Unplottable

22 - Snape

He lay naked on the cold, unevenly tiled floor as he had done for days uncountable. He hardly remembered what it was like to feel warm. They were giving him potions on a daily basis, potions which, he believed, were keeping his body alive through the tortures it was subjected to. He surely would have died of the cold if he hadn't been taking such a potion. However, even though his health did not suffer notably from the cold, he did. He felt weak and numb; the cold was robbing him even of the strength to flap his arms or jump around to keep warm. Over time, the cold had defeated his will to fight against it. Now all he did was roll up into a foetal position, a spiral wound up around a small core of clay.

When he had come to the Dark Lord's headquarters to surrender himself, they had stripped him of everything. Not only had they confiscated his wand, his trunk and his broomstick, but they had also taken every item of clothing he had had on him. Then they had thrown him into his cell in the dungeons, letting him out for questioning only. Down here, he was alone with the cold, the filth and his fear.

His body stank; his hair was greasier than ever before, and his cheeks were covered with a rough stubble for the first time in his life. The stench of his cell was unbearable: Being deprived of the last token of human dignity, the refuse bucket, he had been obliged to soil the floor. A permanent light, which reminded him of Azkaban, never let him forget where he was, and how much this place, and his own body, disgusted him. For about sixteen years, he had avoided looking at the marks on his skin, but down here, there was not much else to look at. So for many hours, he just sat there, staring at the skull and the snake protruding from its mouth. A Death Eater he had been, and a Death Eater he would once more become: Lord Voldemort had decided against killing the returned traitor at once, so when pleading for his Lord's mercy, Snape had sworn he would serve him again. If he died down here, if he died during questioning, he would die in the service of the Dark Lord.

When they questioned him, they subjected him to the Crucio curse, making him writhe and twist on the floor with unbearable pain. When he had winced enough for their liking, they asked why he had betrayed his master, and why he had returned to the Dark Lord now; they asked about Hogwarts, about Dumbledore's plans, about Harry Potter and about people trying to fight the Dark Lord. Snape told them all he knew. He told them about Dumbledore's order, and about its members. He told them that Dumbledore was cooperating with the League for Magic and Non-magic Cooperation, that there was a League Camp at Hogwarts, and that Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had escaped to the United States. He told them that Harry Potter had Countered the Icy Fingers curse in summer, and that he was learning wanded combat now. The Death Eaters questioning him took notes between curses, but they were never satisfied with his answers. They asked the same questions over and over again, particularly the one: Why, why had Snape returned to the Dark Lord's service when he had been safe at Hogwarts?

Snape tried to tell them. Things were becoming difficult at Hogwarts. He had committed a couple of crimes for which they might very well have put him into Azkaban. Of course, he could have run away, but in that case, with whom could he have hidden? For him, there was nobody left to turn to. Moreover, he told them that he was trying to remain on the side of the winners. Dumbledore's star was dwindling; the Dark Lord was on the rise again. If his lord showed him mercy, it was better to be on his side once Dumbledore was defeated and Hogwarts had fallen.

The Death Eaters wrote all of this down into their notebooks. Then they cursed him again, and Snape again told them all he remembered.

There was a cloud in his head, an impenetrable ink cloud. When he tried to gaze into it, to see what lay behind it, it seemed he was gazing into a void. It seemed he had had another reason for coming here, for going back over to the Dark Lord, but when he tried to see through the darkness in his mind, it seemed there was nothing to remember. Of course, he could recall many facts about his life, where he had been at what time, whom he had associated with, and what his profession had been, but these facts seemed lifeless and superficial to him; surely for the last sixteen years his existence could not have been that empty? He was sure there was another part of him somewhere, inaccessible, but not altogether lost; yet neither when he was alone nor when they questioned him could he retrieve any of his memories.

And yet, as he lay on the cold tiles, hugging himself without feeling any warmer, he sometimes remembered that there was a way to gaze through the cloud. Then he pulled out the small clay talisman he was hiding in the centre of his foetal position and touched it to his lips. As soon as he had played the first soft notes on the ocarina, he remembered why he had come here, and what he had left behind. The memories coming back to him were not happy ones, but at least he had the feeling of being himself again, instead of being cast into an alien body, an alien life, and being tortured for nothing.

