Though This Be Madness

O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a / king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. — Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2

Part IX: Detention

I have returned to hell.

I hoped never to see these disgusting white walls again, but here I am, once more strapped to a mattress at wrist, ankle, waist, and—for added fun—my head, as well. And Ophelia is gone. I've lost her again.

The first few days, I was confined to the bed, but now I am allowed to move about the castle and grounds—under Dumbledore's close personal supervision, of course. My daily constitutionals, as Madam Pomfrey calls them. I cannot resist them without my wand. That cow Pomfrey also forces her vile concoctions into my veins—morning, noon, and night, so I am imprisoned within and without, with no chance of release.

Lately their mind-muddling poisons have been making me hallucinate—the very thing that Dumbledore claims they are supposed to prevent. One particular image has haunted me for most of the week: flashes of a woman with flaming red hair, screaming and pleading for her life. I feel as though I should know her, but I don't. I wish I knew what all this means. I've no idea how to find her, much less help her. I don't even know if she's still alive. And yet, I see her face repeatedly, begging me to help her. How can I do anything to help you? I don't even know who you are, you bloody Muggle fool!

"Good morning, Mr Snape!" my nursemaid twitters in her annoyingly cheerful voice, as she draws back the curtains surrounding my bed.

I only scowl. Does the old bat expect me to be pleased to see her? If she does, she'll be sorely disappointed.

"Are we feeling up to taking our potions by mouth today?"

"Leave me alone," I grumble.

"I'll take that as a 'no,' then," she says crisply, undeterred, and begins to roll up my sleeve.

"Can I at least go to the loo first?" I ask after a moment, trying my best to sound more co-operative, as I've just had an idea.

"Very well." Madam Pomfrey stops fidgeting with my sleeve and lays her wand on the edge of the bed. Foolish woman. After bending to retrieve a bedpan, she walks to the end of the bed and untucks the covers, but I shake my head.

"No, please. Let me go to the loo. By myself."

She lowers the sheet uncertainly but then shakes her head. "I'm afraid I can't, Mr Snape. Professor Dumbledore's orders. You understand..."

"No, I don't understand, Madam Pomfrey," I snap, turning my face away. "All this is supposed to be helping me lead a normal life, isn't it? Tell me: how many twenty-year-olds do you know who need someone to help them piss?"

Though I'm no longer looking at her face, I can tell we're nearly there. It's almost too simple. Healers are so easy to manipulate. Play on their sympathy, remind them of the indignities you've already had to suffer, and they are putty in your hands. I fight to keep the smirk off my face as she unbuckles the straps 'round my ankles and waist, and I whisper my barely audible thanks when she frees my wrists. She's even smiling when I take hold of her wand, whilst she unfastens the last buckle on my forehead.

I do need the loo, but that can wait until I am safely out of this prison. Before she even knows what is happening, I sit up in one quick movement, digging the tip of her own wand into her throat. She gives a quiet yelp and jumps backward, eyes going wide, and now I can repress my smirk no longer.

"You've been very helpful, Madam Pomfrey," I purr, getting to my feet. "I thank you. And if you continue to be so co-operative, I promise you won't get hurt. Now, where are my clothes?"

I doubt I would get very far in this nightshirt and my bare feet, but it appears that will not be a problem. Madam Pomfrey is much too terrified at the moment to lie.

"In ... in my office," she whispers, pointing over her shoulder with her thumb.

I jerk my head in that direction. "After you." Then, in case she is tempted to bolt, I quietly add, "Nice and slowly, if you please."

She gives an uncertain nod and turns, starting in that direction, though she glances back over her shoulder often. Inside her office, she crosses to a cupboard in the corner where she keeps her potions. After fumbling with her keys for a bit, because her hands are trembling, she opens the door and bends to retrieve a black bundle from the bottom shelf.

"Here they are," she says, holding my robes and boots out to me.

"Lay them out," I tell her, nodding toward her desk.

When I hatched this plan, I hadn't given much thought to how I was going to dress and keep her covered, but I'll think of something. Once she's finished arranging my robes on the desk, which takes a bit, since her hands are still shaking horribly, she sets my boots on the seat of her chair and hangs my cloak over the back. Then she moves away slowly, her arms folded about her waist.

