Sticks & Stones

“So what’s most urgent?” Harry said wearily after shutting the door to the conference room. The meeting with the entire D.A. had been exhausting, and Harry knew that his decision to misdirect everyone regarding Seamus had lost him some respect. Not from everyone—Pansy probably thought it was a good, Slytherin tactic. But she was angry that he’d ‘allowed’ Snape to be killed, so Pansy wasn’t very fond of Harry at the moment either.

“Percy,” Ron growled. “Dealing with that bastard—”

“He’s under the Imperius Curse,” Ginny interrupted.

“What?” Ron yelped. “You know that—”

“Yeah, I know,” Ginny snapped. “I know exactly what he’s done to Mum and Dad! Did you ever think that maybe he’s been under the Imperius Curse the entire last three years?” She nodded at Ron’s stunned look. “He could have been—he started acting even more like a prat right after Voldemort returned, and I don’t think it was coincidence! And he might be at risk now since Greyback exposed him to us! I say we need to go confront him about it as soon as we can—tonight, if possible. If we hurry we could catch him when he goes back to his flat after work.”

“The hell with him,” Ron snarled. “I say he was acting on his own when he hurt Mum and Dad! I say—”

“Wait a minute!” Harry snapped, startling Ginny, Ron and Hermione. “I know Percy’s your brother but that doesn’t automatically make him our most important priority!”

“The hell it doesn’t!” Ron shot back.

“Wait a moment,” Hermione said calmly. “Harry, even discounting Percy being family, I would still say he’s what we should deal with first.”

That stopped Harry short. “You do?” he asked, surprised. “How do you figure?”

Hermione reddened slightly at suddenly having the other three’s undivided attentions. “Well, let’s look at the various concerns that have been raised today,” she said, counting off on her fingers. “There’s Seamus. He’s back here, and we’ve already decided that his flat can be abandoned. His allegiance has been exposed, so there’s no need to work to conceal it, and tomorrow Seamus will be going to Gringotts and basically turning his life back to what it was before he began pretending. I think it’ll be somewhat easier now that Ginny has talked some sense into Dean,” she added with a twitch of her lip. Ginny smirked.

“Second, there’s me,” Hermione continued. “For all intents and purposes, outside of this house I’m going to be dead. We’ve already sent Luna with a message to her father, and a secure message to Rita Skeeter, announcing my death.” She paused. “I have to admit I’m a little disturbed by that—knowing everyone will think I’ve died. I’m just glad we’ve agreed to tell the Weasleys that it’s a strategic lie tomorrow morning—I don’t think I could bear to hurt your parents like that,” she said to Ron, who smiled back weakly. “And I’ll travel to visit my parents in secret early tomorrow and fill them in—I’m confident they’ll understand how serious this is. There’s nothing more to do about me, anyway. Everyone in the D.A. knows to perpetuate the lie, and I simply won’t leave the House of Black unless we arrange something ahead of time.” Her eyes widened. “We do have to contact Gringotts,” she added. “The vaults I have access to would reflect my death automatically—someone might notice if they didn’t!”

“I’ll visit them tomorrow,” Harry said. “Ron can come with me to speak for you since you’re engaged. The goblins can be trusted to keep the secret, since it’s a client matter.”

Hermione nodded. “Good. There’s also Fenrir Greyback to consider—we do need to know if he’s alive or not. But we don’t really have any way of finding out unless his body is recovered by the Ministry.”

“Tonks promised to get Aurors to the Shrieking Shack as fast as possible,” Ron put in. “Which is pretty fast since they can get a Portkey or Apparate there almost immediately. I told Tonks to make sure they look for Greyback’s body, too, so if it’s there, we’ll hear about it.”

Harry nodded and pulled out his wand. He waved it, muttered something and pointed it at the table. However, nothing happened. “No messages from Tonks yet,” he said with a grimace. “Right. So at this point there’s nothing more we can do about Greyback.”

