The Sybil's Oracle: Book Three

Chapter 22

By Pigwidgeon37

They remained standing like that for almost a minute, clinging to each other and savouring each other’s warmth. When Severus loosened his tight grip, Nimue tilted her head upwards and scrutinized his face out of worried eyes. “You’re tired,” she said, and her right hand left his waist, wriggled upwards between their bodies and finally came to rest on his cheek. “Tired,” she repeated, “and worried.” He merely nodded, trying his best to produce a smile. Her forefinger lightly touched the corner of his mouth. “Don’t bother, if you don’t feel like smiling. What happened? Does it have to do with… well, with what you told me not to ask about or investigate?”

“Yes, it…” He took a step back and encircled her shoulders with his arm. “Sit down with me for a moment. “I—” he sat down in one of the big armchairs, which was large enough for them to squeeze in together, and pulled her down next to him “—there is something I have to tell you first. If…” He inhaled deeply. This was not going to be easy. He felt her thigh pressing against his, the roundness of her arm against his ribcage. Then, the gentle impact of her head on his shoulder. If she took it badly… His throat suddenly felt quite narrow. He would have to let her go and deal with it, and hope that she would come back. “You might not like what you’re going to hear. Remember the conversation we had back at the Manor, about accepting what I did in the past?”

He felt her nod against his shoulder. Her wild hair tickled his ear, and he smiled down at her. “Of course I do,” she said, “And I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot. You know…” She shifted a little, so as to find a more comfortable position. Her right hand was on his thigh; it did not move, the slim fingers—Tabitha’s fingers, he thought—sharply outlined against the black of his robes. “I think I’m beginning to understand what you meant. I don’t… have… feelings for you because you’re what people would call a ‘good person’. And neither do I have them in spite of your being a ‘bad person’. I have them because you are you, and the more I see of you—” she glanced up at him and smiled that pixie smile that made her nose crinkle “—if you allow me to see, that is… The more I see of you, the more those feelings grow. It’s not as if every good or bad thing I discover went right into the black or white scale, and in the end, when I’ve discovered everything, I’ll see which one is heavier and decide accordingly. It’s more like a jigsaw—” she pursed her lips and frowned slightly “—Terribly cliché, isn’t it? Anyway, that’s what it is. The picture is becoming clearer by the day, and of course the pieces are of different shapes and colours… Am I making sense?”

Severus gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Perfect sense. I’m not sure, though…” He covered the hand that lay on his thigh with his own, momentarily fascinated that so great a difference was possible while the essential pattern was the same—same number and order of bones, same complex construction plan of tiny muscles, tendons and skin. “I created a potion. For Voldemort. About twenty years ago, when I was still a student.” Her hand moved infinitesimally under his; he sensed her fingertips exerting the tiniest of pressures against his muscles. “At the time, I was immensely proud of my discovery.”

“I guess,” she said, taking advantage of the short pause he had made, “that, ethics aside, you’re still proud of your discovery, aren’t you?”

Stroking her fingers, he pondered this. “Not really,” he replied after a while, “From my present point of view, it’s impossible to just leave the ethics aside. I know I’m brilliant at Potions, even though most people would think me arrogant for saying so… No, I’m definitely not proud of it anymore. It’s related to a period of my life I’m none too proud of. Anyway—” he scooted back in the chair and tightened his grip on her shoulders “—it was a potion Voldemort wanted. A potion that has the same effect as the Imperius Curse but is untraceable.”

“Oh,” was all she said, and then a long silence ensued. Severus itched to break it, to ask her what she was thinking; he wanted to know whether the axe was going to fall, cutting the bond that had developed between them. True, she had not flinched, she had not distanced herself from him physically, but that was not enough. He needed a more tangible confirmation. But he waited, patiently, trying to empty his mind, which yearned to flood him with recent memories of wild-faced anger and hurt and near-loss. Her hand moved under his; he was already reluctantly raising his own, ready to let her go. But she merely turned it, so that palm was now resting against palm, and laced her fingers through his. “If you hadn’t told me earlier about your motives for joining Voldemort,” she said, “I might have reacted differently. Knowing what I know, all I can say is that I understand.”

He had not been aware of holding his breath until he exhaled, a deep sigh of relief. He closed his eyes, for he needed a moment of imageless, boundless darkness allowing his self to expand infinitely in a silent scream of triumph. He had trusted and not been disappointed. For a few seconds, he gave in to the sensation of slowly rippling outwards, farther and farther, without encountering any limit… but there was a centre, the long-missed point of leverage, towards which he could pull himself together again. When he reopened his eyes, the room seemed different somehow—the objects defined more sharply, as if they had acquired a new reality. “Yes,” he said, bending and unbending his fingers, thus stroking hers, “I hoped you would.”

“And he has required you to brew the potion for him again?”