"Over there," I say, pointing toward the cupboard with the tip of her wand. "And close it."

I add the last bit in case she's determined to fling something caustic on me. She dutifully walks that way, and once she's closed the cupboard, she turns back to face me and stands stock still with her hands clasped in front of her.

With one eye still on her, I undo the top few buttons of my robes—just enough to get them over my head—and slip them on over my nightshirt. I slide my arms through the sleeves, one arm at a time, so I can keep the wand trained on her. Since she hasn't tried anything foolish yet, I doubt she will, so I risk sitting to pull on my boots. When I pick up my cloak, however, my heart sinks. My wand isn't in the pocket where I'd left it.

"Where's my wand?" I ask tensely.

"I ... I don't know, Mr Snape," she says, again shaking her head. "Perhaps Professor Dumbledore..."

Damn! I should have known. Dumbledore probably has my wand locked away in his office, as extra insurance that I won't get away. I'll just have to take hers, then. Madam Pomfrey appears to take my angry expression as a threat to her safety, because she's trembling again when I turn back to face her. Well, a terrified hostage is a docile hostage. She won't cause me any trouble.

I flick the wand toward the door to indicate that we're leaving, before I drape my cloak over both my arm and the wand. If I have to curse her, a hole in my cloak would be a small price to pay for my freedom, I think. Once we're back on the ward, I grasp her robes and pull her toward me until the wand tip pokes into her liver.

"Act naturally, Madam Pomfrey," I say quietly. "We're merely going for a stroll. Don't do anything stupid, and this will all be over before you know it."

"Where are we going?" she asks in a breathy whisper, as she takes a few unsteady steps forward.

"Just to the edge of the grounds, where I can Disapparate. I'm afraid I shall have to take your wand, as well, since I no longer have access to my own. I'm sure you understand that."

She nods rapidly. "Of course."

We make it out of the ward with no problem, and Madam Pomfrey has even relaxed enough to nod in greeting to the Fat Friar when we pass him in the corridor. But when we round the corner leading to the nearest stairwell, we run headlong into Dumbledore. He smiles broadly for a second or two before he seems to register what is happening.

The game is up.

I quickly fling my cloak aside, hooking my left arm around Madam Pomfrey's throat and pressing the tip of the wand to her cheek.

"Severus..." Dumbledore begins, holding his hands up, palms facing me, and starts to take a step toward us.

"You'll stop right there, Dumbledore—if you like your nurse's head attached to her neck, that is."

"Calm down, m'boy," he says then, and foolishly comes closer.

"Don't call me that!" I hiss before I can help myself.

"I meant no offence," he says with a shake of his great silver head. "It is only a term of endearment."

"I am not your boy! I'm your prisoner!"

"I know that is how it must seem to you right now, Severus," he says gently, taking another step toward us, "but taking a prisoner of your own won't put things right. Let her go."

"No! And stay where you are!" Madam Pomfrey inhales with a shudder as I press the wand tip more firmly into her cheek. Having a prisoner of my own will put things right, if she helps me to escape.

"Please, Severus," Dumbledore whispers, and he takes another step toward us.

Damn the man! I don't want to hurt her, and he has probably worked that out by now, but I have to get out of here.

A second later, Dumbledore's eyes widen just a little, and I instinctively know somebody has walked into the passage behind me. I have barely turned to catch sight of Professor Flitwick before I hear the squeaked incantation that makes me crumple to a heap on the floor.

"Stupefy!"

An indeterminate amount of time later, I wake sitting in a chair in Dumbledore's office. The crook of my right arm is sore, so I know Madam Pomfrey has once again infused my veins with her potions, but oddly enough, I am not restrained. Considering what I've just done, I would have thought I wouldn't be able to leave my bed for at least another month.

I look up at a flash of lightening. Rain pounds against the windowpane behind Professor Dumbledore's desk. A sudden storm seems to have blown in, and the foul weather perfectly mirrors my mood, though it also reminds me, quite urgently, that I still need to visit the loo.

After a moment, the door opens and Professor Dumbledore enters. "Welcome back, m'boy—forgive me ... Severus," he corrects himself, moving to sit behind his desk. At least he isn't trying to pretend that nothing happened. I don't think I could bear it if he were.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" I ask with an impatient exhalation through my nose.

