FOOLISH

By Susanna

I am a Death Eater. But I have a heart. I know what friendship is. We used to be friends, Severus, didn't we? What happened? For a very long time, I have been suspecting that something has changed, but I never thought it would come to this. We have won, Severus, won! We are standing in the dungeons of Hogwarts, where nobody, least of all we ourselves, would ever have believed we might arrive. Many have fallen, on both sides, but we are still alive because we deserve to live. We are the winners, the strong ones, the new generation—the world is ours.

So why are you standing there, Severus, hesitating, risking your life? She is a girl like so many others—sweet, yes, maybe even more intelligent than her peers. So what? I want to yell, to shake you, to get you out of that stupor that threatens your very existence. I suppose Draco was right when he told me you had something going with the girl. I should have followed my instinct and killed her when I had the possibility. Probably you would have suffered, but then you would have seen reason and acknowledged I was right. Blundering idiot that I am, I did not seize the opportunity. Maybe I would have risked punishment, nothing serious though, because our master had explicitly ordered us to spare as many girls as possible. He knows that his Death Eaters deserve some fun after a battle; it has always been like this. After a fight, a man needs to celebrate and work off the tension. Besides, some of the females here are still virgins, and their blood is precious.

We caught plenty of them, though, and thus it wouldn't have mattered whether we had one more or less. Not for the others, anyway. It would have mattered for me. I would have been spared the agony of this moment that seems to last an eternity. The abyss gaping between Lord Voldemort's command and your obedience is becoming wider and more dangerous by the second. I can already feel the anger radiating from the Master; wait a little longer, Severus, and you will be writhing on the stone floor, trying to struggle against an agony that won’t release you until you are mad or dead. Mad or dead—horrible rhyme dictated by the Torturing Curse.

It won't help her, don’t you understand? Even if she has feelings for you, even if she really loves you, do you think she’ll die more serenely after your absurd sacrifice? Because she will die, Severus, please don't tell me you have any illusions as to her possible salvation? Or maybe all this seemingly heroic behaviour is nothing but sheer egoism? Because you don't want to be the one who first rapes and then kills her? That would be just like you. You always had that somewhat twisted sense of honour that made me suspect there was a Gryffindor among your ancestors. Instead of trying to save your soul, you should rather attempt to make her last moments more bearable. I daresay she would prefer being raped—if you can call that rape—by you than by McNair or myself. Afterwards, a quick, clean cut across the throat with the dagger, and that piteous female can rest in peace. And we can continue living. Being friends. Having a good time.

But unless you budge in the next second… He is furious. You know he is impatient, Severus, you know he doesn’t like waiting. The dagger he intended to hand to you so you can immolate her is trembling in his hand. But you don't even look at him, for your eyes seem to be glued to that slip of a girl who stands opposite you, shivering and trying to cover herself. What do you see in her? What can she possibly have that makes you forget everything you had? We used to be believers, Severus, the first ones to join the Master. I know, we have grown older; almost twenty years have gone by, and to believe isn't as easy anymore as it once was. Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I enjoy following His whims, kissing the hem of His cloak and doing His bidding like a common lackey? We are two of a kind, my friend, proud sons of old families—we are not used to run errands, however noble the cause. But we accepted it, because we had recognized it was our chance to gain real power. We are his trusted crown princes, Severus, have you forgotten what that means?

It seems that you have. I do not feel betrayed, or even disappointed. The whole situation is simply too absurd. I swear to you, if the woman standing there was my own wife, I wouldn't hesitate to carry out his order. Because there is nothing to be gained from resistance, and everything from obedience. You look over your shoulder and your eyes meet mine. What does your look try to tell me? You are wearing your mask, just as I am, and therefore it is difficult to read anything in your eyes. But I give you a small nod, Severus, an encouraging nod that will hopefully tell you to act before it is to late.

The relief almost makes my knees give way under me. You said the three words, you said Yes My Lord. Come on, Severus, take the dagger. Then go through with it, lay her down on the stone block, gently if you want, take her one last time and—

Oh, no. No, Severus. How could you? What an absurd, theatrical, useless gesture! If you only could see the look in her eyes, now that you are lying at her feet in a puddle of your own blood and guts. I think she would have preferred it the other way. But you had to have your flamboyant exit from the stage of life. Now he calls me. Yes, My Lord, I will do what Severus Snape refused to accomplish. After all, what does a Mudblood mean to Lucius Malfoy?