“No, he can do that himself. And he has found a way of improving it—well, from his point of view it’s an improvement.”

The look of concentration on her face increased as he told her about Pettigrew’s activities during the past year. When he had finished, she was furiously chewing her left thumbnail. “My hair as well? Oh, that… that… Oh, I wish Harry hadn’t prevented Sirius from killing him! All right.” She rose and looked down at Severus, fists resting firmly on her hips, chin raised in determination. “Let’s start.”

“Y-yes.” Slightly puzzled by her reaction, for even though he had not expected her to panic, he had certainly thought that she might be more worried about other possible victims, he got to his feet and started unbuttoning his robes. “Maybe I should explain,” he began, but she waved an impatient hand.

“Not necessary. Harry already told me about it. He said it’s nothing to do with theory or knowledge—” she smirked “—that’s why he thought I couldn’t do it. Moody never cast it on me, so I couldn’t try, of course. But when it comes to stubbornness…”

“You can give Potter a run for his money. Very well, let’s try then, without further ado.” He banished al the furniture to the wall and cast a cushioning charm on the floor. “Ready?” She nodded, her face a mask of fierce determination. “All right. Imp—oh, I forgot. Your wand, please. I don’t want you to accidentally hex me.” With a rueful look, Nimue produced her wand and handed it to him. “Ready? Imperio!”

Immediately, her face took on the typical absentminded expression usually to be seen on people who are trying very hard to remember. And on victims of the Imperius Curse. A telltale sign, and therefore another reason for using the potion instead of the curse. If a person ingested the potion—and due to Voldemort’s creativity, they did not even have to ingest it anymore—they appeared completely normal. Trying to rid himself of those thoughts, Severus stepped close to her and examined her eyes. The pupils were a little dilated, her look unfocused. Everything as it should be. He returned to his former position. “Now walk towards me and stop at a distance of about two feet.”

Severus observed her closely as she followed his order. No signs of an internal struggle yet. Then again, this was not overly surprising. Fighting off the curse was hardest when you were ordered to do something you did not object to. Her ability to hold her own against it would show once she was requested to act against her very nature. Contracting his abdominal muscles to ease the blow, he commanded, “Punch me in the stomach! As hard as you can.” The blow came, but it was not overly hard, and neither was it delivered immediately.

“Finite Incantatem!” He reached out to steady her, for she was swaying slightly.

“Bloody hell!” Wiping sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she exhaled sharply and looked at him. “How did I do?”

He grinned at her. “Not bad. Not bad at all. A glass of water?” She nodded, smiling, and he went to fill a glass. “Time for analysis,” he said over his shoulder. “Tell me exactly what you felt.”

She took the glass he offered her and greedily gulped down half of the contents. “Better,” she panted and flopped down on a chair. “What did I feel? Well…” A line of concentration formed between her brows. “Detached, I’d say. A sensation as if…” She twisted a strand of hair, visibly struggling for the right expression. “As if I and my self had suddenly drifted apart. Completely unconnected to myself.” She nodded and looked up at Severus. “Yes, that’s about it. Oh, and it didn’t feel bad at all. On the contrary, it was quite pleasant, like floating in an isolated bubble. Fighting it, that was the unpleasant part.”

“When exactly did you start fighting it?”

“After the second command. Not after the first. I simply couldn’t… it felt too natural.” She released the tightly coiled strand, which spun around itself twice, returning to its previous, bushy state. “I’ll have to visualize it,” she muttered.

“Visualize?”

“Uh-huh. I think that’s going to be easier. I’m a very visual type, you know? So if I manage to picture this… this strange state, with myself here and—” she pointed towards the opposite wall “—my self there, and then try to get the two back together, it might work a lot better. Can we try again?”

Her enthusiasm was contagious. Instead of the suffocating anxiety he had felt all afternoon, Severus was now merely brimming with tension and curiosity. Not that he had doubted her power or talent, but to have the tangible proof that she was able to withstand the curse and would probably succeed in shaking it off after only a few lessons had lifted a heavy burden. Of course he was ready to protect her, at the cost of his life if need be. She was just not the kind of person likely to cope well with having to be protected. No, he thought, watching her as she positioned herself, legs a little apart and knees slightly bent, summoning her strength. No, she was the type who would wither rather than flourish under a protective glass lid, because to her it would be a prison in spite of its transparency. She wanted to fend for herself and was capable of doing so successfully. He smiled and pointed his wand at her. “Imperio!” Fighting the urge to give her some time to reassemble herself, he immediately ordered, “Climb onto the table over there and do a headstand!”

An obedient puppet, she turned and walked towards the table. He watched, breathless with excitement, as her movements slowed down until she came to a standstill—at a good seven feet’s distance from the table he had moved against the wall. “Go on, move closer to the table!” Reluctantly, her right foot left the floor, but then her leg started twitching spasmodically; she lost her balance and landed rather ungracefully on the carpet.

