A/N: Hi there! So I took a slight break from TTE to get this little ditty on paper (or Word Doc...whatever, you get what I mean). My mind can rest and I can get back to my other lovely story. Let me know what you think.

THE PRODIGAL SON: Musings of Severus Tobias Snape: circa 1981

Luke 15: 21-24

"The son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.'

"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate.For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate.

I always thought that story was a bunch of rubbish. No decent, sane man alive, muggle or wizard alike, would ever grant forgiveness for such a foolish man. He insulted the very place of his upbringing. He wasted all that was in his fortune on the equivalent of prostitution and drugs and dangerous behavior. And without a single, bloody question, without a justified explanation, the old codger welcomed him back into his good graces.

Now, I don't consider myself even remotely a religious man. But because of my muggle roots, and the more often than not incapacitated states of my parents, I was shoved off to every available next door neighbor willing to take me in until I was old enough to watch my own arse and stay out of trouble, if I could avoid it. It seemed that the older I got, the older the other children in my neighborhood grew as well. And soon they realized what trash I belonged to. I suppose they believed I had no real justification of existence. Still, I tolerated well. When drunken Tobias Snape was your blessing of a father figure, one got used to being seen as a burden.

Enough of that depressing, self pitying, blundering behavior…

As I was saying, I saw the inside of numerous homes all around Spinner's End as a child. The majority of them were just as decrepit as the one I lived in. But a fair few were hospitable enough to make a young boy see it as their own personal paradise. Apart from the edible delectable small treats, what I loved about those rare encounters at those gracious homes was their…behavior. For once, I wasn't a burden to anyone. I wasn't some five year old pariah, and for the longest time, these homes gave me that little flame of hope, flickering inside my naïve and innocent soul. It made me hold out for a little longer. Some day, the clouds would part, and I would get the life I deserved. A happy life.

One of my favorite homes to stay with was the Marshalls. To this day, I can't recall a family that was more in tune and kind. They taught me chess, and already at a young age my strategies amazed them all. But apart from the other trivial sort of entertainment, I took most pleasure in the stories they would read to me.

When I was taken back into my real home, these stories made me thrive. No longer was I pent up in my dilapidated bedroom, or forced to listen to the screams and cries from my mother and father. I could escape! For weeks, I thrived on my adventures in the deep blue seas, searching for monsters in my submarine and surviving treacherous storms and engulfing whirlpools. And just as soon as I reached the furthest depths of the ocean, I was soaring high above the heights of England, feeling the wind rushing through my hair, and sinking in the sensation that felt like absolute freedom.

A young boy could easily understand these exciting adventures. But some habits always stay with you, and I can say that since I could crawl I always had an undying thirst to learn, and even more so a thirst to understand things that I couldn't truly comprehend. Everything had to have a logical, reasonable, explanation.

Which, I suppose is why I was always intrigued by the stories in the big family Bible sitting there on the end mantle. Originally, I think the intentions of the Marshalls were to engage me with the intricate artwork. The pictures were indeed beautiful, and just when I began to inspect them, a flow of questions could not stop erupting.

So they told me all they could explain to a child of my age. I heard their ideas of the creation of man, of paradise, and the downfall and disobedience of man. Then the stories of Abraham, of his descendents. I particularly enjoyed the ones centering on the young boys of the Bible: Pharaoh Joseph and his glorious coat, young David and Goliath, and a few others. It was very easy for them to turn these legends into engaging tales with enthralling voices and enthusiastic gestures.

Maybe it was because I was getting older, and these 'tall tales' were no longer holding my interests, or maybe it was because the concepts they were teaching were getting harder to explain logically, but the New Testament stories were something that angered me. I would lie in bed at night, pondering all that they told me and preached to me. And I could not make sense of it at all.

I would think about what they said about that Jewish man who came to this world to "redeem others." He claimed he would save us from sin and death. Save us? Sin and Death were inevitable! I saw it creeping on every street corner for most of my existence. I witnessed extreme hardship and suffering inside the walls of the place I had to call home. What kind of "merciful Father" would allow His "children" to undergo that kind of life? How did we deserve such torture when the only thing we did wrong was to be born to those parents? It made no sense to me, and it burned like a raging fire down in the pit of my stomach. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't deserve to be unloved!

