Another Story

Chapter Three

In which there is a Death Eater meeting

Earlier that same evening ...

Severus lifted himself from the damp stone floor. His arms trembled uncontrollably under his own weight. He was in a room, more properly a small dungeon, dank and subterranean, and lying on the ground, surrounded by a circle of Death Eaters, almost all of whom had been subjected to one curse or another for their varying levels of perceived disobedience or incompetence. Lord Voldemort, who had just delivered a string of curses, including most prominently the Cruciatus curse, his favorite, was staring down at him with mild amusement and disdain. Severus slowly rose, struggling to seem impassive and chastened at the same time. He felt neither. His heart was pounding and the pain had not dulled sufficiently for him to think of anything else.

"You are a great disappointment to me, Severus," said Voldemort in a dangerously unconcerned tone. It was the one he used right before he was finished with someone, right before he killed them.

Severus remained silent. There was nothing anyone could say that would sway Voldemort in the least once he had decided one of his follower's fates. He kept his eyes upon the floor. There was no need to invite another curse and additional pain. And to look Lord Voldemort in the eye often resulted in just that.

"I am giving you another chance. One last opportunity, if you will, to bring me what I want. It is not a difficult thing that I ask of you, Severus. I expect it to be done by the next time I summon you. Or else it will be the last time," said Voldemort. His voice was icy and admonishing in very threatening way. There was no doubt that he was deadly serious.

"Yes, my lord," Severus answered perfunctorily.

"And here is a reminder," said Voldemort. "Crucio!"

Severus collapsed again, but did not cry out. He remained silent and relatively composed. His body was well schooled in accepting the torture. And the other Death Eaters respected him for that if for nothing else. When subjected to the Cruciatus curse, Malfoy groaned like a large animal giving birth. Crabbe and Goyle gibbered like idiots. Avery shrieked like a small child. MacNair squeaked like a rabbit. The others screamed and pled for mercy in half-coherent babble. But Snape managed to endure it without a sound. Few were the times when Voldemort had coaxed anything from him.

Severus remained on the ground a long time after the curse had ended. He was almost certain that he would lose consciousness. Then he remembered Hermione.

"She is waiting for you, Severus, and if you pass out here, she will worry," he told himself, slowly dragging himself to his feet.

Voldemort had turned his attention to Lucius Malfoy again, which Severus found rather pleasing on some level. It was probably his son Draco who had brought Severus' recent adventure to the attention of his father and Lucius who had mentioned it to Voldemort. The Dark Lord had been quite interested in his sojourn in the prison realm of the demons, of which he had heard rumors during his own school days. The thing he required of Severus was information regarding many facets of the prison world, such as how to unlock the realm, how to unleash the demons therein, and how others might be imprisoned there permanently. Severus remembered well his words from when he first made the request.

"Salazar Slytherin had a hand in creating this, and anything he made I can turn to my advantage. I want every scrap of information collected, every rumor and theory cataloged, and every way and means of using this to the furtherance of my cause discovered," Voldemort had instructed him on the fateful night just two days after his return.

"But, my lord, Dumbledore had all of the records removed ..."

"I will not hear this from you!" Voldemort has hissed.

Much later, many curses later, the Dark Wizard spoke again: "Krohn would have made notes. The man was a fool and seldom looked to further knowledge for practical reasons. But he would have made a record of how Herr Grindelwald was imprisoned. He was meticulous, much like you, my dear Severus. I suggest you do not return to me empty-handed. I will not be pleased."

Severus had informed Dumbledore of the mandate he had been given. The headmaster had looked very grave and told Severus to see what he could find. He was worried. And the potions' master shared that sentiment. It was imperative that the information be found, and destroyed for all time. If Voldemort unleashed the hoard, there would be no winner in their war. At least, there would be no wizard winners in the war. The demons would simply divide and conquer. Hogwarts would be destroyed. Then the monsters would turn on Voldemort. Wizarding England would be laid waste. And then ... perhaps the rest of the world.

Severus had kept all of this from Hermione, who had only questioned him when she had witnessed him rummaging through the potions' tomes in his quarters, ones leftover from the last potions' master who had occupied the rooms, who had taught him. Professor Krohn had been in his late sixties at the time and had been everything Voldemort called him and more besides.

Severus had not appreciated the often impassive, yet sometimes mercurial man during his time as a student, considering him a relic of a by-gone age, the age of Grindelwald, for the professor had never moved on. After his experience in the prison realm, Snape understood why Krohn had remained trapped in time. It had been his potion that had thrown the Dark Wizard into that prison world. It had not been an easy task, nor one that could be readily forgotten. Those eerily hawk-like hazel eyes had seen so much, too much perhaps.

But Severus owed Krohn a debt, one that he acknowledged with painful reluctance, that could never be repaid. It had been his old head of house who had convinced him to seek forgiveness from Dumbledore and to offer his services as a spy when Snape had seen the error of his ways and knew Voldemort for what he truly was. Reynard Krohn had been positive, and strangely so, that the headmaster would allow him to make amends instead of permitting him to be taken straight to Azkaban and thrown to the dementors. And the aging professor had been right.