He hurried to help her up, but she was already on her knees, punching the air with her right fist. “I did it!” She took his proffered hand and jumped to her feet. He had not expected her to jump and thus pulled her up rather forcefully, so that their combined momentum almost made him keel over backwards. “Oops!” She caught him around the waist, half-stabilizing, half-embracing him. “I did it, Severus, I did it!”

Their eyes met, and she fell silent. Severus felt her body go soft against his, a lessening of tonus that was mirrored in her face, too. Just a minuscule shifting, almost imperceptible, but he watched, enthralled, as her eyelids lowered themselves by just a fraction, and the corners of her mouth relaxed, so that her lips seemed a little fuller. The pulse in her throat was beating fast from the physical effort of ridding herself of the curse. His thumb brushed across her cheek, registering that the skin was moist and hot… His mind briefly strayed towards Black—he had warded the trapdoor, this time there were not going to be any intrusions. His momentary distraction must have shown on his face, because Nimue gave a small, impatient tilt of her hips against his thigh… Bloody Muggle jeans, he thought, lowering his mouth to hers, bloody Muggle jeans, the double layer of stiff fabric covering the zipper was doing unspeakable things to his crotch. He closed his eyes against the intensity swathing him in layers of heat when their lips touched.

For the first time, he allowed himself, or rather was unable to resist the desire, to let his hands explore and hold more than just her shoulders. His tactile sense seemed heightened, feeling the coarseness of the fabric of her jeans as if his fingers were touching a rough, wooden plank, the double seams at the outside of her thighs elevated steps his fingertips had to jump. Again and again, his palm traced the curve of her buttock where it met the thigh in a graceful concave sweep; then it travelled upwards, under the loosely-hanging sweatshirt and up the long, smooth path of her back. No bra, his brain supplied automatically. The information sank in and produced the mental image of small, pert breasts… This was definitely a line he ought not to cross. He was just about to pull back, chasing for the right words to use when he told her that they must not, really should not, ought to... She bit down on his lower lip, and the words burst out of their prison, the half-formed sentence holding them together, like a swarm of unruly butterflies.

Severus let go of her lips and slid down, always maintaining the contact between their bodies, until he was kneeling in front of her. His eyes were now almost at the same level as her breasts; he raised his head to look at her face, to search for a sign telling him whether or not to continue. He merely saw the curve of her throat, shadowed by her hair and pale, and the triangle of her chin. A pose of abandon and vulnerability, which aroused him but smoothed the jagged edges of passion. With his left hand still on the small of her back to steady her, he slowly pushed up the sweatshirt with his right. His thumb glided over the bare skin of her stomach, making her muscles tighten in response. The fabric was now an awkward bundle that still covered her breasts, but she lifted her arms a little, just enough to accommodate the thick folds and hold them in place. Severus smiled, placed a kiss just above the waistband of her jeans, and then reached up to push the material a little further, so that his palm finally covered her breast.

A gentle pressure of his left hand brought her even closer to him. He rested his cheek against her stomach, listening to her rapid heartbeat, which quickened when he let his thumb acquaint itself with her nipple, a hard, tiny nub surrounded by the puckered skin of the areola. For once grateful for the size of his nose, he used it to push up the fabric a little more, so as to allow his lips access to her other breast. Glancing up, he saw that she was now looking at him. Her teeth were digging into her lower lip. “Do you want me to stop?” She merely tilted her head in the direction of the open window. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head, and, without removing his hand from her left breast, he kissed the narrow, pale strip between her breasts, where the bikini top had shielded her skin from the sunlight. She gave a small sigh, and he looked up again. Her teeth had left a red mark just under her lower lip. “I just don’t want…” She glanced at the window again. “Somebody might hear…”

His forearm pressing into the hollows of her knees made her legs bend and then give in. “Like this, nobody can hear you,” he whispered, lying down on the cushioned floor and pulling her with him. “Nobody,” he repeated, and rolled her onto her back. His hand resumed the dance of fingers over skin, while he kissed her deeply, thus muffling her soft moans. Her hands roamed in his hair, over his neck and shoulders, the sudden twitching of her fingers and hardening of her grip an eloquent message telling him just how she liked to be touched. It was difficult to keep his hands above her waist—if he had crossed the first line he had drawn for himself, he certainly did not want to cross the second one, not tonight—and when he felt he was close to throwing all his careful restraint to the winds, he let go of her and propped himself up on his left elbow. They were both breathing heavily; her face was flushed, her lips a deep, wet crimson.

“Nimue…” He stroked her arm, firm, long movements to calm and reassure her. “I think we… I should stop right here and now. You know it’s not because I don't want you, but…”

“I know.” She smiled and traced his jaw with her forefinger. “I know. I just wish…”

His eyes wandered down to her breasts—impossible to resist, he thought, and took each nipple between his lips in a gently teasing caress. “You wish what?”

