Ascendo Tuum

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

"It's about time, Witch," Severus growled as the door opened. "You thought you could just leave me here to rot."

"Please." She rolled her eyes. "It's prison; you're here to rot."

Hermione couldn't believe his gall. She was there to bring him his Christmas goodies, nasty pickled walnuts and all that, and the man had the audacity to grumble about his lot in life. Did he not know he was surrounded by lifeless bodies who'd never have another Christmas? Clearly, he lacked perspective.

Hermione pinched her forehead between her eyebrows and threw his boxes to the bed. As Severus sorted through them like an eager child, Hermione dropped into the armchair, completely exhausted.

Severus eyed his bride over his shoulder. He was certain she'd say something stupid like, 'Oh, my dear, sweet Severus, you won't rot here in prison much longer. My wonderful, brave Gryffindor buddies and I have taken it upon ourselves to prove your innocence. You'll finally be touted as the War Hero you really are,' or some other such claptrap. By the indifference she'd shown him, that was plainly not in the cards. Thank the gods.

"Well," he encouraged. "Where've you been? Don't think I won't let this indiscretion go unpunished."

"I was busy."

"Busy!" he shouted, dropping a very nice bottle of sixteen-year-old Ogden's back on the bed.

Admittedly, the excuse did sound a bit flimsy, but at least she hadn't said anything about having to wash her hair, or 'Nargles ate my homework' Hermione justified. "I do have a life, you know. We've been over this before. And it's not like I let you starve, either."

"Pathetic. Hermione, if you're going to lie, at least try to sound somewhat convincing about it. If you can't lie successfully then at least tell the truth. Your proud Gryffindor bravery failed you."

She narrowed her eyes. "I said I was busy; I don't have to justify anything to you. And I certainly don't have to defend the honor of my House to a Slytherin."

Was he trying to provoke a fight? It certainly sounded like it. He was being childish enough to bring up old House rivalries. Didn't that get old after graduation? Someone must have missed nap time.

"Some Gryffindor you are," he snorted. "Scared away by the innuendos of a man who knows nothing. You couldn't dare face me with the suspicion that I might not be a common murderer."

"Yeah? How 'bout that, Snape? Were you really wrongly accused? Because the rest of the world and I have it on very good authority that you murdered Dumbledore. What did that poor old man ever do to you, huh? Offer you one too many lemon drops? Offend your fashion sense by dressing in brightly clashing robes? He certainly didn't hold you back from worshiping at the feet of your precious Dark Lord." With a satisfying feral grin, Hermione watched him recoil from her words.

"Tell me, Snape, what caused you to hate the Headmaster so much that you killed him for it?"

"Because he asked me to!" Severus raged, pulling at his lank hair. "I only did everything that man asked of me, and he had to ask to do that."

"What did you say?" she whispered.

Severus sat on the bed, his head in his hands. "He asked me to do it. Begged me to. My soul's already damned; Albus probably figured 'what's another spot on an already blackened soul?' I owed a life debt to James Potter and was responsible for his murder. Do you have any idea what kind of taint that puts on a man? By karmic law, I'm damned; no amount of atonement will ever be enough to absolve my sins. Albus knew it and took advantage of me."

"You're not making any sense." No, no sense at all, but she'd obviously hit such a nerve that he was crouched on the bed, looking less like a former Death Eater and more like a trembling, scared boy. Hermione still kept away; it wouldn't be prudent to offer comfort to a Death Eater or approach him. Caged animals were notorious for striking without warning.

She hadn't known he was religious, either, and she wondered about his upbringing, but then Hermione postulated that was probably the effect of all prisons. Ruminating on life, death and the afterlife while stuck in a cell tended to make many thick-skinned criminals fear for the condition of their souls.

"What part of it is supposed to make sense, Hermione? It never made any sense to me."

She took a deep, calming breath and tried to match his exasperated tone with gentleness. "Well, let's start at the beginning. What happened on that tower?" Despite his protestations, Hermione could see he was itching to get his story off his chest.