The more they read, the more closed I became. I did not want to hear stories of miracles. Where was my miracle? I did all that I could to not slink down in the slums like my surroundings. I was trying my best to become that better person, so when would I receive the rich blessings that Book always talked about?

Little did I know, the miracles came and went unnoticed. I was waiting for some big sign, like the parting of the Red Sea by Moses, or the healing of the lepers. But the little things that brought me pleasure were supposed to be my anchors. And, like a typical weakness of mine, I took advantage of it and missed it dreadfully when it was gone.

First, it was those loving visits with the Marshalls. And then I grew too old. I didn't need them to look after me, and mother despised me visiting others. Eileen Snape was already livid at the ludicrous stories they planted in my head about salvation and happiness. She said it was giving me a false sense of reality, and what we had now was what we would always get. By the age of seven, I never stepped foot in their home ever again. Even though I could barely reach the handles of the cabinets in the kitchen, mother claimed I was ready to care for myself.

Most of the time, she would want me to leave the house, but not speak to anyone, for fear of having everything taken away from her because I would utter "some sort of nonsense." There were a few times I remember Social Services arriving at my home. Mysteriously, mother sent them away and they never came knocking. How I prayed they would come back and take me away from the horrors of home. But then again, I heard foster care wasn't much better than what I had.

So I wandered alone. I saw children playing in the alleyways, but I never dared to join in the games. My magic was already sparking uncontrollably, and it gave them reason enough not to associate with me. Truth be told, I preferred the solitude. The peace of the gentle blowing breeze and the pleasant song from the birds in the sky was a relief compared to the fights I heard everyday at home.

And then my second miracle happened. Another sign that perhaps was supposed to say someone up above really did care about me. I never ventured out to the other side of town, but for some reason my feet led me to the playground a dozen blocks away. And then I saw her. I remember specifically what she wore. A light pink paisley sundress and a matching ribbon in her auburn hair. I never saw anything so colorful in my life.

But I was shy. I never talked to a girl, let alone someone my own age. So, I settled to watching her play. And to my pleasant surprise, I saw her fly. It was unlike anything I saw before, and I witnessed much magic growing up. She flew gracefully off the swing, landing yards away from where she first took off, her bright cheerful giggle resonating throughout the enclosed playground. Numerous times she completed this feat, and I was just as enamored with it like it was the first time.

I guess I never thought that another witch or wizard was around my stomping grounds. I understood how other muggle children treated me for being different, and I knew one day she would be rejected just the same. I had to plan carefully how I could approach her.

The day I first spoke with Lily (she never told me her name, but I heard her sister calling out to her the afternoons that they spent on that swing set) went a completely different direction than I wanted. I wished her nosey sister minded her own business, but she never left her little sister's side. And then, my patience waned, and I blurted out the truth as that beautiful flower bloomed in her small hand.

Lily was insulted when I called her a witch, but she didn't understand the truth. Her sister wasn't much help, either. I shuffled home that day, more dejected than I had ever felt before. I lost my only chance to talk to someone who was just like me.

And then, days later as I was strolling near the river bank, I saw her. I suppose she began following me when I stopped showing up to the playground. Her auburn hair was down, being gently tossed by the light summer breeze in the air. For a moment, I swore she was a mirage, but it was real. And as we sat on that grassy knoll, a beautiful friendship began, one that helped me survived the rest of my days at home until we left for Hogwarts.

I can't tell you the exact time that I fell in love with her. My naïve self made it all too easy to do so. I never saw it coming. Perhaps it was when I first laid eyes on her, that day on the playground. Or maybe it was at the end of my third year, when she and I laid by the Black Lake amidst the glow of our lantern charms. As that soft glow gently reflected off her shimmering hair, and glittered in those green eyes I adored so much, I blurted out that she was beautiful, and her face blushed a deep crimson while a small bashful smile spread across her face.

I knew then that I loved her dearly. And I swear to you all, she loved me back. No one can look at someone the way she did. It was intense, emotional. Something that I can honestly say I've never witnessed again in my life with anyone else. If that isn't love, what is?