“I would say not,” Hermione said as Ron and Ginny both nodded their agreement. “Well, the last thing is Snape.” Hermione noticed Harry’s expression went blank, but didn’t mention it. “He’s… well, he’s dead now. We’ll have to decide what to do with—with what’s left of him. You know, how we want to tell the wizarding world—”

“And if,” Ginny added. “No one outside this house knows for certain he’s dead. It might be to our advantage if Voldemort thinks that Snape is still alive and aiding us.”

“Why would he think that?” Ron asked.

“Because Harry was Polyjuiced into Snape at the Shrieking Shack,” Ginny pointed out. “Greyback announced that it was really Harry, but it did suggest that we have current access to Snape’s hair.”

“That’s an excellent point,” Hermione stated. “But I don’t think it’s a more immediate concern than Percy. If we’re going to reveal Snape’s death to the public it doesn’t have to be soon—in fact, it might end up being to our advantage to wait. And if not, there’s certainly no hurry.”

“Wait a minute!” Ron said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not too thrilled being under the same roof as Snape’s body!”

Harry paled slightly. He didn’t want to think about Snape—how the man had almost casually slid in front of Harry, shielding him from Greyback’s attack, sacrificing his own life. For Harry. “Okay, so maybe Percy is—” he started.

“It’s just a body, Ron,” Hermione said, although her voice was slightly shaky. “It’s perfectly natural, and nothing to be squeamish about.”

Harry shivered. Even Polyjuiced into McGonagall, Snape’s eyes had been cold, but they’d turned empty when he’d died, and he’d been staring straight at Harry…

“Hah, you weren’t there,” Ron groaned with his head in his hands. “I don’t care that Snape looked like McGonagall, we knew it was Snape, and when he dropped there was blood everywhere—I may have hated the evil bastard, but I wouldn’t wish that on anyone—”

And Harry knew that without the geas dominating his actions, Snape might have been able to act with more clarity—maybe he could have saved both of them. Having forced the geas on Snape almost certainly killed him. Harry wasn’t responsible for just Greyback’s death—he was at fault for Snape’s as well. “Shut up,” he whispered.

“Ron, it might be kind of disturbing, but we have to remember that even dead, Snape is useful!” Ginny insisted fiercely. “We can still get hairs for Polyjuice, we could use his reputation to intimidate like Pansy did to Mr. Borgin, not to mention making Voldemort hesitate because he thinks Snape has been helping us for months—”

“Shut UP!” Harry yelled, making the others all jump in their seats. “Shut up about him!” Harry demanded, his voice cracking. “I can’t stand it, all right? It’s bad enough that I probably killed Greyback, but I’m the one who insisted on Snape’s geas! I may as well have cast Imperius on him—what I did was just as bad! I made him kill himself! You think he’d have saved me without it? Just shut up about him already—stop reminding me!” He put his hands on the table and leaned forward, glaring at each others in turn. “Do you get it?” he growled. “That’s enough! I don’t want to talk any more about bloody SNAPE!”

A sharp click made Harry leap back from the table, his wand pointed at its center. He pressed back against the door and gasped, staring in shock at the box on the table—the sealed box from Dumbledore’s magical chest that they’d been unable to unlock.

It was open. The lock had made the click, and the unhinged side was cracked about a centimeter; it faced Harry, but he couldn’t make out anything in the darkness. “Wh—what happened?” he stammered.

The other three were as gobsmacked as Harry. “It’s open,” Ginny breathed, her eyes wide with shock. “How—how did that happen?”

“Harry—you must have found the word,” Hermione said raising her amazed gaze to look at him. “When you leaned over, your wand must have brushed the box!”

Harry glanced at the wand in his hand, astounded. “I—I think it did,” he said vaguely.

“So that means that something you said opened the box,” Ron stated. “You were—um, yelling at us that you felt bad… that you wanted us to stop talking about—”

“Snape.” Harry’s jaw dropped. “It had to be. The box didn’t click until right at the end when I said Snape. His name is the word that opens the box!”