Why they had not found the small, strangely magical instrument on him when they had taken his clothes was a mystery to him. He had hidden it in his mouth, nearly choking on the leather cord, when they had commanded him to take his clothes off. Every minute he had expected discovery; all they had had to do was command him to speak. However, they had neither checked his mouth nor asked him any questions; they had just taken his clothes and brought him down into the dungeons of the re-erected Slytherin Mansion. In his cell, he had found a broken tile underneath which he hid the ocarina at every approach of footsteps. They had not caught him with it yet.

He did not remember the ocarina very often, and knew that was a good thing: If they ever found it, they might take it away, or worse, they might force him to play it in questioning. Yet somehow he knew it was vital that every now and then, he caught a glimpse of himself in all the fear and estrangement that made up his nightless days.

Once more, Snape heard the noise that made him lift up the broken tile and place the clay talisman underneath. When the guarding Death Eater entered, for a moment he hoped he would just be brought his daily bread, water and potion. Then he saw that the guard was not alone, and he almost threw up from fear: They were going to question him again.

The stranger, however, was none of the Dark Lord's standard inquisitors, but rather a tall, slim and slightly grey-haired wizard whom Snape did not recognise. Over his arm, he carried black wizard robes which he threw on Snape's naked body. Wrinkling his nose at the stench of the cell and its inmate, he commanded:

"Put that on and follow me."

Snape pulled the robes over his body, feeling the slightly coarse material chafe his chilled skin. With some effort, he got up; due to his imprisonment and due to the Death Eaters' questioning methods, he did not find walking easy these days. However, it was a good sign that the inquisitors had not permanently maimed him so far: It showed that the Dark Lord might plan to let him live.

Rather stumbling than walking, he followed the guard and the grey-haired Death Eater up two flights of stairs. He was not sure whether to feel relief or apprehension because of this: The questioning had always been done down in the dungeon, probably to prevent the screams of the tortured from disturbing any kind of important Death Eaters' meeting. Therefore, he probably would not been subjected to standard cursing right now. However, he knew that he might have even worse to fear: Wherever the Death Eaters were bringing him, it wasn't likely that they were be taking him out for dinner.

Faintly remembering the layout of Slytherin Mansion, Snape realised where they were going a moment before the grey-haired Death Eater opened the high, carved oak-door. This was the chamber of the Dark Lord himself, the place from which he ruled his followers and devised his plans, from which the Rising of Darkness was controlled. The large, stately room had been restored to its former splendour even in the days of the Dark Lord's first regency when the whole mansion had still been a crumbling ruin. As in its former days, the chamber was dominated by the large, carved throne of the Dark Lord standing in its centre. On the imposing gilded chair sat the Dark Lord himself. Death Eaters were kneeling at his side, waiting to do his bidding.

He should have realised it at once, Snape thought. As the questioning sessions down in the dungeon had not yielded the expected results, the Death Eaters were taking him to be questioned by the Dark Lord himself. Probably, the Dark Lord would decide if there was anything to be gained by keeping Snape - whether he might still be of use, or whether he would be discarded onto the body pile.

While the two Death Eaters led Snape past groups of the Dark Lord's followers, he noticed people sneering and wrinkling their noses at him; many turned away. This was not only due to the fact that he was known as a traitor, Snape realised, but also due to his smell. Remembering the tactics of the Dark Lord, he guessed that this had been his prison guards' intention: As a traitor to the Dark Lord, he was supposed to appear as vile as possible.

Snape kept his eyes down in a humble gesture; when he was pushed to the floor by the guards, he let his body go slack, hitting the marble flooring in a jumble of limbs. This was no great effort, as exhaustion and fear made him weak. Now the Dark Lord would decide over his fate. As soon as he could regain mastery of his body, he scrambled to kneel before the throne.