Lily was my small ray of happiness in my life. I was kidding myself all those years back that things would change as soon as I went to Hogwarts. No. I was still a pariah outside the confines of the Slytherin Common Room. That damn, cursed Potter and his cronies did all they could to make my life miserable. But I knew that I would always have the upper hand as long as Lily was mine. James loathed that she gave me that special look, and that she couldn't stand the likes of him. There were days Lily would leave the room whenever Potter or Black showed up. And I gloated.

I don't know when things began to change. The older we got, the more Lily became used to the behaviors of Potter and company. I suppose that since she had the ability to stay in their presence for an allotted amount of time, I never had the chance of spending the time with her as I used to. But I suppose that it was also because it was harder and harder to be alone with the girl without having a long period of heavy silence, sparking the air with unspoken words, unchartered waters, anxiousness, and yet a touch of excitement. I desperately wished that her Gryffindor instincts would have come out and we could have talked about it. Perhaps if that was what had happened, we could have had something more wonderful between us than that friendship I cherished. But we never brought it up. And soon, the time I spent with Lily was replaced by my brothers in Slytherin.

Truth be told, I was intoxicated by the attention my other housemates bestowed upon me. I was respected. My opinion mattered for once, and no one dared to cross me. Soon, the alumni asked me to join their society, and I vowed as soon as I completed my education, I would join them. Many of them were Purebloods, so they were born into money and power. But I knew that I could rise in the ranks just as easily.

Habits are hard to break, especially when it came to the words I used with my friends. Lily and I had been arguing a few days earlier. We were both stressed from our preparations for the OWLS, and she was nagging me as usual. A few angry words were exchange, and I could barely stop myself from striking her. I remember I stormed out without hearing the rest of her argument. It took all my strength not to vomit. I was no better than my father. How could I even ponder the thought of striking her?

The last day of the OWLS was the worst day of my life. Once again, I was under attack by Potter and his cronies. I was completely incapable of defending myself, so Lily came to the rescue. And how do I thank her? By calling her a Mudblood. Believe me, I cannot tell you what was going through my head. I was angry. I was embarrassed. Everyone around me already saw me as that dreaded pariah, and now they had even more reason to belittle and harass me, especially that my "knight in shining armor" was in fact, a girl.

It came out like an Unforgivable Curse, and it hit its target. For a moment, I saw betrayal flicker in those green eyes I came to love, and then like a flash her mask was up. Ironic because the only person she could learn that technique from was me.

When I came to apologize hours later, she wouldn't see me. I then protested by vowing never to leave that corridor until I got to speak with her. Lily finally came out, and she wanted nothing to do with me anymore. She said I was in the Dark Arts way too deep.

I convinced myself that I didn't need her. I was angry she didn't want to try and reconcile with me. She would miss me, I knew she would. And one day, she's crawl back to me, like she had done before when we had a petty argument. Summer was coming up, and we only lived a short walk away from each other. Surely after a few weeks she would come and visit. But weeks and weeks went by and I never saw her once that summer.

I remember taking a walk that summer to where we first met. That rundown, vacant playground. I sat down on an empty swing and rocked gently back and forth, thinking about my precious Lily. A single tear escaped from me, grazing down my cheek. I never cry. I always manage to keep my wits about me, so I knew it then that I lost her for good.

As I finished up my career at Hogwarts, I managed to block out her memory. We both purposely tried to avoid eye contact in our classes, staying clear from the same desks and workstations. I could tell that we both burned with held back insults and tortuous anger when we were in close confinement. I barely kept myself under wraps. But when Potter and Lily began courting in our 7th year, it was the final nail in the coffin. I couldn't exist if I ignored her, knowing full well that the woman I loved was in the arms of my worst enemy. So, I all but obliviated her from my mind.

I blame that for why I let my life spiral out of control. Only a few weeks after Potter and she were betrothed was I fully initiated into the Dark Lord's inner circle. I suppose hearing the "big news" all across the school grounds drove me to make that decision.

