Secrets in the Dark

Chapter 8: The Spy

The very instant Severus apparated into the circle of Death Eaters, the curse hit him square in the chest. A searing pain shot through his body, a stream of white-hot lava setting every single neuron on flame, making him twitch and quiver violently until finally his knees buckled and he fell to the hard stone floor, writhing in excruciating pain.

"Don't scream. You must not scream," was all he could think while he clenched his jaws tight, his teeth slicing deep into his lower lip. Every fiber in his body seemed on fire, longed to cry out in agony, but he mustn't give the monster that satisfaction. Severus had been subjected to the Cruciatus before, since it was one of the Dark Lord's favorite pastimes to cast the curse on all his minions once in a while and without any apparent reason other than to demonstrate his absolute power. But it had been for no more than a few seconds, then. Though you never got really used to it, it was bearable in a way. Now, the pain wouldn't cease, but only intensified as the curse was repeated twice, thrice, and ever new waves of pain swept through his body.

"You are late, Sssseverussss. I've been waiting for you for many days," Voldemort hissed. Then, his voice turned into a roar, "Nobody makes the Dark Lord wait, ever! Crucio!"

When finally the curse was lifted, Severus was on the verge of fainting. Blood was streaming from his mangled lip, he was panting and coughing badly, trembling all over in the aftermath of the Unforgivable.

"I hope you will remember well this lesson, Sssseverussss. And make sure you won't disappoint me ever again."

"I won't, Master," Severus managed to croak between the coughs as he tried to scramble to his feet.

"And what is your excuse, if I may ask?" the Dark Lord purred in a dangerously low voice.

"I was sick." Not really a good excuse since Voldemort expected his minions to appear before him in whatever condition, Severus knew that. But at least it wasn't a lie. The lies were for later - if there was a later.

"Oh, poor little Ssseverusss was sick?" Voldemort sneered. "Be grateful that I won't show you what being sick really means - or shall I?"

He wouldn't plead for mercy, no. Pleading wouldn't help anyway. Only pathetic creeps like Karkarov and his likes would try that. Nothing to gain but contempt from both Master and fellow Death Eaters. He would not sink that low ...

"Whatever you think is fitting, my Lord." Severus gritted his teeth in anticipation of another Crucio. But it didn't come.

"We have important things to discuss and no more time for games. Where is your father?" Black eyes bored into equally black ones, trying to penetrate the young wizard's mind, the red rims around the dark pupils glowing dangerously and sending chills down Severus's spine.

Empty your mind. Don't think of anything. Don't let him read you, for Merlin's sake, or you're done for. You can do it, Severus tried to calm himself, but now he was trembling more from fear than from the Cruciatus. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice.

"Isn't - isn't he here?" Severus tried to sound surprised and looked shakily around for the first time as if looking for his father. Scelestus's place was empty as he expected, but Caligula's had already been filled with a substitute. Lucius?

"No, he is not here, and I thought, you could tell me what happened." There was distrust and a deathly threat in the Dark Lord's voice. "You are his son!"

Bloody liar. I'm surely not his son as you should damn well know. The hate that was welling up in Severus's breast actually had a calming effect. He wouldn't give himself away, wouldn't confess and crawl to his Master on all fours, licking the hem of his robes and crying for mercy and forgiveness. He wouldn't disappoint Dumbledore, even if he died for it.

"I haven't been home for weeks. But it wouldn't surprise me if he was too drunk to apparate, my Lord," he lied smoothly. He even managed to put in a bite of his trademark sarcasm that had made him a whole lot of enemies among his peers in school as well as among his fellow Death Eaters, who feared him for his quick and scathing tongue. But the Dark Lord had been rather pleased so far, though Severus wasn't sure if insulting the deceased Scelestus in front of his Master was a wise idea. Probably not. Scelestus was his very first and most loyal minion, after all.

"Your father never let me wait like you did, boy!" Voldemort thundered, his face contorted in cold rage. "Crucio!"

Definitely not a good idea, was the last thought that shot through Severus's mind before the pain flooded his consciousness again, worse than ever. Everything drowned in a haze of burning fire. In the distance, somebody was crying out in agony. The voice sounded somehow familiar, but he could not place it. Or was it he who was screaming? Then, the world turned dark as he drifted into oblivion.

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Hours later, Severus slowly returned to reality. When he opened his eyes, he saw the bleak winter sun shining faintly through the dust-caked windows. The Death Eaters seemed to have left, but his vision was so blurry, he couldn't be sure. His entire body was aching, every movement causing new flashes of pain. There were puddles of blood on the floor, and his torn robes were soaked in places. But he was alive. And sane. That was at least something. How much worse his ordeal would have been if not for the bite of Murtlap he had swallowed just before disapparating at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, he did not want to contemplate.