“I wish I could have touched you a bit more.”

“You touched me quite a lot,” he said, trying to disentangle her wild nest of curls with his fingers.

“I mean your skin, I’d really like to… you should have taken off your shirt.” She shot him a quizzical look, while her hand played with his buttons.

“I’m only human, Nimue.” He pried her inquisitive fingers from his chest. “Resisting you is difficult enough as it is—take away my shirt and…” He did not finish his sentence and instead pulled down her sweatshirt.

“But you… you don't have any problems with being touched, do you?”

“Not with you,” he said, bending down to kiss her. “You—” he rolled onto his back and pulled her with him, resting her head on his chest “—have managed to wipe out any reluctance I might have had, my Imperius-resistant witch.”

Nimue raised her head and grinned down at him. “That’s quite all right. I don’t mind if you don’t want anybody else to touch you.”

“What an appalling lack of generosity. Come,” he said, sitting up, “it’s time for you to go to bed.” They got to their feet, and he gave her back her wand. “Would you like to continue tomorrow night?”

“With or without shirt?”

“I meant the Imperius lesson, of course.”

“Only the Imperius lesson?”

“We shall see,” he replied lightly. His arm around her shoulders, he led her to the fireplace. “Good night, Nimue. May your dreams be as sweet as your kisses.”

They embraced once more, and then she was gone in a whirl of green flames.

~~~~*~~~~

Two figures, clad in black, hooded and masked, swiftly walked down the sloping meadow towards the Forbidden Forest.

“Do you think we’re going to survive this?” Barty/Black’s voice sounded a little unsteady.

Severus shrugged. “The chances are not too bad, I suppose. He can’t kill the few Death Eaters he has left, can he?” He glanced at the other wizard, whose eyes were glittering through the slit of his mask. “Do you have the potion?”

“Yes.” Barty/Black’s hand went into his pocket. “Yes, I have the potion.” They passed Hagrid's hut, dark and uninhabited, and, when they had reached the first looming trees, the foliage of which obscured what little light there was, swerved sharply to the right. “I’ve never been put under Cruciatus,” he muttered, “is it…”

“Every bit as horrible as you imagine it. But the potion is very effective.”

“Mmmh…” Silence, then Barty/Black sharply inhaled through his teeth. “I hate this… this desire to join him when he activates the Mark,” he hissed.

“Welcome to the club.” Severus smirked under his mask. “He’s impatient,” he added, “That makes the sensation even stronger.”

“Of course he’s impatient. It's been more than twelve hours since Pettigrew has left him. To say the truth, I was surprised that he should give him that much time.”

“Perhaps he overslept,” Severus remarked dryly, and Barty/Black chuckled.

“If he slept at all, that might be a possibility.”

“So he doesn’t sleep, does he? I was wondering…”

“Not really. Or rather, not like a normal human being—not that that comes as a big surprise. It reminds me of animals, short spells of sleep, just for a few seconds or so.”

They had reached the boundaries of Hogwarts, stepped through the wards and a few yards away, so as to avoid possible interferences of the magical shields with the magic that was to take them to Azkaban.

“Good luck,” Barty/Black muttered, eliciting an astonished look from Severus.

“Whatever that means,” he replied dryly and touched his Mark.

Apparently, Voldemort was able—contrary to Severus’s previous assumptions—to lift the anti-Apparition wards without Pettigrew’s help. Not that he would have needed to do so for the arrival of the two wizards from Hogwarts, as the magical barrier surrounding Azkaban was of course keyed to whomever answered the Master’s summons. But he was not alone when Severus and Barty/Black arrived. In the second that passed between materializing in the central enclosure and prostrating himself at the Dark Lord’s feet, Severus counted sixteen hooded and cloaked figures forming a loose half-circle in front of the fireplace. The throne-like armchair had been moved to stand in front of the hearth with its back to the flames, so that Voldemort’s seated figure was casting a long, twitching shadow on the floor and opposite wall. Given the lack of other sources of light, his face was shaded and unreadable; only the eyes seemed to possess a light of their own.

While kissing the hem of the silken robes, a deep malachite green tonight, Severus thought that, although cloaked in black, the sixteen wizards present in the room were not Death Eaters. Their garments lacked the faint bluish lustre of the regalia of those who had been initiated. But if they were here, it could only mean that Voldemort intended to remedy that situation as soon as possible. And if he meant to increase the number of his ranks, he was certainly going to show the newcomers what exactly happened to those he was not pleased with. Tonight, an example would be stated.

This was his last coherent thought before the pain hit.

Liquid, barbed ice scratching through his bones, trying to leech out the marrow and then penetrate his whole body… When had he last felt that sensation? Long ago, so long that he had forgotten how pure the agony was, how utterly dissimilar to any burning, stinging or throbbing pain which, bad as it might be, still allowed control. But not this. He tried to hold on to his sanity as long as possible, but had to let go at some point, fearing that the claws of his mind, digging furiously into it, might damage it more than the curse.

Eventually, it was over, and Severus, who had fallen first to his knees and then, when his muscles had yielded to the spasms wreaked by the curse, flat onto his face, attempted to heave himself off the floor and onto his left side, so he could breathe. Through the slits of his mask, he saw Barty/Black’s eyes shoot him a flickering, fleeting glance. Difficult as it was to read his expression merely by looking at the dilated pupils framed by a narrow ring of iris, Severus was quite sure that the other wizard was afraid. He was going to be punished as well, without any doubt, but possibly not in front of the others.