“How?” Ginny asked uselessly. “How could we never have tried Snape? We tried everything—the Horcruxes and everything related to them, Voldemort, Dumbledore, the Order, Death Eaters, Dark magic, the side of the Light, everything! How could we not have tried Snape?”

“However it happened, we do seem to have missed it,” Hermione said softly. “Do—do you think that what’s inside relates to Snape in some way?”

Harry swallowed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to Hermione’s question, but they’d been waiting too long to find out what was inside the box. Dumbledore would never have protected whatever it was so seriously if it wasn’t incredibly important. “There’s only one way to know,” he said, stepping forward hesitantly. While the others pushed their chairs back and drew their wands, Harry slowly, gently eased the tip of his wand into the crack under the lid and lifted it open.

The lid fell back, and the overhead light glinted off of crystal. There were vials—rows and rows of vials, maybe hundreds of them. Since the box was so small the vials had been Shrunk to fit inside. All except one, which was fastened carefully to the inside of the lid within a great deal of protective padding. It was about twelve centimeters tall, and was marked with a ‘01’ etched into the stopper.

“What are they?” Hermione asked. “The vials look very like the ones we use for Veritaserum, but I can’t imagine that Professor Dumbledore would have gone to such great lengths to conceal a supply of it—Snape used to have a bottle mixed and in his personal stores, everyone knew that.”

“I think all of them are numbered,” Ron said, squinting closely at the tiny vials. “I guess they’re in some kind of order?”

“Obviously number one is pretty significant,” Ginny said. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be singled out like this. But what do you put in vials that—” She gasped.

“Ginny? What is it?” Hermione asked anxiously.

Ginny had turned to look at Harry, who was staring wild-eyed at the open box. “D—Do you think they are, Harry?” Ginny asked tremulously. “Really?”

Harry nodded, looking positively sick. “What?” Hermione asked in frustration. “What?”

“Memories,” Harry whispered. “They’re Snape’s memories.”

Ron’s mouth was working, but nothing emerged. Hermione was completely at a loss. “But—but—”

“There’s nothing else, Hermione,” Ginny said, looking ill herself. “Look—” she indicated the pert of the vial labeled ‘01’ that was visible above the padding. “I can see a bit of wispy smoke inside. These are all memories.”

“But there’s hundreds of them!” Hermione exclaimed shrilly. “How could Snape have given up so many without going mad? There must be another explanation!”

“Oh yeah?” Harry said dully. “Like what?”

“Well—maybe they’re not all Snape’s memories,” Hermione suggested desperately. “Maybe they only relate to Snape, or Snape collected them for Professor Dumbledore. We know that Dumbledore had been collecting memories that were relevant to the Horcruxes—he showed them to you, Harry, and we found them in another drawer of the big chest he left you!” Harry nodded slowly as Hermione’s voice grew more confident. “Maybe these are memories that Snape collected from other Death Eaters!” Hermione gasped. “That would explain why they were so protected—anyone who saw them would know Snape was responsible!”

Harry let out a long breath. Hermione’s explanation made a good amount of sense—it made a lot more sense than the idea that Snape had had most of his life taken away and sealed in a box in Dumbledore’s possession. It would also mean that Snape had most likely been on the side of the Light all along—but somehow even that was easier to accept than the idea that all the memories were Snape’s. “So maybe they’re numbered to find specific ones,” Harry suggested tentatively. “That would mean there was a list somewhere…”

However, there was no list inside the box, nor anywhere on it. “Perhaps the numbers were only to differentiate the different vials,” Hermione offered. “It may be that it simply wasn’t important for them to be individually identified at a moment’s notice.”

“All except that one,” Ron pointed out, indicating the vial marked ‘01’. “There’s something special about that memory.”

Ginny met Harry’s eyes. “We have to watch it, Harry,” she said. “You know we do.”

