Animalexus

The Dark Mark hovered over a small house in Reddenton, the death's head casting its gaze mockingly down at the two figures that had just apparated in the yard below.

***

Severus Snape abandoned the potion in his cauldron and left his dungeons, making his way briskly across the grounds to the Forbidden Forest and the freedom it offered from Hogwarts' wards.

***

Marie paced around the edge of the room Malfoy and the others had left her in. She was usually more resigned to stillness; she must have grown unused to confinement in her short time at Hogwarts. She had never considered herself claustrophobic, but tonight she felt the unrelenting press of the walls. Probably just as well the owl had been killed, she decided, glancing at the small body in the center of the room. For a creature that had thrived in the freedom of open skies, any life down here would be positively maddening.

The owl had fallen awkwardly, face down, one leg twisted behind him by the jesses he still wore. Sometimes, Marie mused, dogs or cats or the like would fall in such a way that she was able to childishly pretend, for a few minutes, through a squint, that they had merely fallen suddenly and improbably asleep. That they might wake up and walk right out of the place after she left the room. The owl, though, was unmistakably, gracelessly dead, and no feat of the imagination could change that.

A sudden, dreading certainty that she was not alone made her turn, and Marie found herself standing mere inches from the Dark Lord. "Wandless magic, Marie?" he asked quietly, offering a tight smile. "That's rather ambitious, isn't it?"

"Lucky you had no ssssuccesss..." hissed Nagini, as Marie lowered herself to her knees and cast her eyes down. The Dark Lord lifted her chin with a finger, and Marie did her best to avoid meeting his eyes, though she knew she would do it if he wanted her to. Nagini was twined around his wrist, and Marie tried to ignore the threat of her fangs.

"Tell me, Marie," the Dark Lord said, a strangely affectionate note in his tone, "Whatever gave you the idea that you would discover a predilection for an art thousands of wizards have failed at?"

My blood.

It was the truth, but Marie knew that it wouldn't be the right thing to say. For someone whose gifts lay with communication, Marie decided, she had very little chance to say what was really on her mind. It sometimes seemed a moot point, considering the Dark Lord's skill as a Legilimens.

"Walk with me."

That shocked Marie out of her silence. "What?"

The Dark Lord had already turned to the door, but he spun sharply and planted himself directly in front of Marie. His eyes caught what little light was in the room, and their color seemed to hover undecided between solid blackness and an especially deep red. "Do not make me repeat myself."

She nodded hurriedly, then got to her feet and moved to his side. He made sure, as they moved through the halls, that Marie stayed right with him and did not lag behind. She had never been so aware of her own feet against the stone, of the sound of her own breathing in the empty corridors. The Dark Lord considered Marie something of a trophy, she knew, but he generally left her to the care of his followers. She had never been important enough to warrant this kind of attention before. Her own fault.

As always, Marie had no concept of where she was within the complex; the dim corridors seemed to lead in entirely different directions than she expected them to. Even so, she and the Dark Lord soon arrived at a familiar destination: the large main meeting hall in which she had woken up upon her return, and to which she had been brought when she first arrived here, years ago. It was an imposing place, with torches lining opposite walls, every surface covered with highly polished stone, and an intricate rune of some sort--Marie didn't know enough to recognize its significance--inlaid in the floor.

There were five figures already in the room, and Marie recognized four of them despite their hoods and masks. Malfoy, Bellatrix, and Welton, again. Snape, standing slightly apart. The fifth figure lay stunned in the center of the room. He was not bound. Marie had come to know the Dark Lord well enough to know that he often chose to leave prisoners unbound simply to underscore their powerlessness.

Bellatrix stepped forward, her eyes, near as Marie could tell, on her. She spoke hurriedly. "My Lord, we left her where she was because we thought it best not to waste time returning her to--"

"Bella..." the Dark Lord interrupted, sounding almost amused. He raised a pale hand in front of Marie's face and gestured to a dark corner of the room. The instructions were clear, and Marie was more than willing to retreat and move the focus elsewhere. This was not normal. She was rarely present at the interrogation of a human prisoner; when she had been, it was because she was there coincidentally. Never had she been deliberately brought. Marie did not trust unusual situations; surprises were rarely pleasant. She settled into the corner, making her movements as unobtrusive as possible. She pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders as the cold from the stone began to seep through to her skin.

The Dark Lord strode past the prisoner and took up position in the shadows behind him, hissing "Ennervate" on his way.

The man gasped and scrambled immediately to his feet, only to be knocked back to his knees by an unseen spell. He closed his eyes and shook his head briefly--yes, it's all real, no nightmare--before frantically casting his eyes over the masked faces of each of the Death Eaters in turn. Horror warred with fury for dominance of his features. He didn't turn to look behind him, but something in the man's expression made Marie think it wasn't because he thought no one was there. He seemed on the verge of saying something once or twice, but always choked on the words before they left his tongue.

