A Small Truce

"Come to the Manor immediately. Bring Veritaserum." The note was unsigned, but the watermarked parchment and the crest on the blood-red seal were instantly recognizable. Severus Snape grimaced in irritation as he tossed the note into the fireplace. Lucius Malfoy's summons always came like that: no explanations, no courtesies, no consideration for timing or convenience. If confronted, he would no doubt blame his ill-mannered brevity on security concerns, but Snape had spent enough time among school children to recognize petty one-upmanship when he saw it. Lucius, with his family money and his Ministry connections, currently held Voldemort's favor, while Snape was in disgrace and under suspicion. So when Lucius summoned, Snape was supposed to jump to it, no questions asked.

An indignant hoot reminded him that Lucius' eagle owl still waited on the windowsill. Snape glared at it, and it glared back, unimpressed and unblinking.

"No reply," he told it. The owl ruffled its neck feathers and hooted again. What the hell did it want, a treat? Snape snatched a malachite paperweight from his desk and made as if to throw it. That got the bloody bird going. It gave a high-pitched shriek and took off, leaving a couple of stray feathers on his sill. Snape felt a brief flare of satisfaction, quickly replaced with disgust. It was pathetic, really -- being rude to Lucius Malfoy's owl because he didn't dare be rude to the man himself. Snape slammed the paperweight back down on the desk and stomped over to the back of the room, where an enormous mahogany cabinet took up almost the entire wall.

"Alohomora," he snapped, jabbing his wand toward the lock with a little more force than necessary. The doors nearly smacked him in the face as they sprang open to reveal the neat rows of sealed containers that made up Snape's private potions store. Snape grabbed two identical glass bottles from the top shelf and held them up to the light, squinting until he made out the tiny scratch on the neck of one bottle, the only mark that distinguished it from its twin.

It had taken Snape nearly six years of painstaking research to alter Veritaserum in a way that nullified its effect without altering taste, scent, or color and without turning the stuff into a deadly poison. One day he would patent the formula - along with the intermediate results, which included nine new uses for Jobberknoll feathers - and retire comfortably on the proceeds. In the meantime, no one knew except himself, Dumbledore, and a handful of trusted agents who had profited from the new potion's use. Yet another reason to wish Voldemort dead and gone. Snape smiled grimly as he tucked the bottles, both the real potion and the substitute, into separate pockets. He had no idea what Lucius wanted the Veritaserum for, but it was best to be prepared for any contingency. Relocking the cabinet with a hurried flick of his wand, he snatched his cloak from the back of his chair and hurried from the room.

* * * * *

"Severus. Took you long enough."

"One of these days," Snape said dryly, "you will remember that I have to leave school grounds before I can Apparate. I came as soon as I could."

Lucius circled one fingertip along the rim of his glass. "You brought the Veritaserum?"

Snape nodded but made no move to show either of the bottles to Lucius. "Whom are we interrogating?"

Lucius smiled a slow, anticipatory grin that made Snape brace himself mentally. "Come down to the dungeons and see."

Snape composed his face into an expression of bored indifference as he followed his host out of the room. Lucius did not, for a change, appear to be particularly malicious, just amused and rather smug. Presumably, if he had Harry Potter or Albus Dumbledore chained up in the dungeons, he'd be making a bigger production out of it. Still, he was clearly anticipating some sort of strong reaction, and this made Snape coldly determined not to react at all, just on principle.

The dungeons at Malfoy Manor were considerably older than the rest of the building. Lucius liked to claim that they were left over from the Norman castle that originally occupied the site. The place certainly looked medieval enough, though Snape thought some of the implements hanging on the walls were definitely out of period. Both men had to duck their heads to avoid bumping the ceiling as they walked down the central corridor, past a row of iron-bound wooden doors. Torches in iron sconces provided illumination. Snape noted with some amusement that their flames were magical. The stone walls and floor were suspiciously clean, too, and Snape thought he saw a house elf scurrying into one of the side passages at their approach. Apparently Lucius' love of atmosphere didn't extend to a willingness to breathe smoke or get mold on his robes.