"My lord, I beg you to forgive me my past crimes, and to let me serve you again," he said, his eyes on the floor.

"Snape the traitor has returned to me," the Dark Lord hissed with false sweetness, his voice high and piercing. "Betraying me has not become you well, Severus."

Around him, the Death Eaters snickered and, once more, wrinkled their noses at him. The strategy of the Dark Lord was working - the immortal wizard knew what he was doing, even though he did not feel disgust as mortals did: From the time in his service, Snape knew that the Dark Lord had had to sacrifice his sense of aesthetics for becoming immortal, because only humans thought and felt in terms of beautiful and ugly, of disgusting and appealing. Therefore, the disgusting smell of Snape's body would only be marked by his intellect without awakening any kind of emotion. That did not mean, of course, that the Dark Lord was unaware of what others found disgusting, knowledge he used to his best advantage.

Snape remained kneeling on the cold marble floor, waiting for the Dark Lord to decide what to do next. He knew better than to speak out of turn or to defend himself. The Dark Lord liked his servants to whimper and to plead, but only at his command, only when it suited him. If he wanted Snape to humiliate himself further in front of everybody else, he would give him a gentle hint like putting him under a Crucio curse or cutting off one of his limbs.

"I will have the truth now," Voldemort said. "Questioning you seems of little use, so I will use other means to find out to what end you have returned to me."

Tentatively, Snape gazed up to see what these means might be; he felt fear rising in him as he saw Voldemort beckon one of his Death Eaters towards him with the tiniest movement of his finger.

Snape recognised Goyle who had gone to school with him. The wizard was carrying a small vial; stopping in front of the kneeling Snape, he shoved it into his trembling hands. "Drink," he tried to snarl - he had never quite mastered the art of snarling like other Death Eaters had.

Snape opened the vial and managed to catch a faint whiff of its odour before he raised it to his lips. Veritaserum, he realised, rather crudely made if he was not mistaken. Perhaps this was why they had let him live so far - he wasn't sure what had become of Avery, but maybe the Dark Lord was lacking a skilled Potions master.

As soon as the potion touched his palate, the world around Snape started to change its hue. The hard floor beneath his knees seemed softened; the ache of his body receded. When he looked back at his lord, Snape saw the Light of Truth shining around him, and he knew he would now free his mind of the burden of secrecy. He would tell the Dark Lord everything.

"Severus Snape, why did you betray me sixteen years ago?" the terrible, high-pitched voice of his master asked.

"I betrayed you because of a woman, because she asked me to, my lord," Snape replied truthfully.

"A woman?" the Dark Lord enquired, incredulous. "What kind of woman would want you to betray me?"

Snape swallowed, knowing that his master would not like his answer, but as truth was a virtue, he revealed what he knew. "Your daughter, my lord. She was at Hogwarts with me for a time, and later went on to become an Auror. When she caught me during a raid, she persuaded me to spy on you. I have regretted my betrayal of you many times, my lord, and beg for your forgiveness."

His master was apparently fuming, though he did not reply immediately. The existence of his daughter appeared not to be a subject many dared to mention around the Dark Lord. Snape waited patiently until his lord asked him another question.

"And this - this woman persuaded you to turn against me?" the Dark Lord almost screeched now.

"Yes, my lord," Snape answered.

"And what did she offer you for your betrayal of me?" the Dark Lord hissed, his red eyes closing to slits, in which the slit-like pupils became mere dots.

Snape shrugged, because he wasn't quite sure himself. "I thought she was offering me her body and her love, but she disappeared before she could fulfil such a promise. I waited for her to return, but she never did."

The Dark Lord's flat-nosed, white face drew up into a smirk. "So she betrayed you, too?" he asked, sounding satisfied.

"Yes, my lord, she did," Snape confirmed.

"Why did you return to me now?" the Dark Lord asked. "You are not stupid enough to think I will not punish you for your transgressions."