I can honestly say I was living a lie from the moment Lily and I ended our friendship to the months prior to their son's birth, when I…ahem…overheard a rather strange conversation between Dumbledore and a rather inebriated Trelawney. Well, at least I thought she was intoxicated at the time. But apparently, she was truly making a prophecy.

Now, I must admit, that day in the Hog's Head pub, I really wasn't looking forward to the interview. I was almost certified as a Potions Master. Clearly, I had bigger aspirations than becoming a teacher. However, the Dark Lord had other ideas, and he insisted that I apply for the open position…rather forcefully, I may add.

I was caught off guard, waiting for the insane woman to be done with her interview with the Headmaster. All I wanted was to get it over with, and secretly praying that I didn't get the position. But then I heard her annoying misty voice grow harsh and rough, and I couldn't help but to lean in closer to the door. I was drawn in like a magnet. Eventually, my ear was pressed up against the keyhole.

And with the additional pressure from the weight of my scrawny body, the door gave in, and fell off from one of its hinges. I can't be sure whether I was more shocked from what I heard or from the faulty wizarding construction of the building itself (Seriously. How hard is it to keep a door intact and in proper working condition?). Nevertheless, that brainless Trelawney had no recollection of the event and began ranting saying I was eavesdropping for pointers on handling the interview. But Dumbledore and I made eye contact and we both knew the truth.

The crazy woman left the room in a fit, and I settled down in the chair where she had been sitting previously, setting up the proper Occlumency walls in my brain so as to deprive the old codger any access to my musings of what had just happened. Still, the Headmaster gave no indication that anything off had occurred. He continued with the standard lines of questions for a proper interview.

And then he let the penny drop.

"If I hire you for this position, young Severus," he asked quaintly, "Should I expect that all the information and events at Hogwarts will be passed along to Tom?"

I recovered quickly, but I don't think quickly enough. Dumbledore leaned back in his chintz chair and folded his arms across his chest. "I've known you since you were a child, Severus, and I've been alive far too long to be fooled by those who wish to take advantage of great opportunities given to them." I remember he then adjusted his half-moon spectacles and looked down on me in a very parental and scrutinizing way. "That goes for both you and Tom. Worse repercussions would arise if I didn't offer you the position. I couldn't bear to know that you were harmed because I said no."

I felt my stomach drop and bile rise in my throat for more than one reason. Yes, it was true that the Dark Lord would punish me if I didn't succeed, but I was offered the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts, a job that to me resembled a fate much worse than being at the end of You-Know-Who's wand. Neither Dumbledore nor I was pleased with the circumstances. He stood up, and offered his hand in a traditional congratulatory manner. As soon as the sense of feeling came back to my wobbly legs, I followed suit. Shaking his hand felt like the beginning of a duel.

I didn't say anything else for the rest of the meeting, but as I reached the door, Dumbledore left me with one final address. "I trust that you, along with the rest of the staff I hire at Hogwarts, will do everything in your power to protect the students and future students from harm. I understand espionage will come into play in your work. However, I leave you with this one request. If any information is to be passed on to Tom, it should only relate to me. That goes for what happens when term begins, and anything that had happened today."

I swallowed thickly, watching the wise old man's eyes glitter knowingly. It was undeniably dodgy how much that man knew. He was practically omniscient. "I don't really have a choice in the matter, sir," I uttered.

"We always have a choice, Severus. The question is whether you have the will, the strength, and the courage to do the right thing," was his response. "Owl me a term plan. The castle will open up a week prior to the students' arrival, and I will contact you with more contractual information throughout the rest of the summer holiday."

And that was that. I was officially employed as the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's Potions Master, as well as the secret spy for Lord Voldemort. However, I knew it was futile. Dumbledore didn't trust me for a minute. He already knew my motives, and my lack of enthusiasm for the position. I would sooner get useful information from Peeves the Poltergeist!

Nevertheless, when I was summoned by my Master about the outcomes of my interview, he was pleased to no end. I thought I was out of the woods when it came to the eerie prophecy uttered by that crazed woman. He could sense something was bothering me, and to avoid his wrath, I told him what I had witnessed. And that began his viscous quest on discovering the identity of his supposed conqueror.