A scream echoed through the corridor, cutting off abruptly after a couple of seconds. Snape quirked an eyebrow at Lucius, who shrugged.

"Macnair is down here already. I told him to wait until we arrive, but you know how he gets."

Snape smiled thinly. "Everyone needs a hobby."

They reached the end of the passage, and Lucius pushed open the last door to reveal an unexpectedly large oblong room. The ceiling here was at least two feet higher than in the corridor, and the light came from tall iron candelabras rather than torches. Walden Macnair lounged against the back wall, polishing his wand with a fold of his sleeve and looking rather bored. And sprawled on the floor at Mcnair's feet, looking as if he'd been run over by the Hogwarts Express, was Sirius Black.

Shit. Snape had to bite his tongue to keep from saying the word out loud. Black's presence was not a complete surprise, given Lucius' earlier manner, but it was a hell of a complication. Snape fought to gather his thoughts as he crossed the room for a closer look.

Black lay on his back, with one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other tucked against his side at an awkward-looking angle. Snape was no expert, but it sure as hell looked like a dislocated shoulder to him. Black's nose was bleeding, and his left eye was swollen shut. An iron collar around his neck was attached to a length of chain, which in turn was attached to the wall six feet above him. He was dressed as a Muggle in jeans, boots and a black shirt with a motorcycle picture on the front. Snape recalled that Dumbledore had ordered Black to lie low with Lupin, who was supposedly living as a Muggle somewhere in Hammersmith. Apparently, the idiot didn't lie low enough.

Lucius and Macnair were both watching, obviously waiting to gauge Snape's reaction, so he shook the chain a bit to make it rattle against the wall. "Well, Black. Someone's finally put you on a leash. It's about time."

"Snape." Black's voice was a painful-sounding rasp. "Traitor. I told Dumbledore not to trust you."

"And he didn't listen." Snape smiled thinly. "What can I say? I guess he must trust me more than you."

Black's reply was predictably obscene. Snape tuned it out while he considered his options. They were depressingly limited. There was no way he could give Black the real Veritaserum. It would compromise Dumbledore's plans, endanger other agents and, not so incidentally, blow Snape's own cover if Lucius happened to ask the wrong questions. But the only alternative was to use the substitute and hope that Black could figure out what was happening and successfully bluff his way through the interrogation. Staking his life on Sirius Black's intelligence was not an experiment Snape particularly cared to make. Perhaps he could stall a bit until a better idea came up…

"Nice catch, Lucius. Did you bring him in all by yourself?"

"No, Macnair and Avery ran into him in Knockturn Alley." Lucius smirked. "Avery's upstairs growing his kneecaps back."

Snape suppressed a grin. Avery did always have lousy reflexes. "It must've been quite a fight."

"It was," Macnair said happily, "and after we caught him, he changed into a dog and we had to make him change back. That was fun, too."

"I see." That explained Black's battered state. Snape knew of several spells designed to force an Animagus back into his human shape. Most of them were relatively harmless as long as the subject didn't put up a fight or was quickly overpowered. But if the Animagus resisted, the results tended to become brutal. Dislocated joints were common, along with torn muscles, internal bleeding and, in extreme cases, nerve damage. Under the circumstances, Black actually looked as if he'd got off fairly easily.

"So what happened to Avery's kneecaps?" Snape asked. Macnair looked ready to launch into a detailed account of the fight in Knockturn Alley, but Lucius chose that moment to become businesslike.

"Not now, Severus. We have an interrogation to conduct here."

"Don't rush on my account," Black wheezed from the floor. Everyone ignored him.

Well, so much for stalling. Snape resigned himself to the inevitable and dug the bottle of fake Veritaserum from his left-hand pocket. "Give me a hand, will you, Macnair?"