“Where is Pettigrew?” Voldemort’s hissing question irrupted into his thoughts.

“My Lord…” He must have screamed, for his throat felt sore and his voice sounded hoarse. But to clear his throat now would not have been advisable, as it hurt too much. So he continued in a raucous whisper, “My Lord, he has not yet come to Hogwarts…”

A slight change in the quality of the light indicated that Voldemort had moved; though only when a boot made painful contact with his lower back, Severus realized that the Master had beckoned to one of the silent witnesses. The blow hurt, but at least it was a recognizable, a human kind of pain, on which he could concentrate. When Voldemort asked no further question, Severus supposed that he was expected to elaborate. “My Lord, I…” He had to take a deep breath, although he knew it was going to feel as if he had inhaled fire. But his shallow breathing did not procure enough oxygen, not if he had to speak. Closing his eyes against the sensation, he allowed his lungs to fill themselves with air. “I have been waiting for him, watching for animals behaving in an unusual way, but…” He paused briefly; a few shallow breaths, another deep one, filling his ribcage with flames. “There never was any sign…”

‘Enough,’ the rational part of his brain cautioned, ‘Don’t babble. Don’t defend or justify yourself too much. He might become even more suspicious than he already is.’

Obeying this advice, Severus let himself slump down again, wincing at the spasms the movement produced in his muscles.

“I sent Pettigrew early this afternoon,” Voldemort hissed, “And he should have returned hours ago. Where is he?”

“My Lord, I can only repeat that I don’t know.”

Voldemort heaved a wheezing sigh. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, My Lord, I am sure.” Under his robes, Severus felt his skin become clammy with sweat. This encounter was not turning out as they had expected; who were those sixteen wizards, and why had Voldemort summoned them? Their presence was as unsettling as it was inexplicable. He had thought this was a game to be played between the three of them, but evidently he had miscalculated.

“Sure, you say?” The Dark Lord chuckled. “Now really? I wonder how you can be so sure, if you do not even know Pettigrew’s Animagus form. He might be a fly, for all you know.”

“Indeed, My Lord. But believe me, there was no sign, nothing that—”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Voldemort’s shadow move, and then heard him pronounce the well-known hissing sounds of Parseltongue. A soft gasp from Barty/Black told him that he had guessed right. Severus closed his eyes—whether the Dark Lord saw it or not, whether he relished the fear he was causing, was unimportant now. Because he, Severus, was going to die. Nagini’s venom was absolutely deadly. He felt his throat constrict painfully. Partly because he was afraid, genuinely afraid for the first time, of dying. In the few seconds it took the giant snake to reach his prone body, he realized that he did not want to leave now. But what truly terrorized him was the thought that, once the snake had injected her lethal poison into his veins, he was not going to die immediately. As if he had read it yesterday, a passage from the book Consuelo Martinez had donated to the Hogwarts library more than a hundred years ago appeared before his mind’s eye. The bite of the Amazonian Riverdragon caused a slow, extremely painful death, accompanied by hallucinations of the worst kind.

The snake’s body slithered across his feet, heavy and smooth, and Severus felt tears rise to his eyes. The description of the victims’ death throes had been graphic; horrible spasms, then paralysis, and always, always, a torrent of words, of confessions, a delirious, obscene outpour of the most secret thoughts, fears and wishes… He might not welcome death anymore, as he would have in earlier days, but it was unimportant, a mere trifle, compared to the secrets he would betray before death took him away.

The snake was now slithering along his back, in an agonizingly slow motion. His heart hammering so fast that he thought he might die before the reptile even had a chance at sinking its teeth into his throat, Severus turned his head and caught Barty/Black’s eye. A look of silent understanding passed between them, and the other wizard gave a minuscule nod. The relief he felt made Severus’s head loll back onto the carpeted floor, his whole body suddenly limp and boneless. If he had to die, it would be quick. No secrets spilled out. Who would have thought, he mused, suddenly feeling light-headed although crushed under Nagini’s weight, that he might one day be grateful to Black, merely for the wordless promise to finish him off quickly, if the worst came to the worst?

“I trust,” Voldemort’s voice cut off his thoughts, “that she is not too heavy for your comfort?”

Some of the silent, black figures standing in the background chuckled appreciatively.

“She is…” He tried to breathe but found it almost impossible with the scaly body pressing down on him. “She… is very… very heavy, My Lord.”

“I am exceedingly sorry. But maybe she will help you remember, don’t you think so?”

“There is nothing… nothing for me to remember, My Lord. I told you the truth.”

A hissed command from her master, and Nagini began to move again, coiling herself around his body, inserting her head between him and the carpet, lifting him as if he were as light as a feather, winding her way downward until he was completely enclosed in her grip.

“You know,” Voldemort said in a rather conversational tone, “that she could break every bone in your body, should I feel compelled to tell her so?”

“Yes, My Lord, I am perfectly aware of that.”

“Indeed. Are you equally… aware—” he chuckled softly “—that to restore you to something remotely resembling a human being would be beyond the skill of any mediwizard?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Not that you are a paragon of beauty now,” Voldemort continued, his voice more and more a teasing sing-song, “but you are at least able to move your limbs. I would, of course, advise Nagini not to kill you…” He rose to his feet and began to circle around Severus in slow, measured steps. “And your head would remain undamaged—did I already mention that?”