He looked up, startled. "That," he hissed, "is certainly not the beginning. The end... only the end..." Severus shook his head as if the action could make it all not true.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You mentioned that he asked you to kill him." In her mind, Hermione was mulling over what exactly that meant, and the only thing she could come up with was assisted suicide... if you could believe the testimony of a convicted Death Eater. "Why would he ask that of you?"

Severus gave a dry, mirthless laugh before stretching out on the bed. "Million Galleon question. He believed he was dying from the curse of Marvolo's ring, but I never believed that." Severus turned his head to eye his witch. She was listening attentively, hanging on every word, looking every bit like a bushy-haired, eleven-year-old swot itching to wave her hand in the air. She wanted a story... Severus would give her a story; then maybe he'd have his peace.

He cleared his throat and began again in his soft, silken lecture tones, "The Dark Lord sent Draco to kill the Headmaster. Albus knew this, of course."

"That's why he was on the tower that night..."

"Don't interrupt!" he barked. "You're so damned sure you want to know what happened, you will hear me out to the end and not interrupt. Impudent girl."

"Albus was always a softy. He cared more for that little shit's life than mine. He couldn't stand the idea that Draco would cast the killing curse and damn his soul. They're called Unforgivables for a reason, Hermione, and it has nothing to do with the Wizengamot. Steeped in old magic and rooted in tradition, some say that the damage done to your soul by casting an Unforgivable makes you so unworthy by the gods that neither penance nor self-flagellation can tip the scales back in your favor. Albus believed he was saving Draco from that fate. A fate he didn't mind damning me to.

"Of course, I never bought that story, either. Draco was a shit, if ever there was a shit. It was only a matter of time before he threw an Unforgivable, and we know he proved himself quite adept at those on the battlefield. Gods, how the son degenerates from the sire." Severus shook his head and closed his eyes to blot out images and fractured emotions spiraling within.

"And of course, the Headmaster was convinced that his murder would ingratiate me back into the Dark Lord's inner circle and dispel their rumors about my loyalties. He even gave me permission to take an oath for Narcissa. Stupid. Of course, it put me in with the Dark Lord's ranks, but only to the exclusion of the Order. How bloody useful is a spy you can't trust? Nothing I did was good enough to prove my worth. The intelligence I risked my hide and hair to gather was naturally dismissed by the Order. They burned it all without even looking at it.

"So you want to know why Albus asked me to murder him? Go ask the man himself; I doubt I'll ever know." It was a hollow sacrifice, and Severus knew to the very fiber of his being he'd find no redemption in it, either.

He should have died. Severus believed it to his very foundation. He was the old curmudgeon, with more dead and withered limbs than the Headmaster. He was the one who deserved it.

"It doesn't sound like murder to me," she said in a small voice.

"Idiot girl, you would say that. It doesn't matter: you're quibbling over semantics. An Avada is an Avada. Killed... murdered... what's the difference?"

"Intent?" she offered carefully.

"Intent?" he snorted. "I bloody knocked him off a six-story tower. What do you think the intent was there?"

They were quiet for a minute. Not only was Hermione rendered speechless, but her brain had slowed down to such a trickle she couldn't process the new information. The only logical conclusion she could come up with was, if, and only IF, Severus was telling the truth, then he hadn't actually betrayed the Order. The Headmaster had been right. Of course, the painted facsimile ever-so-slightly forgot to mention his death had been a direct order. That sort of omission was disgraceful.

She had had a hard enough time coming to terms with his betrayal then; he was extraordinarily difficult to get along with, had an absolutely irascible temper, but he was never really what he seemed. All of their accusations against the heartless wizard had turned out to be unfounded. Years of slowly simmering anger toward him did not make her predisposed to believe his innocence so easily. Now from the lips of so many, it was difficult to hear. She had heard he was innocent. Wrapping her head around that idea was strange and foreign. Looking at the hollow man in front of her, she accepted the truth. Apparently, he could not.

As she studied him closer, she saw the blame he directed at himself and his painful self-loathing, the way he looked so... broken, Hermione no longer believed he deserved his fate. She longed to weep piteously with him, even though it was obvious that he would not yield to tears. Later, though, she would shed them for him. Cry for the once proud wizard who touched her heart with his abject pain.

"So, what exactly were you thinking about when you cast the curse? You had to be channeling some anger..."