I did my part, and blocked that from my memory, just like any other unpleasant thought I had in the past. Time ran its course. I began my first term as a professor, and I loathed every minute of it with those half-witted children. Dumbledore was barely contacting me, and the Dark Lord was beginning to grow impatient with my work. However, his mood changed suddenly. The Dark Lord narrowed his search to two possible families: the Longbottoms and the Potters.

He spoke coldly of both families, but what he said was not consumed by my thoughts since he uttered that formidable last name. For the first time in years, as soon as the syllables of 'Potter' escaped his thin cold mouth, I felt like someone had shoved my head into a pool of ice water and was making me drown. I couldn't breathe properly. My heart, which I thought had turned to stone, had begun beating erratically, with the horror of having Lily's family targeted.

Dear Merlin, if I had known previously that the prophecy was about Lily, I wouldn't have uttered a word. I would have used every bit of magic inside my damaged soul to block that vision from my mind. Now, as the memories of her flooded back like a tidal wave, I knew then that I had sold her to the Dark Lord. I didn't care if it was intentional or not. I brought her pain and anguish when we were friends, and now I would be responsible for her entire demise.

Suddenly, my eyes had opened up. I could no longer just stand by and do nothing. I couldn't pretend that my actions had no repercussions on others. I had reached a parting of the ways of sorts. Either I come clean and protect the only person I truly loved, or I faced a life of tortuous guilt and an eternity of anguish in hell.

My mind then recollected back to the stories of my childhood. An eternity of Hell? Yes, perhaps I had a living hell on earth, but who would want to be damned for that in the afterlife?

I found myself wandering towards the library late that same evening, too struck with worry and anxiousness to sleep. I walked toward the stacks of muggle related literary works, and I summoned the one thing my troubled soul wanted: The Bible.

My intellect scoffed at my spiritual side. I even snorted out loud at my actions, but something inside of me refused to put the book back into its proper place on the shelving. I found a nearby chair and slowly lowered myself onto it, the heavy tome sitting in my lap.

Then, I was at a loss of what to do. What did I expect? That this…book…was going to suddenly open and give me the answers I desired?

"Lord," I whispered forcefully, "If you have even given me a sliver's worth of attention throughout my pitiful existence, give me a sign!"

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, opening the cover of the book and flipping randomly through its pages. Finally, after minutes of blind eye perusing, I opened my eyes and read the passage I had landed upon.

I swallowed.

The Prodigal Son.

That damned, cursed, bloody Prodigal Son.

Like I stated previously, I always despised that story. There was never enough to it. Sure, we learned about how the son was selfish, asking for his birthright before his father passed away, and squandering it foolishly. But what happened for him to change his mind? What was his motive? Obviously, a regular person wouldn't just wake up and realize how his life had spiraled out of control. So what if he was eating with the pigs? A typical man would show some masculinity and stick it out until he had enough money to live on his own and get a better job. No, something else had to have made him change his mind.

Had his life been threatened? Was he hoping his father would take the responsibilities for his actions and clean up the mess he made? Or…was he recovering from a broken heart, and finally realized that it was time to step up and move on with his life, getting it back on the right track…

No…that was me.

I sighed and closed the book. There was a reason why it was called a parable. It was simply a story. No way was I going to be forgiven for all that I had done as quickly and as easily for that matter. I all but convinced myself I was not going to finally fess up to the Headmaster.

But desperate times called for desperate measures. I had to protect Lily if it was the last thing I had to do. She deserved all that and more from me. What was the worst thing that could happen?

I left the library immediately and started to run. The logical side of my intellect didn't want to tell Dumbledore a thing. So, I went as far from the castle grounds as possible. Unfortunately, the Headmaster had a similar idea. When we almost collided on the steps leading to the Great Hall, I didn't have enough time to put up my standard Occlumency walls, and I think he knew right then and there everything I had done.

But I continued to run. I felt a side stitch form in my stomach. I was gasping for air. My throat burned, but I wouldn't stop until I reached the apparating point on the castle grounds. I could hear the old man follow behind me in pursuit. I was panicked. I was cornered. There was no way out.

A flash of light passed in front of me, and my wand flew out of my hand. Unarmed and out of breath, I finally stopped running, turning around, facing my fate, and begged for mercy from the one man who could offer it to me. Not the Dark Lord. Not anyone else. Only Dumbledore.