“No, My Lord,” Severus choked out through clenched teeth.

“Ah, how lucky that I should have told you so now. We would take great care, Nagini and I. Because—” he crouched down and briefly touched Severus’s cheek “—you must not die, child. Not now. Believe me, you will live. And what a life it will be…” He straightened up and returned to his chair. “So, maybe your memory has improved a little?”

“I have nothing else to tell you, My Lord. Believe me, I already told you the—”

“Quiet!” Voldemort hissed, “Do not lie to Lord Voldemort! Very well, then,” he said, his voice back to normal, “let us see whether Nagini will not be able to make you change your mind.”

In the process of enveloping him with her body, the snake had shifted Severus slightly, so that he could now see the Dark Lord, if he reclined his head a little. The red eyes were glittering with malice, and his pointed tongue was worrying the corner of his lipless mouth; the bony fingers opened and closed around the armrests of his chair. He was clearly enjoying the spectacle.

It was, in its very own, twisted way, a moment of epiphany for Severus. For he realized that, underneath the alluring, charming façade he had so convincingly presented to an adolescent starving for love and recognition, Voldemort had always been just that: a cruel, sadistic monster that had somehow contrived to hide its true nature under a much more appealing appearance. How absurd, he thought, fighting the sudden desire to laugh out loud, how utterly absurd that he should have served that creature for so many years, without noticing! How could he have been so blind? How could he not have seen? And now, the last, cruel twist of fate: at the very moment he had finally reached this awareness, he was going to become a useless cripple, maybe even die. But at least he had understood, for all that was worth. If only he could tell Nimue…

“My Lord, may I speak?”

The snake’s grip tightened, when Severus’s whole body twitched in surprise at hearing Barty/Black’s voice. But Voldemort’s eyes were trained on the other wizard; he had not noticed the movement. “Yes, but make it quick,” he snapped.

“My Lord, you know that we—” a movement of his head indicated Severus “—are not the best of friends.”

“Oh, yes, I certainly know that, Barty,” Voldemort replied softly.

“And you also know, My Lord, how deeply I am devoted to you, I hope.”

“I have little reason to doubt your faithfulness.”

“Thank you, My Lord. You… have always been just to your followers, and I have always admired you for it.”

“Compliments, Barty?” Voldemort asked, tilting his head in mock-surprise, “Flattery?”

“Not flattery, My Lord, certainly not. I merely—” he raised his hands “—I merely wanted to say that I would like nothing more than to see him punished. But my wishes do not count here. And therefore, I… I believe it is my duty to inform you that… that he has told the truth.”

“Has he? Really?”

“Yes, My Lord. I swear he has.”

“Not that I think you are lying to me, my dear Barty,” Voldemort said slowly, “But I would really like to know what makes you so sure.”

“If anybody had come to his quarters, My Lord, whether human or animal,” Barty/Black said with a calmness Severus could not help admiring, “I would have smelled them. But there was nothing, no alien scent.”

“Of course, of course.” Voldemort crossed his arms and looked from Barty/Black to Severus. For a long while, he said nothing and merely studied the two wizards attentively, his face impassive. “Very well,” he finally said, “we will put you to the test.” He hissed a few words at Nagini, who obediently slackened her grip on Severus and slithered back to her master’s feet where she coiled up, the dragon-like head resting atop the faintly shimmering body. Severus remained on the floor, unable to move or speak. The fear and panic had somewhat subsided, and he was still too surprised by Black's display of Slytherin-ness—to save his archenemy's life, of all things!—to be capable of rational thought. As if through a glass wall, he saw and heard Voldemort give an order to Barty/Black, who left the room and returned shortly after, holding a small glass vial.

“Get up!” Voldemort commanded, and Severus scrambled to his feet, trying to ignore the pain every movement was causing him, and regain some semblance of control over his reeling mind. “Give him a generous dose.”

The tremor in his hands made it hard to hold the vial steady, but Severus managed to let merely one drop of Veritaserum—just enough for about ten minutes—fall into Barty/Black’s open mouth, all the while hoping that he might be the one to ask the questions. Voldemort seemed very gamesome tonight, more so than the occasion would have warranted—after all, he had lost his errand boy—and although this mood made him more unpredictable and thus more dangerous, there was also the possibility that he meant to put on a show for the guests. But he had not noticed that the dose was less than generous, because he was busy scrutinizing his silent public, willing them to attentively watch the scene he had staged.

The Dark Lord leaned back in his chair, lazily crossed his legs and looked at the two wizards standing before him with the merest hint of an ironic smile. “What a touching scene indeed,” he said, caressing Nagini’s head with a careless forefinger. “Our long-time rivals, suddenly so… united…” The papery eyelids lowered themselves, half-covering the crimson pupils. “But I know you, my children, oh I know you so well…” He chuckled. “Dear Barty, so anxious to prove himself to me, but—” he leaned forward, his eyes suddenly wide open and alert “—so full of hate against the man who is closer to my heart. You would like to have your revenge, wouldn't you, Barty? Your own, bitter-sweet revenge… If you saved his miserable life with a lie, Barty, merely to keep him for yourself, you are going to regret it.”

Barty/Black swallowed convulsively and nodded.

Voldemort gestured to Severus. “Go ahead, ask him. If he lied, you shall have the honour of killing him.”