Harry swallowed. “It might not be important to us—”

“You know it is,” Ginny interrupted softly. “Dumbledore left you the chest because he knew that if he died you’d carry on his hunt for the Horcruxes. Everything in the chest has been relevant, and he protected this most of all—that means it’s more valuable than anything, even what led us to the Horcruxes. We have to know.”

Numbly, Harry nodded. He sat down gingerly while Ron retrieved the large silver basin that Harry had converted into a Pensieve, and Hermione delicately lifted the vial from the lid of the small chest. Ginny moved the chest to a shelf so there was more room for the Pensieve, and Hermione uncorked the vial, upending it over the bowl. It was probably Harry’s imagination, but somehow the mist that poured from the vial seemed darker than any memory he’d yet witnessed, even those involving Voldemort himself.

Once all the mist was in the Pensieve, Hermione put the stopper back in the vial and took a deep breath. “Shall I?” she asked, and when Harry gestured vaguely she stuck her wand in the mist and chanted “Memorius Displicare!”

The mist swirled, and then solidified, showing a very familiar place: the Headmaster’s quarters at Hogwarts. A somewhat younger looking Albus Dumbledore was sinking onto the seat behind his desk, bestowing a look of perturbed kindliness on Severus Snape—who was tied to the chair in front of the desk. Snape himself couldn’t have been older than twenty-one or twenty-two, but he already clearly bore a less refined version of the cunning arrogance he had displayed right up until his death.

Dumbledore took his eyes off of Snape long enough to glance at the door, which was just closing. Once the latch had clicked Dumbledore spoke: “Well, Severus. Now that Minerva and Remus have gone, I feel we have no need for those any longer.” He flicked his wand, and the ropes binding Snape disappeared. “I never felt they were necessary, you realize,” he said apologetically, “but the restraints made the others feel safer.”

“They were not necessary, considering that you took my wand,” Snape said with a hint of menace. “I hardly pose a threat to you while unarmed.”

“My dear Severus, you pose little threat to me even with your wand,” Dumbledore replied lightly, with a twinkle of humor in his eyes. “But that’s neither here nor there. I believe you wished to speak with me in private? You were certainly trying quite hard to signal as much to me.”

Snape looked vaguely surprised that Dumbledore had picked up on his subtle indications. “Indeed. I wish to speak to you of the Dark Lord… and about my future.”

“I fear you have little of that, considering what you have done,” Dumbledore answered sadly. “Once the Ministry learns what I have learned I suspect Mr. Crouch will give you an extended stay in Azkaban. In light of the circumstances there will be little I can do to prevent it—nor do I see a good reason to try.”

“If I aid you in the war, you may see things differently,” Snape said confidently. “I know a great deal about the Dark Lord—”

“And telling what you know will certainly help your case,” Dumbledore agreed. “However, it will not be enough to exonerate you, Severus—you have gone too far into the mouth of the beast.”

Snape lifted his chin. “What if I were to go further?”

Dumbledore pondered Snape’s question. “If you are suggesting—” he started.

“You have no spies within the Dark Lord’s circle,” Snape interrupted. “I know this, because no secrets are kept from him. But if one he already trusts were to turn…” he didn’t finish the suggestion, but left it dangling for consideration.

“I am aware that Voldemort—” Dumbledore seemed not to notice that Snape flinched when he said Voldemort’s name—“has a gift for Legilimency, and he certainly has no compunction against—coercing information from those whom he suspects are lying to him. I suspect any secret would be exposed to him in short order. But that would mean he would discover your duplicity as well, Severus. The truth will out soon enough, and then where would you be?”

“At the point of the Dark Lord’s wand, no doubt,” Snape answered dismissively. “That is assuming he caught me out.”

“You are exceedingly arrogant to think that he will not,” Dumbledore chided. “Severus, I appreciate your willingness to make amends for what you have done, but there is little use in throwing your life away. Voldemort will find the truth in your mind.”

“He cannot find what isn’t there,” Snape said pointedly.