"I expect your punishment, my lord, because I know I deserve it. I do not ask you to spare me, but I ask you to let me live so I can serve you again and make up for my past crimes against you. I returned to you because I regret my past actions, and because I know your star is rising, while the star of your opponents is sinking. I believe you will conquer the world this time, and I would much rather give myself up to you out of free will and hope for your forgiveness than wait for you to catch me when you defeat Hogwarts," Snape answered, telling nothing but the truth.

The Dark Lord drew up the left part of his eyebrowless forehead. "Is that all, or is there another reason, too?" he edged Snape on.

"There is, my lord," Snape admitted, prepared to tell the whole truth now. "There is something I desire to own which your opponents will not give me, but which may be in your power to grant me one day if I serve you faithfully, if I earn it."

"Which is?" the Dark Lord needled him on.

"Your daughter, my lord," Snape replied truthfully.

For a few moments, the chamber of the Dark Lord fell into absolute silence. Snape knew that his audacious honesty, though potion-induced, might well cost him his life. He looked up at his master, waiting for him to strike.

"My daughter, again?" the Dark Lord said, disgust in his high-pitched voice.

"Yes, my lord," Snape confirmed, disregarding the snickers of the Death Eaters surrounding him. Each one of them was only waiting to do the Dark Lord's bidding and torture him to death, he knew.

"Oh, aren't we smart," the Dark Lord sneered. "You want to mate with my daughter in the hope of impregnating her so that you son will be my successor."

"No, my lord," honesty compelled Snape to object. "As you are immortal, you will never need a successor. I just desire to have your daughter for my own, to get what she once promised to me."

"How very sweet," the Dark Lord snapped. Dutifully, the Death Eaters laughed. "And how very presumptive of you, considering that you are a traitor and have come here to receive your punishment. If I let you live now, and if you prove worthy to be my servant again after all your treachery, this does not mean that I will reward you with anything more valuable than your own contemptible and meaningless life."

"Of course, my lord," Snape replied politely. "However, if you give me a chance, I will prove to you that I can make up for my past errors. Maybe I even can prove to you that I am worthy to receive from your hands what I desire."

The Dark Lord emitted a shrill sound which remotely resembled a laugh. "This remains to be proven, indeed, and although I do not intend to make it easy for you, it is not absolutely out of question that one day, I may decide to grant a wish like yours to someone. But I am sure you know that once I catch my daughter, I will punish her severely for her treachery. She will not be as pretty as she is rumoured to be once my Death Eaters are done with her - all of my Death Eaters," he added, gaining roaring laughter from his followers.

"I am aware of this, and I accept it," Snape replied. "Evilness knows her haughtiness can do with some humiliation."

The Dark Lord did not respond for a moment. Holding their breath, all the wizards in the room were waiting for him to speak. Snape himself felt that some kind of judgement was forming in his lord's mind: He would decide whether or not he would let Snape live for now.

"Take him to the potion dungeon, where he can make himself useful," the Dark Lord decreed. "Do not let him out of sight; until he proves to be worthy, he is my prisoner. But before he gets to work, clean him up, because he is filthy."

Everybody laughed once more; Snape felt the stench of his body sting in his nose more than ever. If he was ever accepted back into the circle of the Death Eaters, he would be reminded of this moment every single day. But for now, he turned his face to his lord, and said, like every good servant would:

"My lord, I thank you for my life. All my efforts will now be directed in repaying you your generosity."

Again, the Dark Lord replied with his high-pitched laugh. "Do not think your punishment is over, Severus. Whatever you do to please me, your punishment will never be over. Crucio!"

And from the wand of the Dark Lord shot a pain that had Snape writhing on the floor again, screaming for mercy as flames of torture seemed to devour his body. The Dark Lord did not remove the curse for a long, long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When permitted to go and clean himself up, Snape crawled out of the room rather than walked. Waves of flashback pain still flooded his body at irregular intervals, and the long days spent in his dungeon cell had weakened his constitution. The tall, grey-haired Death Eater who had brought him to the Dark Lord's chamber now led him to a washroom where Snape had a long, long shower. He scrubbed the filth and the smell off his body, washed his hair and shaved. Cleaned up, he felt considerably better, even though his body and mind ached for sleep. After putting on the clean robes he had been given, he regarded himself in the mirror and thought he looked almost human again. Only the hair was still a bit greasy, because he had only had normal shampoo, not Roary's magical shampoo. For a fleeting moment, he wondered who Roary was, but as he only hit the ink cloud in his mind, he left the question unsolved. Then his eyes strayed back to his black-robed chest. There was something missing, an item he felt he should have on him but which he did not have, but, with regard to the other problems at hand, he let matters slip from his mind.