And then it hit me, as I fell on my knees and pleaded with him to save Lily, to protect her, I was that prodigal son I despised so much. I never admitted it then, but telling the truth for the first time felt like I was reborn. I can compare it to standing in an open field, arms outstretched; face up toward the sky, and being enveloped by a summer's rain, being washed clean from any iniquities.

With his fierce, powerful, and comforting gaze, the old wise wizards asked what I would do in return, and I simply responded, "Anything."

That was that. And the scary thing was it was just as simple as the story in the Bible. I wasn't worthy to be in the good graces of Dumbledore. Yet, I was graced with his sympathetic gaze as he helped me stand. I was forgiven. I was home.

The tables had been turned. The Potters went into hiding, and I began spying, except on the other side. I swallowed bile, but still wretched incessantly as I returned from revels and meetings. The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that Lily was safe. And once all this mess had cleared, I would be free.

But then, everything changed on that fateful night in October. And as far as I knew, I came down with that house, and my life disappeared like a ripple in the water. Because Lily was gone, so was I.

I was numb when I heard the news. I knew something went wrong when I felt the most excruciating pain ripped through my arm…where the Dark Mark was imbedded in my skin. I feared the worst, and I contacted the Headmaster, who in turn contacted the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. I did not know where the Potters were hidden. Nor did I know who their Secret Keeper was, but after a few contacts, the Gamekeeper and Dumbledore left for Godric's Hollow.

I begged the Headmaster to let me come along, but he said it was too risky. If the Dark Lord had indeed fallen, the rest of the Death Eaters would be in chaos. He didn't want me to blow my cover as a spy in case any of them tried to continue where the evil wizard left off.

A part of me was relieved. I don't think I could have handled seeing Lily's home in ruins, the smell of death and evil pervading their land. I risked a visit a few days later. I landed on my knees, all hope leaving my body, as I examined the battleground where the life of my one and only love, my soul mate, had fallen.

I refused to speak to Dumbledore for days. I didn't know any of the details, save for the fact that the Dark Lord was indeed gone. I didn't want to know. I wish I had died with her. Everything that had happened was my fault, and I knew Dumbledore would try to convince me otherwise. But I could no longer avoid him. He summoned me to his office, and I broke down in sorrow and anger.

"I thought…you were going…to keep her…safe…" And Dumbledore muttered some nonsense about the Potters having faith in the wrong person. Then, he told me the news that their son Harry had survived. A one year old, spawn of James Potter himself had survived the Killing Curse from the most powerful Dark wizard who had ever graced this planet. How was that even bloody possible? How was that fair? A brilliant young beautiful bright witch had died, and a drooling baby lived? It was ludicrous!

Then, the hateful codger described the young child, saying it had my Lily's green almond shape eyes that I have memorized in my thoughts. I see them everyday and every night in my dreams. It comforted me, but suddenly it hit me that she was dead, and those eyes would never sparkle in this lifetime ever again.

"I wish I were dead," I whispered remorsefully. And then, Dumbledore, with his cryptic self, told me I had to help protect the Potter child. I thought him even more insane than he usually was. Protect the child from what? The Dark Lord had fallen. Still, a part of me believed that it was too good to be true. One curse could not take down someone as powerful as he was. He would return eventually, and now it was up to me to protect this Potter spawn from his wrath.

But...no! I couldn't let anyone know the truth of my actions. People wouldn't understand. In fact, the only person who ever truly understood me was now dead. It wasn't worth it to explain. Dumbledore swears he will keep his word, but says I'm asking to keep quiet the best quality of myself.

Truly, he is off his rocker.

I began recuperating to the best of my abilities, but something was still bothering me. I felt like I had gotten off too easily for all the harm that I did. So what if Dumbledore had forgiven me? I didn't want his kindness because of my loss. I didn't want to be pitied. I wanted penance. I needed to avenge all that I had harmed.

After I was acquitted, thanks to the magic of Albus Dumbledore, I pondered my entire existence for the next few weeks. My thoughts ran across Lily, and her surviving child. Where was he? Who was taking care of him, now that his parents were gone? I held my tongue and after a short holiday of celebration, classes resumed, and then I got word of Sirius Black.