"Some anger? Are you really that dense, girl? Of course I had to be angry, that's how you cast an Unforgivable." He paused. "I was pissed off. Furious, really."

"Why?"

"Why else? I was angry with that bastard for making me do it. There had to be another way, but he wouldn't hear of it. When the Great Albus Fucking Dumbledore made up his sugar-saturated mind, or gods forbid, thought he was working for the greater fucking good, he was obstinate and inflexible."

"But you never actually desired to see him dead," Hermione mused.

"Why are you beating this dead Thestral, Granger?"

"Because we're talking about the difference between capital murder, manslaughter, and assisted suicide!"

"Oh, bloody fucking hell!" He sat up and leaned forward in to Hermione's face.

The cell was small enough that she was inches from his snarling face and could even smell his mint tooth powder.

"You don't get it, do you? It doesn't matter why I killed Albus, just that I did. With a bit of foolish wand waving I killed him, and this is my consequence, my fate. And he's not the only soul I have on my conscience, either. Or did you think the Death Eaters were a stamp-collecting club? That we took a break from revels to have a spot of tea? That our mayhem was just a bit of youthful exuberance. You know, a bit of 'boys will be boys?'"

"No..." she answered, trying to keep her voice from quavering.

"Then stop your line of inquiry. Smartest witch of your age? Really?"

"But the charges against you are only for Professor Dumbledore's murder."

"I know," he said dully. "Order members sitting on the Wizengamot set it up that way so I'd only have to appeal that one charge." There was a strange bitterness in his voice as if he was disappointed that he had help from the Order in his trial.

"But it's only one charge."

"Which means what, Granger? The Wizengamot didn't need to level anything more against me. I'd been acquitted of being a Death Eater once, thanks to Albus; to charge me again could be considered double jeopardy. Besides, don't you think murdering the greatest wizard the Light had was grounds enough?"

"But only if you're guilty!" She rubbed her face. Why was he so stubborn?

"Stop!" he commanded. "I refuse to put up with any more of your misguided sentimentalities. There is enough innocent blood on these hands without Albus' murder to taint them. And, Granger, if you continue this insane line of thinking, do you really understand where it will lead? If by some act of true stupidity you get the Wizengamot to overturn my conviction and I leave Azkaban, are you really so eager to welcome me into your arms? What happened to our perfect marriage of convenience? Would you really want to wake up in the mornings to this face?"

"Not really," she admitted softly, choking slightly on the words as they tripped out.

Of course, that was what she was thinking. There was a deep-seated sense of justice ingrained into her. Simply stated, the wrongly convicted should be exonerated. Even if he was convicted of manslaughter or assisted suicide, it was more than likely that he'd already served the time. Hermione would just have to reconcile that she could live with herself knowing that Snape was innocent and languishing in prison, and she wanted to keep him there to avoid the restrictions of the fucking Marriage Law again.

Hermione knew what she should have done. She should have married Gilderoy Bleeding Lockhart. At least then they'd have deep discussions about morality and the weight of immortal spirits while watching Powerpuff Girls. Okay, so technically, she could babble to herself about existentialism and the human condition, and he could eat his Choco Wizardflakes.

He retrieved a box from the bookshelf and shoved it in her hand. "Your Christmas gift, my dearest. Take it now and go. I have no more patience for your foolishness, nor do I want to be one of your crusades."

Hermione nodded and quickly left him to his brooding silence, but she didn't go far. She observed him from the jailer's slot... looking peaceful? Relieved?

Severus was grateful for her hasty departure; it gave him the opportunity to relax. And breathe.

He felt surprisingly good. Really good.

Perhaps the sages were right. Confession was good for the soul.

She didn't have to empathize or have sympathy for him, as he'd never been one to throw his own pity party. Wallow in shame...yes, that was understandable; he was after all, a murdering fucking Death Eater. But Hermione just had to know the unadulterated truth; how she chose to interpret it was entirely up to her. Someone had to just know; he couldn't go to his death with no one knowing. And in sharing the truth, the burden on his soul felt a hair lighter.

*

A/N:

Chapter title: Ascendo tuum - Up yours

'Gods, how the son degenerates from the sire.' Quote borrowed from Homer.