Outside, the grey-haired Death Eater was sitting on a chair, reading the Daily Prophet. When Snape came through the door, his round and generally friendly face broke into a grin.

"Ah - so you are human, after all," he said.

Snape nodded, spending much effort on holding himself erect. He did not want the other one to see his exhaustion and pain, his weakness. Although he was craving sleep, he knew he would probably have to work a full shift in the potions dungeon before he would be permitted to close his eyes.

"Okay, let's go to our workplace," the Death Eater said.

Snape nodded again, unsure whether he would be able to speak coherently. Moreover, there was nothing more to say; he would simply obey the other one, as he did not have much choice.

Following the Death Eater was not easy, for he walked at a brisk pace, and Snape's feet hurt. Somehow, all the pain in his body seemed to slip down into his lower limbs, which consequently refused to obey his mind's commands. His knees buckled, and his ankles complained with every single step. Snape tried not to let it show, but fell behind until the Death Eater stopped and waited for him. Humiliated, Snape trudged on, doing his best to catch up.

Finally they had reached the potions dungeon, a spacey underground laboratory which seemed very well equipped, at least to Snape's first cursory glance. Bracing himself against the doorframe and trying hard not to let his speech slur, Snape asked:

"All right, on which potions do you want me to work first?"

The Death Eater let his gaze slip over Snape's trembling body, and then looked him directly in the face.

"I cannot let you work on potions when you are in such a state. You would probably ruin every potion and waste precious ingredients. I suggest you take some time to rest before you undertake any attempt to work. There is a cot in the supplies room," he said and pointed to a door at the far end of the room.

Snape returned the other's gaze. He felt incredibly grateful. "Thank you," he said.

The Death Eater nodded. "No problem. I suppose we should try to get along, as we will work together. My duty here is potion-making since Avery died of a Countered curse last summer. Unfortunately, I have never continued my studies beyond my potions NEWT, so I will be grateful to learn things from you. Of course, you are also my responsibility, because the Dark Lord has decreed that you are not to leave the building unless under his command. However, as long as you do not give me any trouble, I do not see why I should give you more trouble than necessary."

In an odd way, this made sense, Snape thought. He attempted a smile and thanked the Death Eater again. The wizard stretched out a hand for Snape to shake it; Snape took it. The hand felt cool and dry in his.

"I know your name, so I suppose you should know mine, too," the Death Eater said. "My name is Evnissyen Dumbledore."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Compared to the hardships he had experienced in his underground cell, Snape found his duties in the potions dungeon quite easy to bear. Evnissyen had drawn up a 'to do-list' for them; once Snape had woken from almost seven hours of solid sleep, he started working on it. He checked which ingredients were in store, and which had to be ordered. Then he drew up a schedule for potion making, taking into account the amount of time required for each potion, but also whether it was urgently needed and whether he had all the ingredients for it. This accomplished, he started to work at his normal pace, leaving Evnissyen to stare at him in awe. By noon of the next day, he had enrolled the other Death Eater as a fulltime assistant and apprentice. Normally, Snape hated working together with any other person, but as Evnissyen proved eager, mentally acute and sufficiently knowledgeable, Snape soon found he did not mind having him around.

At lunchtime, the two of them joined the other Death Eaters in the overlarge dining hall of Slytherin Mansion. All in all, Snape counted about sixty wizards seated at two long tables, their hoods drawn back to reveal their curious stares at the traitor who had returned to the Dark Lord and had been permitted to live. There were a few faces Snape recognised, but most of them were unknown to him. Of course, he had not known every Death Eater even when he had been one of them: Fearing treachery, the Dark Lord had not encouraged Death Eaters to know each other any better than it was necessary. Evnissyen, Snape's senior by a couple of years, had served the Dark Lord long before him, but Snape had never met Dumbledore's renegade son before.