"What do you mean?" he asks casually, tilting his head to the side with a slight shrug.

"What are you going to do with me?" I demand.

"Do with you?" he repeats, still wearing that infuriating grin. "I see no reason to do anything in particular with you, Severus. Well..." He leans back to open a drawer, from which he removes a long, thin box. "Except to give you this." After he has set the box on the desk in front of me, I open it, and I am taken aback. I set it down again immediately, hardly daring to lift the wand within.

"I don't understand."

"I think you've earned it."

Now I cannot repress a snort. "For taking the school nurse hostage, you mean?"

"Not exactly," he says with a small chuckle, blue eyes twinkling. "For taking the school nurse hostage and conveniently forgetting to hurt her." A second later, he clears his throat. "But Madam Pomfrey tells me that before all this transpired, you made a small request. Was that merely a ploy to escape, or did you really need to ... ah..." He trails off again. His Victorian sensibilities apparently won't allow him to discuss bodily functions.

"No, I really needed to—" I jerk my head in the direction of the lavatory nearest his office, feeling my cheeks start to burn. Apparently my sensibilities won't allow me to discuss them, either.

"Very well," he says, waving his hand toward the door.

I blink through narrowed eyes. "You aren't going with me?"

Dumbledore shakes his head. "Oh, no. I've just been myself, and I trust that you'll return in a few minutes."

I nod slowly and rise. He retrieves some piece of parchment he'd had on his desk. I walk to the door and turn the knob. He merely reaches for his quill. I open the door. He retrieves a blank piece of parchment. I walk into the hall. He starts scribbling away. I pull the door closed. He doesn't move, other than to write.

What the hell is going on here?

For the past week, he's been my constant companion unless I was strapped to a bed, and now he's going to give me back my wand—just like that—and let me walk out the door, knowing I just tried to escape? What is he playing at?

Once I've relieved myself and washed my hands, I undo my robes and slip them over my head to take off my nightshirt, still puzzling over all this in my mind. Then I put my robes back on, fold my nightshirt, and seriously consider merely walking down the stairs and out the front doors. In fact, I have already taken three steps in that direction when my curiosity gets the better of me. Two minutes later, I am back in the headmaster's office, just as he is sealing the letter he wrote in my absence.

"There you are, m— Severus." Well, at least he's trying. "I was starting to get worried."

"I had my nightshirt on under my robes," I offer by way of explanation, before I am even aware of having made a conscious decision to do so. "I thought I ought to take it off."

Dumbledore only nods, smiling. "That explains the delay, then. Please." He waves a hand toward the chair across from his desk.

I sit down, staring at him.

"Well, you're probably wondering why I have had you brought here," he says, still smiling.

"More counselling?" I answer, with a barely repressed sigh.

"Again—not exactly." Now he rises from his desk and goes to a cabinet on the far side of the room, where he retrieves his Pensieve. "I have realised that all the counselling in the world will do no good if you do not understand why it is that you need it in the first place." After setting the stone basin on the desk, he perches himself next to it and folds his hands in his lap. "So I thought today we would look at some of your memories."

"My memories?" I ask, frowning. "What have my memories got to do with it?"

"I think the purpose will make itself abundantly clear once we have started."

Fine, I think, rolling my eyes. "Which memory?"

"I'm glad you asked me that, because there is one memory in particular that I would very much like to observe: an evening in your sixth year. As I recall, something happened in the showers, and Professor Crouch brought you to the hospital wing. I would like to see that memory, please." His tone is light and amiable, as always, and he smiles that infuriating smile again, but I've also noticed that his hands have clenched in his lap.

I want nothing more than to tell him to piss off and die, but I manage to repress the urge. "All right," I answer with another sigh and nod toward the Pensieve. "How do I get it in there?"

Smiling again, Dumbledore pulls his wand. "You take your wand and press the tip to your temple." He demonstrates. "Then you concentrate on the memory in question and slowly draw the wand away ... like so." A bit of what looks like his silver hair—but also insubstantial, more like vapour—clings to the end of his wand. "After that, you place the memory in the basin, and give it a stir."

