...”
Just hush. Be calm. Be rational.
There is nothing else. There is no easy way.
Taking his wand from the bedside table, he conjured a piece of parchment and a pen. With a shaky hand, he wrote:
I accept.
He looked down at the words there, almost glowing on the page. He said them out loud, trying them out in his mouth:
“I accept.”
When he looked up again, the first rays of sunlight had crept in through his window, bathing the room in a rosy-golden light.
A new day had begun.
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