One of the Death Eaters Snape recognised at once was Lucius Malfoy, of course. Tall, silver-blond and impeccably dressed, he looked the true wizard aristocrat among the Dark Lord's followers, someone who casually dropped in every now and then as a special favour. After Snape had taken his meal, the first real food he had been given in a long time, Malfoy walked up to him. Standing tall next to the seated Snape, his well-tailored, drawn-back hood broadening his shoulders, he looked more imposing than ever.

"Severus, my friend, how pleasant to see you alive after all your treachery," Malfoy said with false sweetness.

Snape knew that his life was still hanging by a thin thread, and that Malfoy's words had always counted a lot with the Dark Lord.

"How pleasant to see you are getting ahead in life, sir," he responded meekly. "I congratulate you on probably becoming our next Minister of Magic."

Malfoy scowled; idly, Snape wondered whether his chances of being elected into this office were maybe smaller than many people thought. To mollify him, he added: "You must tell me of your son's success at Durmstrang some time."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, then abruptly turned on his heel and left. It scared Snape slightly, as he did not know what he had done wrong. Turning to Evnissyen, he saw the other Death Eater raise his eyebrows at him. Somehow he got the feeling there was something to know here, something Evnissyen was familiar with, but he did not dare to ask.

After lunch, Snape dug into his work again. He managed to complete two complex poisons and to fill a set of vials with each. Then he set to work on an Exploding Lotion, a popular potion used for killing people from a distance. Moreover, he prepared some ingredients which had to simmer for a couple of weeks, or which had to rest over night after cooling. Evnissyen helped him considerably and for some reason asked intelligent questions only.

While he was working, Snape did not manage to chase away a nagging, slightly unpleasant thought. He had forgotten something, or lost something. He did not quite remember what it was, but had the uncomfortable impression that it was something important. However, as he could not recall what this important thing might be, he left matters until he would remember.

Snape and Evnissyen kept up their work on the potion over the next couple of days. Snape was almost content to work with the other one, as he found him fairly easy-going: Somehow, the two wizards appeared to have signed an unwritten contract that unless it was necessary, neither would boss the other one around. Evnissyen never insisted on keeping any kind of close tabs on Snape as long as he was within eyesight. Realising he was treated well, Snape tried to repay this by for once being a patient teacher in return. Evnissyen facilitated this by being quick, exact and intelligent and by asking Snape's advice in a way which suggested that overall, they were on one level, that there was no need for hierarchy between them.

Snape found working in the potions dungeon almost pleasant, almost peaceful: Evnissyen and he kept up a daily routine which suited him well. In a way, it was almost like being on holiday, because that's what he had always done in the blissful time of the summer holidays when there were no students around: He had spent his hours in soothing solitude, brewing potions, doing the work he loved. However, just as Snape knew each summer that the holidays were doomed to end one day, he was sure that life would not go on like this forever. His time in the potions dungeon was the calm before the storm rather than a permanent solution. The Dark Lord was observing his behaviour; he was sure that Evnissyen was reporting Snape's conduct to him. Sooner or later the Dark Lord would decide whether to keep Snape or to get rid of him. If he kept Snape, he had to decide whether to permanently keep him as a prisoner in the potions dungeons or whether to trust him again, to accept him back into the rank of a Death Eater. Although something cowardly within Snape hoped he could stay in the dungeon, he knew he had returned to his lord to become a Death Eater once more, and to do his lord's bidding wherever he was sent.

One day, Evnissyen returned to the dungeon; as he did now and then, he had locked Snape in to go after his own business, perhaps to speak to the Dark Lord.

"I'm sorry, but they are going to question you again, partner," he said to Snape.