He lowers his wand until it just touches the silvery surface and prods the contents, causing them to swirl, and I lean forward in my chair to have a better look. Inside is an image of a boy in black, transfiguring a tapestry into jewels and precious metals. I am fairly certain the boy is me, but only because I remember having done that, right here in this very office.

"At this point, we can both step inside to examine your memory more closely." Dumbledore then places his wand in the basin, withdraws the bit of hairy vapour, and sticks it back inside his temple.

I nod and take out my wand. What harm could it do, after all? At the very least, Dumbledore will see that I'm not insane, and what's more, that I know how he's been trying to hoodwink me. Once I've placed the tip of my wand against my temple, I concentrate hard on that night and slowly pull my wand away. I am clearly successful, because now I have a bit of hairy vapour on the end of my wand. When I place it in the Pensieve and prod the silver liquid, Dumbledore rises.

"Shall we?"

I stand as he lowers his face until his crooked nose just contacts the silvery surface. His body shrinks and revolves as he is sucked into the memory, but a second later, he is standing on the stone tiles in the bathroom of my old dormitory, beckoning to me to follow. I lower my nose to the basin, and my stomach immediately lurches, as if I'd been going downstairs and missed a step. After a second of falling through oppressive cold blackness, I land with a jolt on the stone, with Professor Dumbledore standing right beside me. I feel myself blushing again as the teenaged version of myself begins to undress, but Dumbledore coughs and politely looks away until after I have pulled the curtain closed on my shower stall.

A moment later, I poke my wet head out again, but I don't understand why. The lighting is still exactly the same. Then I scream and jump backward into the stall, but ... but she's not there!

"What happened to her?" I ask sharply, turning my head quickly in Dumbledore's direction.

"What happened to whom?" he says calmly.

"The creature! Where is she?"

By now, I am pounding the floor with clenched fists, and ... Avery, Wilkes, Lestrange, and Rosier?

"But it wasn't them!" I protest. "It was Potter and his gang."

"Snape, what's the matter?" Avery asks, approaching me where I'm crouched in the shower stall. "What is it? Snape?"

I turn and press my back against the shower wall, then take a swing at him, and Lestrange steps up to help him. "Go and get a teacher!" Lestrange barks over his shoulder, whilst they both try to take hold of my arms. Wilkes sprints from the room, mere seconds before I sink my teeth into Lestrange's hand. Then I slam my heel into Rosier's groin, and he drops to the floor, groaning in pain and clutching both hands to his crotch.

"We're trying to help you!" Avery screeches, and I claw at his face and neck, peeling away long strips of skin.

What the hell is going on here? I'm attacking my friends, like some sort of madman? I can hardly bear to watch. A second later, the lavatory door bursts open, and Professor Crouch storms in, his wand held up in front of him, with Wilkes trailing in his wake. Avery and Lestrange immediately jump back away from me, apparently glad of the reinforcements. I wrap my arms protectively 'round my knees, which I've drawn up to my chest, and rock back and forth on the shower floor as the spray beats down on my shoulders.

"Be careful, Professor," Lestrange says, wrapping a towel around his bleeding hand. "He's gone mad."

Crouch looks around at their various injuries. "He did this to all of you?"

Rosier has managed to sit up, and he nods. "We heard screaming and came running, but he attacked us. We were only trying to help."

"Did he say anything?" Crouch asks.

Avery shakes his head. "No. I asked him what was wrong, and he stopped pounding the floor long enough to stare at us, but then he just lashed out, like he didn't even know who we were."

"All right, boys. Fetch me a blanket." Crouch squares his shoulders and takes a step toward me. "I'll have to Stun him."

Everything in the Pensieve then goes black.

"What are you playing at, Dumbledore?" I ask, turning to face him.

"What do you mean, Severus?" he replies, still calmly. Damn the man!

"You've altered my memory!" I shout. "You used Legilimency or something to remove it and replaced it with this!" I gesture wildly about the darkened space surrounding us.

"No, I have not," he says quietly, shaking his head.

Before he has time to say anything more, the memory resumes, this time in the hospital wing. I expect the images to be distorted, as I remember, but everything is sharp and crystal clear. Madam Pomfrey bustles about at the end of my bed, tucking up my covers, and my teenaged self opens his mouth to speak, but I can hardly believe what comes out.

"Edge tip-nof-kap es oon?"