Macnair raised his wand. "Contraho Vinculum." There was a metallic scrape as the chain that leashed Black to the wall began to shorten. Black gave a harsh cry and rolled over onto all fours, frantically scrambling forward to keep from being strangled by the collar. His movements were clumsy, hampered by his injured shoulder, and he was too slow to keep from having his face slammed into the stone by the shrinking chain. By the time Macnair finally lowered his wand, Black was on his knees, pressed flat against the wall with his head thrown back to give himself room to breathe. Despite the logistical nightmare of the situation, Snape had to admit that the sight was not ungratifying.

Macnair pinched Black's nose shut with one hand and gripped his jaw with the other. Black tried to struggle, but the chain held him effectively immobilized, and Macnair was able to force his mouth open for a few seconds, just long enough for Snape to administer the potion.

Now came the tricky part, the part that was totally out of Snape's control. Snape leaned casually against the wall, tucked his hands into his pockets, and gave in to a childish urge to cross his fingers. Work it out, Black. Pay attention, dammit.

Black stopped struggling. His shoulders sagged, and his posture went as limp as the chain allowed. Snape leaned over to get a clearer look at his face, and saw that his eyelids drooped and his jaw was slack, making him look even more imbecilic than usual. It was a passably accurate impression of a man under the influence of Veritaserum, and Snape breathed a little easier.

"Give him a little slack, Macnair," Lucius ordered. Macnair looked disappointed but obediently flicked his wand, adding about a foot to the chain's length. Black slumped away from the wall, his head drooping forward until Lucius yanked at his hair to make him look up again. "Black. Can you hear me?"

Snape never understood why people persisted in asking that. It wasn't as if Veritaserum had ever been known to render anyone deaf.

"Yes," Black said in a flat voice. Lucius gave a satisfied nod.

"What were you doing in Knockturn Alley?"

"Trying to buy a wand," Black answered without hesitation. "The Aurors broke mine before they took me to Azkaban."

It was a reasonable enough answer. It might even, Snape reflected, be true. A number of shops in Knockturn did a brisk business in bootleg wands, either stolen or made by unlicensed manufacturers. It wasn't the same as having one of Ollivander's creations choose you, but a fugitive couldn't afford to be picky.

Lucius didn't look especially pleased with Black's response, but he didn't challenge it, either.

"You weren't there on Dumbledore's behalf, then?"

"No."

"But you do work for Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"What have you been doing for him?"

Black hesitated. Not long, only for the space of a breath or two, but it was enough to make Snape clench his fists inside his pockets. Neither Lucius nor Macnair remarked on the delay, however.

"Very little, so far," Black went on in the same dull monotone as before. "He said he would need me, but that was weeks ago, and I haven't heard anything. I think Dumbledore is waiting to see what Voldemort will do before he makes his own move."

The sour look on Lucius' face grew more pronounced. "What about the Ministry? We know Dumbledore's been in touch with them. Who's siding with him against Fudge?"

"Arthur Weasley. Amos Diggory."

"We know that!" Lucius growled. "Who else?"

"Percy Weasley."

This went on for over half an hour: Lucius spitting out questions, and Black droning useless answers. Macnair fidgeted, obviously bored and frustrated at the lack of anything to torture. Snape observed the performance in silence and did his best not to smirk.

Inevitably, Lucius' patience ran out.

"This is useless! He doesn't know anything."

"What did you expect?" Snape shrugged. "Dumbledore may be a gullible old fool, but even he knows better than to entrust important information to an idiot like Black."

"To hell with him, then." Lucius lifted his wand. "Ava-"

"Wait!" Snape blurted out.

Lucius paused, wand hovering in the air over Black's head. "What is it?" he demanded impatiently.

What, indeed? Snape felt like kicking himself. Where on earth had that idiotic outburst come from? All he'd needed to do was keep his mouth shut, and this whole mess would've been over. He could've left Lucius and Macnair to dispose of the body and returned to Hogwarts with nothing to worry about except breaking the news to Dumbledore. Under the circumstances, no one could possibly have blamed him for Black's death. Instead, Black was still alive, and Snape was stuck scrambling madly after an excuse for interrupting Lucius Malfoy in mid-Unforgivable.