Severus tried to bow as best he could, and nearly lost his balance. “Thank you, My Lord. If you agree, I will ask him questions he can only answer with yes or no, so he cannot tell us half-truths.”

Voldemort acquiesced with a bored nod, and Severus turned back to Black. “Are you an Animagus?”

“Yes.”

“An illegal Animagus?”

“Yes.”

“You are able to assume the form of a fennec fox?”

“Yes.” Barty/Black’s eyes closed briefly. Severus had successfully steered them past the first cliff.

“After I had taken you to Hogwarts, did you stay at my quarters?”

“Yes.”

“Did anybody, whether known or unknown to you, enter my quarters while you were there?”

“Yes.”

“More than one person?”

“No.”

“Dumbledore?”

“Yes.”

“Did an animal enter my quarters?”

“Yes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw Voldemort's mouth curl into an unpleasant smile. “More than one animal?”

“No.”

“My raven Elias?”

“Yes.”

With an irritated hiss, Voldemort sank back into his chair. “Enough,” he spat, and motioned for Severus to kneel before him. “Did you enjoy interrogating Barty?”

“Yes, My Lord, I—”

With surprising force, the Dark Lord’s right foot hit him squarely in the chest, and he fell backwards. “Pleasure,” Voldemort breathed, “should not be what you remember about tonight. After all, the idea of taking Barty to Hogwarts was yours, if I remember correctly.”

“My Lord, I am truly sorry…”

Voldemort silenced him with a gesture of his right hand and beckoned for the others to step closer. “Have fun,” he said.

Quick, muffled footsteps approached Severus, who, despite the unwillingness of his muscles to obey the commands issued by his brain, tried to contract them, so as to somewhat alleviate the impact of the blows he was expecting. To no avail. Well-aimed kicks hit his back, legs and abdomen, and all he could do was bite his lip to prevent himself from screaming. Ten, eleven, thirteen, fourteen… Evidently, each of the guests got their turn. Then a boot collided with the back of his skull, and he was merely aware of an incandescent explosion before lapsing into darkness.

When he awoke, his first impression was that of being outside in the open. He smelled earth, and crushed grass, and something cool was caressing his cheek.

“Snape? Can you hear me?”

He meant to say yes, but all that left his mouth was an inarticulate groan. He was, however, able to open his eyes. At first, he thought he had been blinded, and his stomach clenched as the shock seared through his body. But then his eyes adapted to the darkness and he saw that he was, indeed, out in the open, and lying, spread-eagled and face down, in the grass.

“Snape? I have to go back, but I need to make sure you’ll make it to the castle.”

Severus was so weary he just wanted to close his eyes and give himself to the darkness again, but there was an urgency in the other’s voice that kept him tethered just on the brink. “Yes,” he managed to croak, “I can… back… castle.”

“All right.” There was a soft rustling sound, probably of robes brushing over grass. “Listen, Snape, and try to remember. Those people who were there with Voldemort are new recruits from Durmstrang. Three teachers and thirteen students, some of them already graduated. He said they’re to be initiated soon. You have to tell Dumbledore, do you hear me?”

“Yes.” Severus tried to move his head, but gave up when a sharp pain stabbed through his neck and down his back. Panting, he waited until it had become a deep, aching throb, and then asked, “Black? That… you?”

“Of course it’s me. When that idiot kicked your head, you passed out cold. Voldemort just left you there, and started questioning me all over again. Fortunately, the effect of the serum had already faded. It seems—” Black let himself fall on the ground with a thud “—that he believed us. Besides, seeing you tortured had put him in an excellent mood. So he merely presented me to the newcomers…” He gave a soft snort, and Severus had the distinct impression that he was shuddering. “They kissed me on the mouth,” he spat. “If that’s not sick… Anyway, when we were done, Voldemort ordered me to take you back to Hogwarts and return to him immediately.”

“You…” Severus made a supreme effort to articulate. “You haven’t… been pun—punished?”

“Not yet. But you better be sure that I will. Just not in presence of witnesses.” He stood up brusquely. “All right, Snape, I have to go. I’ll cast a warming charm on you, just in case you can’t move immediately.” He muttered an incantation, and Severus felt the air around him become tepid. In spite of this being Black, he meant to thank him, but the other wizard was already gone.

Careful to move as little as possible, Severus tried to find a more comfortable position but failed. His body was simply aching all over, he was feeling nauseous, and the vague throbbing in the small of his back and the sharper, more persistent pain at the back of his skull reminded him that there might be greater damage than just a few broken bones. He tentatively wriggled his toes and was almost grateful for the immediate protest of his sore muscles. At least he was not paralysed—the violence of those blows might have damaged his spine, after all—and thus felt greatly relieved. But there was no way, absolutely no way for him to get back to the castle on his own. Why, he was not even able to draw his wand, let alone cast a levitating spell on himself.

For a while, he just remained as he was, searching in his mind for a possibility to regain the safety of the castle. When inspiration finally hit, he grunted in disgust. Slowly, inch by painful inch, he moved his right hand towards his left wrist and at long last managed to extract his wand from his sleeve. With equal caution, he then wrestled the gold chain from his collar, pointed his wand at the tiny skull pendant and pronounced the incantation. Whom to call, though? After a short reflection, he decided for Narcissa. She was a lighter sleeper than Lucius and, although he was by no means sure how Dumbledore’s communication device might work when the other person was asleep, Severus was sure that she would wake up her husband and come to his rescue together with him.