No one else moved. Not Welton, or Lestrange, or Malfoy or Snape. Not the Dark Lord. And certainly not Marie.

Eventually the man stilled, too, though the atmosphere around him was still electric. His hair, dark except for one grey streak over his left eye, was already damp with sweat and had fallen forward over his forehead. He was dressed in clothes that might have passed for a Muggle's if one didn't look too closely, slacks and a collared white shirt. Marie wondered what he had been doing up in the middle of the night, what he had been doing when they came for him. She could hear the man's breathing from across the room. It shuddered as he inhaled, and the sound of it made her stomach contract.

She could remember what it was to be in the center of a circle like that. She knew what he was feeling: the panic; the desperate hope that he might forestall the inevitable if only he could think of the right thing to say; the persistent, constant hypersensitivity that came with knowing pain could come crashing down from any angle, at any moment.

"Do you know what's wrong with Veritaserum?" Welton asked, at last. Marie flinched at least as much as the prisoner at the sound of the Death Eater's voice. Welton cocked his head slightly; the movement highlighted the blank soullessness of his mask. Welton always exerted total control over his tone of voice--it was one reason he was such a skilled interrogator--and the narrow, sharply angled eye slits of the mask left no hope for a connection with anything human. "Veritaserum yields answers only to those questions one knows to ask."

The prisoner's features twitched slightly at the implied threat, and his right hand tightened into a fist. His wand hand, Marie wondered?

"And surely someone so dedicated to defensive magic as yourself," Malfoy said, his own voice crisp and wholly different from his usual arrogant, aristocratic drawl, "has steeled himself well against the threats of the Imperius curse and legillimency."

Marie knew she shouldn't watch. She didn't want to see this. But something in the man's face held her attention. Maybe it was simply the fact that his eyes, set deeply into his face, were more guarded than terrified. Maybe it was the fact that, inexplicably, he reminded her of her father. It was ridiculous; this man looked nothing like him. And yet, something...something in his eyes, or in the way he held himself, already bracing for what was about to come... He knew.

That was it. He knew. Her father had always known, too, had always had reflexes that were impossibly fast, intuition that bordered on premonition. He had known what was in the house that last night, had stood and spun to face them even before Marie and her mother had been aware of the danger. He had raised his hands for his spell even before Marie could scream. Her father hadn't been fast enough. But he had known.

*

Snape continued to hold himself very still, in sharp contrast to Bellatrix, who stood to his right and had begun to...fidget. There was no other way to describe it. He was tempted to stop her, but he was familiar enough with her post-Azkaban personality to be wary. She'd just as soon curse him as the prisoner in front of them, and the Dark Lord just might decide to let her.

Snape turned his attention back to the matter at hand, who was looking decidedly more miserable by the second. Snape had never laid eyes on the man before; Kerry Kensington had been before his time at Hogwarts--though, if he was remembering correctly, he had been a Ravenclaw, classmate to Marie Llewellur's mother and to Gavin Welton. So much for long-lasting House friendships. Snape did know of Kensington, of course. He had passed up the opportunity to be an Auror, instead opting to go into private sector security and defense. He had regularly contracted for the Ministry, Snape knew, and--most relevantly--had, along with the recently-deceased Reylock, designed and implemented the most recent version of Hogwarts' infamous warding system. Kensington had, wisely, gone into hiding after the Dark Lord's return.

For all the good it had done him.

He was presently suffering under the Cruciatus curse Bellatrix had just gleefully sent his way. Snape averted his eyes, knowing that his mask allowed him that much. His gaze fell upon Marie, in the corner. Snape did not know why she was here, and her presence made him more than a little uneasy. There was no reason for her to be here. She was not needed as an interpreter, and she knew nothing of Kensington, or of wards. And yet the Dark Lord never did anything without cause or motive.

Snape glanced sideways and noted that, for his part, the Dark Lord seemed only very mildly interested by the fact that there was a writhing, screaming man at his feet.

Bellatrix abruptly released Kensington, and he promptly gasped, choked, and hacked up very bright blood onto the smooth stone.

"Reylock gave us the incantations," Welton said. "You will give us the mechanics."

Kensington shifted slightly, but Snape couldn't tell if it was in response to Welton's declaration or simply an aftereffect of the curse. He raised his eyes. "Will I, Gavin?"

Though the tone was crisp, the words didn't sound like a challenge to Snape, but Welton apparently took them as one--or perhaps he was just irritated at being recognized--because he immediately cast the next round of Cruciatus himself.

*

So was this what Snape had spared her parents, that night? Marie had been subjected to this particular curse more times than she cared to remember, and she had witnessed the Dark Lord's displeasure towards his own errant Death Eaters, just as she had seen many of the animals she spoke to tortured until they gave up whatever it was they knew. She thought she had been as desensitized to it as was possible. And yet, watching this man now, she couldn't get her father out of her head.