"You do realize, don't you, Lucius, that you're missing a perfect opportunity here?"

Lucius lowered his wand, but his expression did not change. "What are you talking about?"

"You've got that notorious murderer, Sirius Black, chained up in your dungeon. Why not hand him off to the Ministry? Fudge will feed him to the Dementors, and you'll be a hero. There might even be a reward."

He'd hit on the right excuse, something they could all believe. Lucius' frown smoothed out, to be replaced by a cool, satisfied smile. Macnair kept fidgeting. Black stayed silent and motionless, but his face went ashen under the blood and the bruises.

"Good thinking, Severus." Lucius tucked his wand back up his sleeve. "I'll go contact the Ministry right now.

"So you're done with him, then?" Macnair shifted from foot to foot, looking hopeful. Lucius waved his hand dismissively.

"He's all yours. Do you want to come up for a drink, Severus?"

He could still do it. He could leave Macnair to his fun, go upstairs, and drink Lucius' brandy until the Dementors showed up. It was the most sensible course of action, really. He was alone in hostile territory, outnumbered and unprepared for a fight. His cover was too precarious, the work he did for Dumbledore too important; he couldn't risk it all for some idiot Gryffindor. It wasn't his fault Black went and got himself captured. Dumbledore would understand; there was nothing he could've done…

"I think I'll stay here for a bit. Make sure Macnair doesn't kill him by mistake. After all, we wouldn't want to disappoint the Dementors."

"Suit yourself." Lucius swept out of the room.

Macnair gave Snape a deeply affronted look. "I have never killed anyone by mistake!"

"Good for you." Snape pulled his wand from his sleeve. "Obliviate."

It was comical, really, the way Mcnair's face went from sadistic glee to blank confusion in the blink of an eye. He looked like Longbottom's toad, with his mouth opening and closing like that. Unfortunately, Snape had no time to appreciate the view.

"Stupefy."

Macnair crumpled to the floor without a sound. Snape kicked him a couple of times, just to make sure he wasn't faking, and turned his attention to Black.

The collar around Black's neck was fastened with a small iron padlock. Snape pressed the tip of his wand against it, and was amused to see the other man tense at the touch.

"Not quite the way I've always envisioned having my wand at your throat," he acknowledged. Black responded with an amused snort, but did not relax. "Recludo," Snape said, and the padlock popped open with a click.

Black clawed the collar off and tossed it aside. There was an angry red mark around his throat. He rubbed at it, wincing, then braced his good hand against the wall and tried to stand. Three tries later, he still hadn't made it. Snape would've liked to stand back and enjoy the sight, but there was no telling when Lucius might come back, so he settled for putting on his best condescending smirk as he grabbed Black's shirtfront and hauled him to his feet.

"Get a move on, Black, I don't have all day."

Black glared at him with angry, bloodshot eyes. "Bugger off, Snape."

"Bugger off?" Snape repeated incredulously. "That's the best you can do for an insult? Whatever happened to that famous Sirius Black wit?"

"The Dementors ate it," Black said flatly. "Now can we please save the banter for a time when we're not in mortal danger?"

The bastard did have a point. Snape retrieved Mcnair's wand from the floor and held it out. "Here. Stun me and get out of here. You *can* Apparate in your condition, I suppose?"

"Guess I'll have to, won't I?" Black muttered. Snape shrugged. He'd done all he could; if the idiot went and splinched himself because he tried to Apparate while badly injured and using a borrowed wand, it was his own damn problem.

"You'll need to go up to the ground floor first; the dungeons are warded against Apparating. I suggest you hurry, before Lucius comes down again."

Black took the wand with an unsteady hand. "Snape-"

"Move it, Black."

"I'm going, I'm going." Black raised the wand. "Stupefy."