Black, that wretched, irritable toe rag. My blood boiled. I clenched my jaw at the news. He was the Potter's Secret Keeper. He had betrayed them! All this time, he held himself in such high esteem, thinking and acting like he was better than everyone around him. And yet, he was just as good as I was! But at least I had remorse at the idea of putting my loved ones in danger! He fed his friends to the dogs!

Betraying the Potters and murdering 13 others in cold blood? I had no idea he was capable of anything beyond pestering annoying existence. But no, it apparently was so much more. Black was immediately sentenced to a life term in Azkaban. I growled. That bastard deserved a fate much worse than that. I wish I could murder the conniving sneak myself. Maybe even a hundred times. I don't think the message would sink in for him, still.

Now, the child was truly an orphan. His godfather, pretty much good as dead to all who remembered him. Who else was supposed to care for him? Surely, not Petunia Evans (Or whatever he name was now. I had heard she had married).

I was crazed. I have no idea how the idea came to me, or if it were at all possible to arrange, but I knew what I wanted to do to gain my penance. I would do as Dumbledore asked of me, and so much more. I wanted to adopt that baby as my own. My only, living reminder of my lost love.

I rushed up to Dumbledore and expressed my wishes. I tried explaining how I would take care of Harry as my own son. Dumbledore's only response was a look of care and of course, sympathy. He said he was touched by my rush of desire, but it was not possible. After explaining why it was necessary for the baby to stay at that wretched muggle home (some utter nonsense about being raised as normally as possible, being away from all the publicity and the inquiring wizarding folk), I felt that Dumbledore was leaving out a vital piece of information. Still, the old man did not break, and I left his office completely dejected.

If I couldn't take care of Harry as my penitent act, I had to find some other way to do so. My next idea was to protect the students further, by educating them from the powers of the Dark Arts and how to defend themselves from the temptation and power. But again, Dumbledore rejected my proposal. He said that teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts would only spark my curiosity and lead me back down the path of destruction.

How dare he make that kind of assumption about me? Haven't I proved myself a capable spy, those few months before the end of the War? But perhaps the old man is right. He told me I reminded him of himself when he was my age. The world was at my fingertips, and I'd do anything just to make something of myself. Thinking about it, few of my opinions have change regarding the ancient practices. It's not Dark magic to me. It's subtle, beautiful art, and if used improperly, it can harm others.

I no longer wanted to harm anyone anymore. I hurt too many people. I needed some recompense.

I remember clutching the back of the offered chair in a vice grip, confused about everything that had happened to me. Angered about the Headmaster's refusal. Then, I felt a gentle hand touching my shoulder.

"Severus, perhaps I never made this clear for you," he whispered serenely. "Do not torture yourself any further. You have done well, my child. You have been forgiven."

I never heard those words uttered by anyone before. Lily never offered her forgiveness. Neither did my parents for being a burden. But here, it was said, in black and white. Relief washed over me. I felt my knees give out and hit the floor as I began to sob uncontrollably, clutching the Headmaster's robes as a lifeline. His hands rested on the top of my head.

As I recovered and my breathing fell back to normal, I wiped roughly at my tear-stricken face and slumped defeated on the ground. Dumbledore backed away quietly and left the main room, allowing me for some time to gain my composure. But in those few minutes he left me alone, I realized that all this time, I truly had been forgiven. Obviously, Dumbledore had been treating me like an equal, and sometimes even like his own child. I had been acquitted in the eyes of the Ministry as well. I had been given a second chance at life.

Suddenly, that prodigal son I despised so much was no longer as pathetic and ridiculous and despised as he once was, because I finally accepted I was that son. I was forgiven, and I had been since the moment I fell on my knees and begged the Headmaster to fix all that I had tampered with.

It truly was that simple. Maybe that was the entire premise of the parable. When you have done wrong, and you are truly remorseful for your actions, you shall be forgiven, and you have another chance to make things right. It was the God-honest truth. It was my third miracle.

As I think back on it now, why was that so difficult to understand and believe the first time?