Severus, finally recovering enough of his strength and his mind, returned to his place in the circle between Malfoy and Goyle. The former was lying upon the floor in a heap, breathing raggedly behind his mask. Voldemort had wandered back to a chair on a slightly raised stone dais. Every lord has his throne. That served as such for Lord Voldemort. He collapsed almost languidly into his seat. Had anyone there been old enough, it might have recalled to them the graceful languor of a studious and handsome young man named Tom Riddle, of whom very little remained.

"When next I call upon you, we will begin planning our strike against Hogwarts. It must be planned very carefully. I do not expect to fail this time," said Voldemort.

Various Death Eaters murmured agreement and oaths not to fail again. Voldemort had not been lenient when they had failed to take the castle the year before. Severus' heart pounded as he remembered enchanting his wand to only cast stunning spells no matter what he had attempted during the battle. He had avoided hitting any students, but he had grazed Professor Sinistra, who had been crouching over a fallen Ravenclaw boy who was in his seventh year. The young man had died, despite her best efforts. Severus, who had been in disguise like his ‘comrades', had wondered if he had inadvertently contributed to his death. Later he had overheard Anna tell Professor Sprout that it had been a combination of nasty and deadly curses. Nothing could have been done. And Severus had felt relieved, but only a little.

"And perhaps this time we might have some assistance," added Voldemort, leering slightly at Severus.

He raised his wand slightly, but seemed to think better of it. Or was he only toying with the weakened potions' master? Severus imagined that in his condition, not helped any by the recent demonic unpleasantness, Voldemort might have been able to extract a muted cry, or else cause him to pass out. Then, of course, there was always the possibility of madness. Severus only nodded mutely and tried to keep expression neutral: no distaste, no anger, no fear, no nervousness.

"For those of you with children in our order," Voldemort began, and Severus could barely suppress the spark of interest or curiosity in his eyes, "see to it that they are well-informed as to their duties and responsibilities, but do not tell them any more than that."

Severus glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Death Eaters by his side. They gave no indication as to whether that order applied to them or not. He was aware that some of his students were under the Dark Lord's sway, voluntarily, and that one or more were possibly having influence exerted over them by means of the Imperious Curse. The level of trust that Voldemort had in him did not extend to informing him of the names of new members. Their identities remained somewhat secret as in the old days. There were ever those in the circle, additions to the cause, whose identities were not known by all. But he suspected that Draco Malfoy had taken the Mark of his own free will, and if he had, then Crabbe and Goyle had possibly done the same. If only Severus could be certain. The Imperious Curse was not beyond Lucius' skill.

"You are all dismissed," said Voldemort.

Severus loathed this part of the meeting. It was worse than the curses on some level. One by one they filed up to the chair where Voldemort sat and kissed the hem of his robes before leaving the chamber to Disapparate. Even as a blind and stupid eighteen-year-old, Severus had hated the grotesque obsequiousness of the gesture. How long had it been since any of them had revered Voldemort? Had any of them kissed his robe out of anything but fear in many years? Severus had been punished for his own insouciance and disregard during those first dark days of Voldemort's power. But now those punishments were much stiffer, because Voldemort simply wasn't human anymore.

Severus was the last in line, just behind Goyle, who had little difficulty in fawning at the feet of his master. He imagined that his son would be the same.

Severus knelt and pressed the hem of the dark garment to his lips. He was careful not to look up as he did so. It was be difficult enough to leave his knees without undergoing another Cruciatus. He had lost count of them already. And Hermione would be waiting for him, he reminded himself. She would know what he had allowed Voldemort to do to him. She would know what had happened. And she would be very distressed by it.

He started to rise from the floor, the irksome deed done, but a wand upon his shoulder restraining him. Severus froze in place and looked up at Voldemort.

"A word, Severus."

"My lord?"

"Do not fail me. I have no qualms about killing you. You know that. But you are useful to me, so long as you are obedient. But if you disobey, I will make an example of you such as your fellows will not forget in a very, very long time."

"Yes, my lord," he replied, feeling his stomach knot.

Voldemort did not make idle threats, and Severus had seen what had become of those of whom he had made an example. More than a few of those images Severus knew he would carry to his grave, unable to forget the agony he had witnessed, which had been beyond human understanding. Even during the years of watchful peace, they had given him nightmares.

"Then we understand each other," said Voldemort slowly.

"I would not dare to suppose that I ..." Severus began, knowing well what he was required to say in such a circumstance.

"Spare me," said Voldemort. "And get out of my sight."

Severus bowed and left the dungeon chamber with quick and even steps. He could not have run even if he had wanted to do so, and he did not wish to give Voldemort the satisfaction of seeing him stumble. Not again, not even again.