She blinked, and suddenly saw, more vision than mere memory, her father facing the hooded, masked figures that night, saw him gesture frantically in his last effort to protect her...

She shook her head, tried to clear her mind.

The thoughts of her parents were so persistent Marie had to wonder if they were being directed. She still didn't know why the Dark Lord had brought her here, after all. Or it could have been Malfoy, amusing himself during what was, to him, probably just another interrogation. Much as she hated to acknowledge it, it would be ridiculously easy for any of the Death Eaters to toy with her head that way.

Welton lifted the curse, and again the man gasped and coughed. He blinked, keeping his eyes shut for a worryingly long time, and then locked eyes with Marie. She didn't know how to react, uncertain at first if the dark, glazed eyes were really seeing her at all. Then the man frowned, ever so slightly, and a definite flash of recognition crossed his face.

"...Sanja's girl," he rasped, finally.

Marie was so rattled she forgot the circumstances. "What?"

"Marie!" barked the Dark Lord; she recoiled as surely as if he'd cursed her. She bowed her head and shrank back against the wall, hoping that would be enough to convince him that she did not need to be reminded of her place.

The Dark Lord's attention, though, was on the prisoner, and he suddenly hauled the man up with one hand, displaying a strength his malformed body would not have appeared to possess. He stared right into the prisoner's eyes, taking advantage of his shattered defenses. Seconds later, the Dark Lord's mouth turned up at one corner in a cruel, satisfied half-smile, and the man closed his eyes in resignation.

"Blood magic," the Dark Lord announced. "It's good to know the...side of right...is dabbling in the dark arts." His voice abruptly dropped any pretense of amusement. "Whose blood?"

*

After a long moment of holding eye contact with Kensington, the Dark Lord let go of him, and the man immediately collapsed to his knees. He may have reconstructed his mental defenses, but he still couldn't so much as stand on his own. Snape recognized his moment, and moved quickly to Kensington's side, pulling a vial from his robes. He glanced quickly at it to confirm that it was legitimate Veritaserum, not the substitute he'd concocted for Marie's interrogations.

Kensington's desperate occlumency had plainly exhausted him, and he didn't resist as Snape measured out the three drops of the potion into his mouth. "The effects should be immediate in his state," he said, rising, though of course everyone in the room but Marie would already know that, having used Veritaserum in tandem with Cruciatus on a regular basis. Snape was rather discomfited to acknowledge that he often retreated into academics in these situations.

"Whose blood is used to bring down the wards?" the Dark Lord demanded.

Kensington stirred, looking mildly confused. He swallowed, seemed inclined to fight the potion, glanced at Marie, oddly, and then flinched as the Veritaserum took command of his speech. "...unicorn blood."

"Any unicorn?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

Kensington cocked his head, as if he had to think about it. Snape watched critically. Combining interrogation techniques was a delicate business; the Cruciatus curse especially tended to traumatize the mind enough to occasionally throw other methods off. "Twelve drops."

Snape glanced at the others to see if they shared his surprise, but of course the masks hid any reactions. He had certainly expected that the wards would have required something more dramatic than twelve drops of unicorn blood. Unicorns were by no means easy to capture, but there were more difficult tasks to be found. And twelve drops--it was nothing. It wouldn't even require anything close to a killing wound. Obviously, there was more to the spell.

"What must be done with the blood in order to bring down the wards?"

"Each of the six cornerstones of the wards must be anointed with two drops of blood..." He looked up. "I don't know the incantations. Reylock--"

"We have them," Welton said, his voice especially cold.

"What else?" the Dark Lord prompted.

"The spells must be cast one hour apart, beginning at midnight." Through the Veritaserum, Kensington's face reflected his horror at what he was surrendering.

"Will there be warning issued to those inside the castle once the process is begun? Or to the Ministry? To anyone?"

There was an unusually long pause before the answer was wrenched from Kensington. "No."

"There's something he's not telling us," Lucius announced, pompously.

"Really?" Bellatrix sneered.

"You are withholding information vital to destroying the wards." The Dark Lord said. "What is it?"

Kensington had focused his gaze on the floor, and as Snape watched, he drew both of his hands into tight fists, but did not answer. The room remained silent for several long moments, as Snape and his fellow Death Eaters waited for an answer.

Nothing.

Abruptly, Nagini reared her head back and hissed loudly. "Severus," the Dark Lord said, in a tone not unlike that of his snake, "What is going on?"

Snape didn't take his eyes off Kensington. "I...am not certain, my lord. I suppose it's possible he's built up a weak tolerance to Veritaserum. It's unusual but not impossible."

"Paranoid bugger," Welton muttered.