~~~~*~~~~

Severus had just finished his breakfast on the next morning, when Peggy announced Dumbledore and Lucius. This invasion of his privacy—to meet them in the living room would have been tolerable, but Severus had to stay in bed for at least one more day—was by no means welcome, but seeing as how Dumbledore was to leave Hogwarts today, there was no other possibility.

Clad with his customary splendour, Dumbledore entered the room, Fawkes the phoenix perched on his shoulder. Lucius, who followed in his wake, was looking tired and rather strained; he and Narcissa had worked almost two hours to heal all the injuries. Not enough with that, he had had to stay in Severus's chambers afterwards, feeding him the potion that alleviated the after-effects of Cruciatus and making him drink large quantities of water. Tedious as this forced insomnia was for both of them, it had at least provided the possibility for them to discuss the events of the past few hours, which Lucius had promised to refer to Dumbledore after breakfast.

It was now nearly lunchtime, and Severus was feeling a lot better. He would have liked to see Nimue instead of the two wizards, but that would have to wait until the afternoon.

“Severus!” Dumbledore exclaimed, striding towards the bed and taking Severus's hand in both of his. “I would have liked to say good-bye under different circumstances. How are you feeling?”

“Much better.” Fawkes ruffled his feathers, sang a single trilling note and took off from Dumbledore's shoulder, to land on the duvet. He was quite heavy, and Severus winced as the bird strutted up his legs and sat down on his still-bruised abdomen. But his presence was soothing, and Severus extended his hand, acutely aware of his inability to control its tremor, to stroke the warm plumage.

“It seems,” Dumbledore said, after summoning a chair and sitting down—Lucius had unceremoniously made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, “that Fawkes, too, wanted to say good-bye.”

“I certainly appreciate that.” He smiled and watched as the phoenix rose again and stalked a little further upwards, until his head was a mere inch from Severus's face. Another soft, cooing sound, almost like a dove’s, and the scarlet head touched his mouth. “What—” he began, but was interrupted by the sensation of something warm and infinitely soothing on his lower lip.

He instinctively licked it off, and only when a feeling of warmth and well-being began to spread through his whole body did he realize that he had just ingested a phoenix tear, the most potent healing agent known to the wizarding world. He opened his mouth to thank Fawkes, but the bird merely pecked his ear in an affectionate manner, spread his wings and soared out through the open window, leaving behind a single golden tail feather that shimmered in the sunlight.

Gingerly, Severus picked it up and held it out for Dumbledore to take, but the old wizard shook his head. “No, no, my friend. He has given it to you, so you must keep it. And now I think we have some matters of importance to discuss.”