It took Dumbledore a moment to realize what Snape was saying, and when he did he was stunned speechless. “You—you cannot mean—”

“Take my memories, Headmaster,” Snape said, looking paler than usual, but determined. “You can remove any trace of this conversation from my mind, as well as any hint that my support of the Dark Lord might be wavering—and the Dark Lord will never know that I am against him.”

“Why?” Dumbledore asked. He looked shaken by the very suggestion. “And please do me the courtesy of sparing the both of us the fable of your noble conversion, Severus. What makes joining the side of the Light a more welcoming prospect?”

“Aside from avoiding Azkaban?” Snape asked sarcastically. “I have seen you both now, Dumbledore—you and the Dark Lord. You are the more powerful wizard—I have witnessed each of you use your powers, and know of what I speak. I no longer wish to be on the side that is destined to lose this war.”

“You are drawn to power,” Dumbledore stated with distaste. “It calls to you.”

“As it does all wizards,” Snape retorted sharply. “Deny it if you wish, but it is the truth. You have the power and the means—you will win this war. And I have no desire to spend the rest of my years in Azkaban.”

Dumbledore sat in thoughtful silence for a long while. “It would not work, Severus,” he said finally, and not without a hint of regret. “For many reasons. For one, you would not know what you had agreed to yourself, and would continue to follow Voldemort’s orders as though you were still his. And for another, removing memories leaves behind a hole. Each time you passed me information I would have to remove the memory of it, leaving more holes. No man could withstand that, not even one of your considerable mental acuity. You would go mad.”

“It is possible to implant false memories in place of the real ones,” Snape argued. “Simply leave me with the impression that I met with you for some reason. In fact, it would be a benefit—make me feel angry towards you and it will further convince The Dark Lord of my trustworthiness.”

“And how am I to convince you to give up your information if you yourself are convinced you are against me?” Dumbledore asked.

Snape shrugged. “Call me to your office and take them from me,” he said. “Or if that offends your sense of morality, replace the memory of this moment at those times, so I will know for certain the truth of which side I am on.”

“This is too complicated,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “And fraught with risk. If I have no hold over you, you may again turn against the side of the Light in deed as well as word.”

Snape considered that. “Then I have another suggestion,” he said finally. He looked for the first time as if he was almost convinced that he was going too far—almost but not quite.

“And that is?”

“Take my memories,” Snape said, “but not just of what we speak of. Go back into my past, and take the memories I cherish, though there are admittedly few. The spare happy moments in my life—take them as well.”

Dumbledore seemed horrified. “What purpose could that possibly serve?”

“When you remove the memory of this moment,” Snape continued, “replace it with a false one in which you forced me to give up my happiest memories. Convince me that you are holding them ransom against my loyalty, only to be returned to me once the side of the Light has defeated the Dark Lord. Enhance that precept every subsequent time you replace a memory with a false one, and in addition you may convince me that I have given you misinformation, which will please The Dark Lord. My hatred of you will be real, for I will believe you have a hold on me like no other man, and it will convince The Dark Lord that I am truly His.”

Utter silence filled the room when Snape finished speaking. Dumbledore looked truly sick, as though the very suggestion was as repulsive to him as anything he had ever seen or heard in his exceptionally long and storied life. “What you suggest is monstrous,” he whispered eventually. “Knowingly to subject yourself to such horror—the willful loss of the most precious parts of your past—an Unforgivable Curse would be less cruel.”

“At least this I may choose,” Snape answered calmly. “I look always to my future. Once the Dark Lord has been defeated, you may remove the false memories and return my past to me. I will be alive and whole, and most importantly, free.”

“And what of the prophecy?” Dumbledore asked carefully. “Voldemort knows that you know it—thank Merlin I thought to entrap you before you could send more than word of its existence. He has not heard it, but will be expecting to. I cannot allow that to happen, but he will know if I take it. In fact, if I did not he would suspect something was amiss, for why would I take your best memories and yet send you back to him with such potent knowledge?”

