Tales from Purgatory

Chapter 1

A/N: Well, this is my first foray into a non-Phantom fandom. It's my first HP fic, so be merciful (but not too merciful…). It'll be relatively short, 3-4 parts or so, and this will likely be the briefest chapter. It's highly theoretical and a little dark. All reviews are welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own even the tiniest piece of the Harry Potter franchise that was created by the brilliant J.K. Rowling. This was written for fun, and I make no profit off of it.

He remembered everything now. For the past 8 hours and 30 minutes, he had no time for memories; thoughts of yesterday had no place in the planning of tomorrow. Especially not when tomorrow was to be one of the darkest days of his life. Not his darkest, certainly, but black enough to warrant despair.

Despair.

His life was filled with nothing but despair in its many forms. Sadness, anger, fear, bitterness, rebellion, anguish, resignation, he had never known what it was like to be content. He had his moments of happiness, but they were flames too often snuffed out by the fingers of fate. His fate. Her fate. The fate of his savior, the fate of the boy before him.

Indeed, the fate of the pale young man in front of him was now in his hands. He had never truly wanted to be the ruler of a destiny not his own. He had said as much mere weeks ago, when he had humbled himself before the man he felt obliged to call his leader and asked – in a dry and flippant manner – that he be excused from his mission. He said his thoughts were straying from the cause, that he had lost the will to perform his duties to the best of his ability.

He was dismissed, as usual. He was shown once again the truth he always knew to be infallible – that no one was listening. No one really wanted to. Oddly enough, he thought he had stopped caring.

"Where are we Severus?"

There was that same poncy, upper-crust accent that his ears felt little disdain towards day after day. It was the voice of a spoiled, selfish child with no mind or voice of his own. He was no more than a mouthpiece for his outrageously arrogant father, which was a shame in a wizard with the potential for such a fertile intellect. That voice should have incited his wrath, but instead it sucked fragile strings of pity from his normally empty heart.

"In a world between Wizard and Muggle." Severus answered stiffly. "In a place where they will not find us until we are ready to found by the man who is certainly destined to uncover us."

"Snape, take me back…" That voice, so filled with smug confidence before, now shook with the uncertainty of a dependent child separated from his parents in Diagon Alley. He would allow the boy a reprieve, if only this once. He had, after all, been through quite a shock today.

"Where would you have me deliver you, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape let his posture falter slightly under the gravity of his words. They fell upon him heavily, like a great black cloud intent to rain on his greasy head exclusively. Such is the way of the world, it seemed.

There was nowhere to take his young charge. There was no home for him, no sanctuary that would contain the comforts to which he had grown accustomed. He pitied the boy, yes, but he also knew that he brought this upon himself when failing to do what he could never have dreamed of having the conviction or coldness to do.

"We can't stay here Prof…Severus," Draco's voice was trembling even as he fought hard to keep it steady. He was, at that moment, no more than a meager house-elf who had been kicked one too many times in too quick a succession, "there isn't anything here."

"We'll make do."

The boy's words were true. They were ensconced in what seemed to be an endless chamber of black and gray. No walls or ceilings could be seen, but the feeling of entrapment lingered. There was ground beneath their feet, warmth in the air, and slight sounds emanating from the eternal beyond surrounding them, but the world was devoid of familiarity.

"It is but a new plane of existence Severus, a world of requirement, if you will…"

Oh, how Snape wished he had listened more closely to the Headmaster's words that morning.

"Do you have your wand, Draco?" Snape asked.

The boy felt around frantically in his robes before his alarmed visage fell into relief.

"It's here."

"Good."

"Please tell me where we are…" Malfoy was pleading now. It was difficult to see a young man so full of fallacious strength crumble under the weight of fear and doubt, but it could only be expected. He was only a boy.

"You will take him Severus, you will protect the wizard who cannot protect himself, and you will teach the man who cannot be taught. He will need you, he is only a boy."

Snape bowed his head stiffly to Albus in memory.

"I don't know where we are, Draco."

"Then how…"

"Don't interrupt."

Malfoy obliged. Words often escape those who are drowning in their own confusion.

"I do not know where we are exactly, which is good. If I do not know, they do not know."

"Who is 'they'?" Snapped Draco.

"Everyone, Mr. Malfoy. You and I, it seems, have incurred the wrath of many people this night."

Draco paused before nodding. Snape looked at him thoughtfully, he truly looked terrible. His hair was tangled and dirty, his skin so pale and sickly that tiny blue veins could be seen near his temples. His collarbones jutted out harshly against the pristine fabric of his once impeccably clean robes. He had suffered much in so short a time, and his pain had manifested itself in his ailing health. Fighting a battle with one's self was never easy. The wounds were often deep, and they seldom ever healed.