An icy lump of fear formed in Snape's stomach, as always when he knew he could expect torture. For a moment, he felt the idiotic desire to plead with Evnissyen to protect him, but he knew that would have been useless. It was nice of his guard and work partner to show sympathy when Snape was fetched for inquisition, but it would have been out of place to expect anything more of him. Therefore, he quietly finished his task of counting flies' legs, jotted down their number in the inventory and put his things away. Then he said: "I am ready."

Evnissyen raised an eyebrow at him. "You seem to be bearing it quite well, partner," he said.

Snape shrugged. He willed his mind not to think of the torture he feared, and managed to reply almost evenly: "Well, it's certainly not that I would not mind it, but I suppose it is to be expected that I am being questioned. Therefore, there is no use for any kind of complaints."

Evnissyen gave him a piercing look, but did not say anything. A few minutes later, the Death Eaters entrusted with the task of questioning victims came and took him down into the torture chamber.

Once more, they put him under the Crucio curse. Snape writhed and screamed; he twitched and twisted madly on the floor, tearing his robes and chafing his skin. His muscles cramped up, adding the current Crucio curse to the pain accumulated in past questionings. All the time, he pleaded with his torturers to lift the curse; he would tell them everything. For a few minutes, they lifted the curse to let him speak, promising he would not be cursed again if he came up with something new. Snape told them about Dumbledore's order, about the League Camp and about Sirius Black; he told him about the Dark Lord's daughter, and that he, Snape had returned to the Dark Lord because he hoped to finally win her this way, be she willing or not. Unfortunately, none of these things were new, so they subjected him to three more rounds of cursing until they gave up. Then they accompanied him back to the potions dungeon. Snape tried his best to walk upright. His sense of direction had been temporarily disturbed, and he saw the world as a kind of blur, so every now and then, one of his torturers had to give him a little shove in the right direction. Finally, they pushed him through the door of his work place. Snape fell flat on his face. He was not entirely sure where he was, but was glad when he heard the door slam behind him: They were gone.

Numb as he was, it took him some time to realise that someone had grabbed him under his arms and was pulling him across the room. He tried to see where he was being taken, but his eyes would not focus properly. Then he felt his back slip onto the cot, felt his legs being dragged up. Then blackness surrounded him.

When he came to, he found himself on the cot in the supplies room once more. His whole body ached; his mouth was parched. At first the room spun around him, but after a while, the walls settled back into their place.

Looking around with eyes that felt as if they had been torn out of his head and then bewitched back inside, he found a full glass of water on the floor, placed next to an empty bucket for vomiting. With trembling hands, he reached for the glass and managed to spill only a third of its content. Greedily he drained it. Then he took deep, slow breaths, willing his mind to clear.

"Do you want more?" Evnissyen must have heard him, because he was standing in the doorway.

Snape nodded. Most of all, he wanted the pain to recede. "Anaesthese Potion," he croaked, wondering if Evnissyen would comply with his plead. He was probably not permitted to give Snape something to ease his pain. Nevertheless, Evnissyen returned to the supplies room with a bottle of water and a vial holding the freshly brewed, emerald green potion. He let five green drops fall into Snape's glass, filled it up with water and handed it over. Again, Snape drank as one dying of thirst, this time without spilling a single drop. Evnissyen remained crouching by his cot until Snape felt better a few minutes later.

"The Dark Lord wants to see you as soon as you wake up," he finally said. "You will be subjected to Veritaserum again, this time the stuff we made, he said."

Snape realised that Evnissyen was warning him, maybe even offering his help. Compared with the Veritaserum he had been given before, the one they had recently brewed was much stronger. Of course, what could Evnissyen do? He could, of course, give the Dark Lord forged Veritaserum for Snape, thereby endangering his own life. He was not sure what to answer his partner. Was he really offering to risk his life for Snape, or were his words nothing but a trap?

"Give him our best potion then," he replied. "Whether or not the Dark Lord decrees that I must die is out of my hands. However, as far as the truth is concerned, I have nothing to fear. I have told him the truth, and will do so again even if subjected to the strongest Veritaserum there is. I have told him all I know."

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