For the first time, Snape appeared stymied. “I do not know,” he admitted reluctantly. “I cannot think of how to reconcile this.”

“Perhaps I do,” Dumbledore said, surprisingly. “I can, with great effort, remove a small portion of your memory of that night—enough that the prophecy remains, but only in part. If I removed the second half, the most significant information would be safe.”

“And I may tell The Dark Lord that I fought you in this,” Snape offered, “and managed to keep you from taking that memory, though you thought you had. I will say I fought most vehemently for that memory, knowing its importance to the Dark Lord.”

Dumbledore contemplated for another moment before nodding. “I do believe it would work,” he said cautiously. “But even so, Severus… I am stunned—beyond stunned, I am flabbergasted—that we are even discussing this. Such a sacrifice is against your very nature. Would you even consider it if you were not at the mercy of the Ministry’s justice?”

“Does it matter if I would?” Snape retorted with a sneer. “That is not the current situation! It is irrelevant! I will do what I must to survive and prosper!”

“You would be moving from underneath Voldemort’s thumb to under my own,” Dumbledore said uncomfortably. “It is not particularly fair to you, not at all.”

“Fairness hardly matters in war,” Snape replied curtly. “The side that fights fairly is destined to lose.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips, but didn’t protest again. “If you are certain,” he said, standing, “then we must begin at once. The Aurors will arrive soon, and you must be prepared to give them all the information you have. Then we shall explain the plan to them—”

“No, you fool!” Snape growled. “The Dark Lord has eyes everywhere! No one else can know, or he will in short order!”

Dumbledore paused, and then sighed. “You are right, of course. Honestly, Severus—there will be no one with a more lonely life than you, and it may be years before the war is over.”

“My life has always been a solitary one, by choice,” Snape said forcefully. “You are being too sentimental, Headmaster, and we haven’t the time for it. I am giving you permission to do this—it is the best choice for both of us.”

“Why?” Dumbledore asked one final time. “There are many options available that would be advantageous to you, as well as to the side of the Light. Why is this the best choice for you?”

Snape raised his head proudly. “That, Headmaster Dumbledore, is the one thing I will ask you to allow to remain undisclosed.”

“That is not exactly reassuring, Severus.”

I was not attempting to be,” said Snape. “Everyone has their secrets. In very short order you will know most of mine. My motivations I must retain as my own. We haven’t got time to argue further!” he snapped when Dumbledore appeared ready to protest. “As you said, the Aurors may be here any moment--don’t allow your sentimentality to cost you this coup! My reasons are sufficient for my own sake!”

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. “Out of respect for your impending sacrifice I shall not press you further.” He raised his wand, pointing it at Snape, who somehow managed not to flinch. “Know this, Severus: I swear to you that, depending upon your actions, I shall make certain you receive the acclaim—or punishment—you deserve. Are you prepared?”

“Do I have your word, on your honor, that you shall return my memories to me when the Dark Lord is finally defeated?” Snape asked.

“You have my word.”

“Then I am prepared.”

Dumbledore nodded; the look of respect on his face was unmistakable. “Brace yourself, then,” he said. “Memorius Extreccen!”

The memory blinked out abruptly, most likely because Dumbledore had removed it from Snape’s head. The smoke dropped back into the Pensieve, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny staring at each other in complete and utter disbelief.

No one spoke for a long time. No one could speak—there was simply no way to express in words what they were feeling about what they’d just witnessed. Finally Ginny half-turned and lifted the box off the shelf with trembling hands. She set it delicately on the table beside the Pensieve and gently opened the lid to reveal the rows of Shrunken vials. “He said there weren’t many,” she whispered. “He said that—that there were very few memories that he cherished. But there are so many vials…”

“The others must—must be the subsequent times that Dumbledore removed memories of their arrangement,” Hermione replied in a shaky voice. “Merlin, there must have been hundreds of times…”

“Snape had hundreds of false memories,” Ron breathed. “And every one of them was supposed to make him think Dumbledore was holding his best memories hostage! He—he must have hated Dumbledore more than anything! But he couldn’t act on it, because…”

“Because he’d never get his memories back if he did,” Ginny finished. “And—and as twisted as it is, he must have been desperate for Dumbledore to not die, because Dumbledore was the only person who knew which of Snape’s memories were false and which were real! He was the only one who could have undone all the damage to Snape’s past…”

“Snape let Dumbledore upend his entire life!” Hermione exclaimed. “Just so he could successfully spy on Voldemort! That—that’s one of the bravest, riskiest things I’ve ever heard of!”