The nurse flinches. She obviously hadn't realised I was awake, but now she turns to stare at me. Not that I can blame her...

"Edge tip-noof es Kap-puff, Peld, Mof-fy, bow Ka-foo-jish?" I say slowly, and after a short pause, "As edge oon nick oh-mao?"

Madam Pomfrey merely shakes her head.

"Oon tao tip-on joe-up oo tucks-fast up bub-dle nuf. Jen ex-poe-jofs ed tip-noo-feet apt oon ook ah."

She walks to the head of the bed, pulls the blankets up under my chin, and squeezes my shoulder. "You've had a difficult night, Mr Snape. Don't try to talk. Save your strength. You need rest."

And I glare at her, looking murderous, whilst she backs away. At the time, I was so angry with her for not understanding me, but now I see why. "Is that rubbish really what I said?"

"It would seem so," Dumbledore replies. "At least that is what Madam Pomfrey reported to me at the staff meeting a week later, and Professor Crouch's account tallied with these events, as well."

I simply stare at him for the longest time, before he takes my elbow to lift us out of the Pensieve.

"You're trying to make me think I'm mad," I say at last, once we're back in his office.

Dumbledore has once again seated himself behind his desk, and he shakes his head. "No, Severus. That is not my intention."

"But that's what you think, isn't it?"

"No. I do not think you are mad," he says slowly. "I think you are a schizophrenic, and what you experienced at the time was very real to you. But as you can see, that is not what truly happened."

I shake my head. "You've changed it, that's all. You've taken my memory and replaced it with this to make me think I was imagining things."

"As I have told you already, Severus ... I have not. That is the magic of a Pensieve. It allows one to view a memory as it actually was, rather than how one perceived it to be at the time. Often one is too close to the memory to see things clearly, but an objective view can elucidate matters a great deal."

I can only shake my head again. I don't believe this. I don't want to believe this.

"You say that you saw James and his friends—"

"Are you saying that I imagined it when they attacked me all those times?"

Dumbledore sighs, and I can tell that he is weighing his words very carefully before he speaks again. "No, Severus, I am not. But I am interested in this particular time, not the others. So ... you saw James and his friends, correct?"

"Yes."

"Tell me: did they ever molest you in your dormitory before that night, or afterward?"

"No, they didn't," I answer, frowning. "And I didn't know how they got in there that time. Somebody must have left the door to the common room open."

"This creature that attacked you..." He now reclines in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and pressing his fingertips together. "Is she what made you scream?"

"Yes. She clawed my arm."

He nods. "So, you were bleeding?"

"Ah..." I frown. "No, I wasn't ... now you mention it."

"Bruises?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"No."

"Any marks at all?"

"No!" I grind out through clenched teeth.

"That is because there was no creature, Severus. Your mind invented her."

"No!" I shout, digging my fingernails into my palms. "I saw her! Madam Pomfrey just healed my arm before I woke up."

"Poppy assures me that the only injuries you had were self-inflicted—"

"No!"

"—broken bones, but no broken skin."

"No!"

"Severus, you know what I am telling you is the truth, even if it may be difficult for you to accept."

"Why that memory?" I shoot at him suddenly. "You were very specific about which memory you wanted to see. Why that one?"

"Because I suspected it contained some of the most severe hallucinations that you have experienced to date. And, sadly, I was correct."

My eyes narrow. "It wasn't because that was the memory you'd altered, and you couldn't risk having me look at another one? Is this why you've kept me here? Just so you could show me this perverted memory?"

Dumbledore again shakes his head. "I have neither tampered with your memories, nor had you brought here, Severus. When I said that earlier, I meant having you brought to my office this afternoon. You came to Hogwarts, however, of your own volition."

I can only scowl. Why on earth would I have willingly walked into this prison? "Then I can leave, if I want?"

He sighs. "Yes, Severus, you may. As you have recently reminded me—so very poignantly—I have no right to keep you prisoner, although I do wish you would stay."

"So you can poison me with those potions, you mean?"

"No, Severus. So that Madam Pomfrey and I may treat your schizophrenia. That is all I want to do. That is all I have ever wanted to do."

I look away, my jaw clenching again. I don't want to believe him. And yet, I cannot deny that the Muggles and my father have left me alone since I woke up in the hospital wing...