"They all want to kill us, don't they, Severus?" Draco's voice was a mere whisper as he anxiously cracked his knuckles – a very common and unpureblood thing to do. Wouldn't Lucius just want to hang himself with his own ass-grazing hair if he saw his Death Eater-in-training wringing his hands and cracking his knuckles like a nervous, elderly Muggle.

Snape was thoughtful for a moment.

"Yes, for now they do, but they will not find us. When they do, we will know what to say."

Waiting is never easy, Severus, but neither is atoning for our actions of the past. It is doing what is not easy that gives us strength."

"Whose side are we on, Severus?"

Snape was silent. Here was the temporary end of the journey, however indefinite. The battle raged at Hogwarts was over, the Headmaster was dead and the Dark Lord was recruiting steadily. He and Draco were alone in a world of their own necessity for now, and while they were there they needed to make the best of it. The "best," in this instance, would be to tell his fellow prisoner the story of how what came to be had come to be.

"It is not about sides, Mr. Malfoy," Snape began, "it is about self-preservation. You're a Slytherin, are you not? Surely is a concept you grasp."

"I haven't been feeling well-preserved as of late!" Draco swore silently under his breath and ran his hands through his hair, which seemed thinner and more unruly than it had the year prior. He massaged his neck roughly, as though he were half-inclined to attempt to strangle himself.

"Everything has gone wrong, Snape. So, so wrong…" His voice was wistful as it drifted off. Everything about him had seemed to fade, from the deep royal green of his robes to the flashing grey of his eyes. He seemed dull and weak.

"We do not fight for Albus Dumbledore, nor do we fight for the Dark Lord. We, or at least I, will fight to atone for something that happened many, many years ago."

"I'm a poor fighter, Professor." Draco's former blind confidence had grown as dull and listless as his eyes.

"You are young."

If it was comfort that Snape was required to offer, he could only do it with so much inhibition. He was not one to console others; it made him feel as though he was stepping too far out of his own skin.

"I've failed, I dreamed of becoming powerful. Then the time came to prove myself, and I didn't want power anymore. I wished I was dead."

The air grew heavy with tension, thick and unyielding. Only mere hours ago the sky was aflame with hexes. Blood-red curses were thrown through the air, aimed at scurrying witches and wizards who fired back in retaliation. No one ever knew that light could be so ugly, so threatening. Words that were spoken so fast that they sounded like nonsense polluted the silence with their brutality. Torture and death flew out of every wand, and there was nothing that could stop it. A battle was not won with words.

"I've been vomiting a lot, Severus. I vomited more this past week than I have in the past ten years of my life combined." Draco wiped his mouth rapidly, as if to erase his impulsive words and eradicate the taste of his fears.

Snape's lips curled upwards in a grimace, his eyes closing in frustration.

"Thank you for that, Mr. Malfoy."

The discussion of fear did not need to include the discussion of bodily functions.

An uncomfortable silence descended upon them. Draco sat down upon the ground that was hazy and uneven. His fingers caressed the landscape curiously, but he felt nothing unusual.

"Prof…Severus," Draco began, "what are you atoning for, exactly?"

Snape noticed the sarcasm in Malfoy's voice and felt a mixture of irritation and relief. Irritation in being mocked in regards to the greatest tragedy of his life, and relief that some snarky immaturity was creeping back into Draco's hollowed shell.

"Do you really want to know, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape turned his back to the young wizard and straightened his robes thoughtfully. His face felt flushed and his breathing quickened. It was frightening to go grave-digging when the corpses of years past wanted so desperately to remain in peace. There was too much horror to be uncovered when that lid was opened, too much pain and anguish to face for a second time. The reality of life and death. Of pain and pleasure. Of promises and betrayal. Of Truth and deception.

"I think I need to know," Draco began, "wouldn't you say?"

Snape spun around swiftly and stalked towards the prone fallen Slytherin warrior. Draco backed up slightly when the toe of his Head of House's leather boot nearly touched his knee. The former Potions Master leaned over him slightly, his eyes narrowing into beady black slits as his lips drew together tightly. He had a great air of intimidating authority, even in his weakest moments.

He spoke softly, "I have a tale for you, one that you will find most… shocking."

Draco stared up at Snape, transfixed, frightened, and intrigued simultaneously.

"I'm listening."

"Are you?"

"I said I was."

"Good. Let us hope to Merlin that you hear what I have to say and think on it accordingly. What you will hear may horrify you to the very depths of your being, as witches and wizards of your upbringing often cannot stomach stories like the one I am about to tell you. At your age, I could have barely accepted it myself."

"Please, get on with it, we haven't got all…"

"Day, Draco?" Snape inquired dryly. "On the contrary, we have several days, perhaps more."