“Oh, come off it, Hermione!” Harry snarled, shocking the others. “Snape wouldn’t have even considered it if he hadn’t been caught! He was heading to Azkaban if he didn’t—he was over a barrel, so he made a deal!”

“But it was his idea,” Ron said nervously, as if he were afraid Harry was going to start screaming like he had before.

“Yeah, because he thought it would be better than Azkaban,” Harry said, picking out the words deliberately. “Snape probably thought that with his help the war would be over in no time!” He settled down reluctantly when no one challenged him. “This explains a lot about Snape we didn’t understand before,” he said more calmly. “Hermione, Ron—do you remember when we were in the hospital right after the Third Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament? Fudge had just made an ass of himself, pretending that Voldemort wasn’t back? After Fudge left, Dumbledore started giving orders, and when he got to Snape, he said, ‘You know what I must ask you to do,’ and asked if Snape was prepared. Snape must have gone and moved his own memories into the Pensieve—all of them except this one we just watched. He must have let Dumbledore do that one.”

“That would mean that years ago, after Voldemort was hurt while trying to kill you, Dumbledore restored Snape’s memories,” Hermione said. “And then Dumbledore made him do it again…”

“It also explains the argument between Dumbledore and Snape that Hagrid overheard last year,” Ron said. “You know, when Snape said he didn’t want to do something any more, and Dumbledore told him he had to? Snape must have been begging Dumbledore to let him stop spying and give him back his memories!”

Ginny gulped. “That—that’s really sad,” she said faintly.

“Sad? Sad?” Harry gasped. “Ginny, everything he did, he did out of self-interest! He didn’t give a damn about who won the war so long as he got to survive!”

“How do you know?” Ginny countered. “He admitted that he kept his real reasons for switching sides to himself. And it’s sad, Harry, because Snape spent the last two and a half years of his life without his most precious memories—believing, in fact, that they’d been stolen by Dumbledore! He thought he was being forced to do something he didn’t want to do! And when he killed Dumbledore—”

Harry glared furiously at Ginny, who’d trailed off. “What?” he demanded. “What about when he murdered Dumbledore?”

Ginny looked up at Harry, meeting his anger with her own sorrow. “Snape wanted to kill Dumbledore, I’m sure of it,” she said. “But not for the reasons we thought. He wanted to do it because he thought Dumbledore was the truly evil one, holding the only happy times in Snape’s life against him. And at the same time, he probably was forced to do it finally by the Unbreakable Vow he was under… because he knew that Dumbledore was the only one who could restore his memories, and killing Dumbledore meant that would never happen. The Unbreakable Vow forced Snape to permanently give up his only chance to regain his happiness. And he knew it, even as he was casting the Killing Curse.”

“Snape was torn between his obligations,” Hermione said. “He was committed to Voldemort out of fear, and compelled to follow Dumbledore to keep out of Azkaban, atone for his past actions, to get his memories back and for his own unstated reasons. Those together forced him to make an Unbreakable Vow, probably against his better judgment—which eventually lost him any hope of escaping his obligations when he killed Dumbledore. And then—then we put a geas on him that forced him to—to—” Hermione wiped at the tears on her cheeks, unable to continue.

“He—there can’t have been much in Snape’s life that he did by choice,” Ginny lamented. “None of it means he was a good person—we’ll never know for sure what reasons he had to offer to take that path. But who knows what he would have been if his life had been his own?”