"Or he could have an allergy to one of the ingredients," Snape continued, caught up in the academic question of it despite himself. "Also rare, but it can render the potion ineffective. More likely, he has a low tolerance for Cruciatus and the stress of it has overridden the Veritaserum."

"I do not have the time for this," the Dark Lord announced. Snape recognized the dismissal and stepped back. "Bella," the Dark Lord said, pointing a long finger towards Kensington, "Loosen his tongue."

*

The prisoner might not be ready to crack, but as his screams filled the room yet again, Marie decided she might be. She'd already tried covering her eyes, her ears, everything. She had started trembling terribly, and while she knew it, she couldn't stop. She was even having difficulty breathing steadily, the air seeming to wrench itself from her lungs with scant warning.

Why was she breaking now? Why did this man's suffering affect her so? It probably had nothing to do with him, Marie decided. Perhaps she'd simply reached her limit. Seen one too many horrors. She'd never expected the thought of losing her mind to harbor any sort of comfort, and yet it now held a desperate sort of appeal.

Her parents wouldn't have liked her to be thinking that way. They'd fought to the death, after all. Right to the last. Of course, to her credit, their fight had lasted seconds; hers had already stretched to years. And she doubted it would end any differently.

Thinking of her parents again.

Her father.

Fighting.

This time the man did not fall silent when the curse was lifted from him; he gasped incoherently, words tripping over one another as he tried to suck in air. "I'll...please...I..."

"Bella."

Again the curse, again the screams, again Marie thought her own head was going to explode. A simple Killing Curse had never seemed so kind.

This time, when Bellatrix lifted her wand, the prisoner did not waste his time. "The unicorn blood," he managed, his voice strangled. He stopped to spit blood onto the floor; more poured from his nose onto his upper lip.

"Yes?" the Dark Lord prompted, impatiently.

"It...it must be freely given."

Silence in the large hall as the significance of that sank in. The unicorn must surrender its own blood freely. Even Marie, who had not even known unicorns existed until Hagrid told her only days ago at the Yule Ball, gathered that the creatures would never freely give aid of any kind to the likes of the Dark Lord or his followers. It was an ingenious safeguard.

Marie again looked to the prisoner, half expecting him to be seeking her out, as well, but when she studied his face she saw an incoherent jumble of emotions raging over his features, pain and regret foremost among them. Tears streamed silently from both of his eyes, and Marie doubted it was merely in response to his physical suffering. At least it was over, she thought. He had given up the information and would undoubtedly be dead within minutes, his own agony ended.

Malfoy seemed to be anticipating the order, too, his wand already halfway lifted.

"Wait, Lucius."

Malfoy looked mildly irritated by his master's order, but he dropped his wand hand to his side.

"I think," the Dark Lord said, casting a glance down at the prisoner, "that perhaps it is time for me to send a pointed message to the rest of the wizarding world." He looked then to Welton. "I don't want him to be able to form a coherent thought ever again."

The prisoner jerked his head up.

Welton nodded, and raised his wand.

And Marie screamed.

*

Snape was caught off-guard, he would admit that. He never would have thought he would hear Marie raise her voice above a whisper in this place, let alone jump to her feet and scream at the top of her lungs. And yet that was what she had just done, a loud, forceful, "NO!"

Bella stepped toward her, but the Dark Lord waved her off. Snape was becoming uneasier by the moment. Something was going on here, but he did not know what it was, and that could only be dangerous.

"Gavin," the Dark Lord prompted impatiently.

Welton raised his wand again, with one last uncertain glance in Marie's direction. She looked rather dazed, and she stayed on her feet.

Kensington was halfway to madness already, but it didn't stop him from screaming. Yet again. In his head, Snape began planning the creative brewing that he knew he would have to do if he hoped to manage sleep again in the near future.

Across the room, Marie had stilled herself again, but a violent energy surrounded her. Every time Kensington's screams stopped as he gasped for another breath, Marie closed her eyes, and every time another shriek escaped from him, she opened her eyes, the look in them a bit wilder than it had been moments before

Later, Snape would try to piece together what exactly had happened, when. One moment he was standing, the next he was slumped on the floor ten meters away, the wind knocked out of his lungs.

He did remember that he had seen Marie move, suddenly, sharply. She had stepped forward and lifted her hands. Gestured precisely, quickly. She had not, as far as Snape could recall, uttered any sound at all.

*

Marie knew, even as she formed the signs in the air, that she was doing it properly. That it would work. She didn't know why she was so certain, but she was. It would work.

The instant she opened her palms and pushed away from her body, four Death Eaters went flying through the air. Welton and Malfoy slammed against the wall to her left; Snape and Bellatrix hit the wall to her right. They hit hard. The prisoner lay still in the center of the room. He had been unaffected by her...her spell.

And so had the Dark Lord.

He met her eyes, and smiled, very slightly.

"Imperio," he hissed.