"Ah, you decided to wake up at last." The drawling voice resonated in the hall-like room. "I already thought I'd have to stay in this hole all night and day to watch your pathetic carcass." Severus knew the voice at once, there was no mistaking it. Lucius Malfoy, Caligula Malfoy's son. They had been room-mates during all those years at Hogwarts, and in spite of Lucius arrogance and annoying haughtiness, they had become friends of sorts. Not like Potter and Black, the inseparable and insufferable duo, but in a Slytherin kind of way. And, strangely enough, and though nobody would admit it, this included loyalty.

"Luc?" Severus asked weakly. He tried to sit up, but sank back again with a groan.

"Pretty mess you got yourself into tonight. And, of course, it's poor me who has to pick up the pieces," Malfoy drawled on. "What on earth did you think you were doing, Sev? To foolishly aggravate the Dark Lord when everybody knew he had been in the foulest of moods ever since our glorious fathers managed to blow themselves up, or whatever happened." He didn't seem to be especially concerned with his father's untimely demise. "Or do you really want to tell me you didn't know they are dead? Sev? Are you listening at all?" No reaction. Severus had closed his eyes again, there were fine droplets of perspiration on his brow, and his pale skin had acquired a greenish tinge. With genuine concern written on his face - an extremely rare phenomenon in a Malfoy - Lucius strode through the room and knelt down by his friend's side.

"Sev, what's wrong? Answer me!"

"Sick." Severus doubled over, his hands clutching his waist, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Lucius did not hesitate. He raised his groaning friend to a sitting position and held him firmly as he threw up bile and blood. He even produced a handkerchief to wipe Severus's damp face after his ordeal.

"Thanks, Luc," Severus managed after a while. He was still leaning heavily against the blond wizard, who tried in vain to not get his silken robes bloodied.

"Well, we better get you out of here soon. These cuts should be properly looked after. We don't want the Snape-line to become extinct just now, do we? There are little enough pure-blood families left."

If only you knew ...

"Can you stand? Or shall I use Mobilicorpus on you?" Malfoy smirked. He knew exactly that Severus would rather crawl on all fours than being subjected to that spell ever again. It had to do with Potter and Black and one of their pranks, of course. During their fourth year, Severus had tried to get into the Slytherin Quidditch team as a Chaser and secretly practiced in the evenings before the tryouts. He was a pretty good flyer, but still nobody believed his story about Potter and Black hexing his broom when he woke up in the hospital wing with a broken leg. Instead, the two got awarded twenty Housepoints each for rescuing him! And, of course, they had made sure that there were plenty of students around to see his unconscious form floated towards the Hospital wing by Potter's wand point. Soon, the entire school knew Potter's version of the story and, once again, everybody had a good laugh at his expenses. That put an end to his Quidditch ambitions.

"Don't you dare," Severus spat and shakily struggled to his feet. With Lucius half dragging, half carrying him, they made it slowly to the entrance of the dilapidated house, and crossed the anti-Apparition line.

"Since your house lies in ruins, I propose I'll take you to the Manor. We have plenty of guest rooms, and our house-elf can fix you up. You surely want to be in good shape for the raid on Saturday. Alastor Moody is celebrating his 50-years on-the-job anniversary, and we should definitely drop by and congratulate, don't you think so?" But before Severus could answer, the blond had apparated them to the Malfoys' family seat.

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Dobby, Lucius's house-elf, had done a remarkable job. Severus was feeling much better already, lying comfortably between cool and unbelievably light silken sheets, his wounds cleaned and bandaged, and a strong pain-killing potion coursing through his veins, making him pleasantly dizzy and sleepy. All in all, it could be worse. He could be dead, for instance, or mad. Come to think of it, the Crutiatus galore might even have saved his life. If the Dark Lord had conducted a thorough interrogation instead, he might not have stood a chance, natural Occlumens or not. And certainly not if they had given him Veritaserum. So, there was a positive side to the Cruciatus, who would have thought of that?

He was alive, and he even had something of importance to report to Dumbledore. Warn him of the scheduled raid on Moody so the Order could cross the Dark Lord's plans for once. The only thing that worried him was how he was supposed to stay out of the line of fire if it came to a fight. Without raising suspicion. Plus he couldn't let Lucius down, they were friends, after all. But certainly, the Headmaster would come up with something. Yes, he would. You could trust the old wizard. He should have known that from the very start. But better now than never. And Dumbledore trusted him, was proud of him. He had called him son - and had meant it. Maybe he would even survive the dangerous spying-game - with the help of Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard in all Britain, probably the entire world. Dumbledore would think of something ...

And with those reassuring thoughts Severus fell asleep.

The End