Crucio

Warning: Graphic Violence

Severus' entire body was trembling as he sank to his knees; the cold tile bit against his flesh. He tried desperately to steady his breathing, to force himself to find strength somewhere. But there was none.

His Mark was burning.

He had a potion to dull the pain in his cupboard, but he wasn't going to ask Potter to get it for him. He wasn't going to accept any more help from the wretched child--both he and Black were certainly gloating over his predicament. He didn't need their help. He would, however, need his wand.

Severus clenched his molars together, scraping the enamel until the sound seemed to explode in his ears.

"Professor?"

Severus, feeling a mild, unwelcome sense of panic, tried to rise from the floor. He hadn't the strength.

"I...er...found your dressing gown, sir."

The panic, followed quickly by anger, returned. The anger helped Severus grip the edge of the toilet. His arms trembled as he attempted to lever himself upward. It was no use.

The bathroom door cracked open.

Uncertain fingers, with a dark dressing gown attached, slipped through the crack. Before the fingers could reach past the wooden edge of the door frame, the slick fabric slipped from their slack grip. Potter's fingers made frantic, and useless, flailing motions toward the gown. The fabric fluttered silently to the tiled floor.

"Er...sorry..."

What exactly Potter's ultimate plan had been, Severus had no idea, but he was disinclined to respond to the pathetic apology. His dressing gown was within his reach now--barely, and Severus spent the next five excruciating minutes stretching his battered left arm toward the lifeline. The tips of his second and third finger finally made contact; he slithered the fabric slowly, painfully toward his body.

Severus cursed. His arms wouldn't lift themselves high enough to actually make the dressing gown terribly useful. His arms slumped beside his torso, and he had to force himself to turn the rest of his body around; each movement of his muscles was agonizing.

He could hear Potter's feet shuffling outside the door. "Get in here," Severus snapped. Even the short sentence made his lungs hitch with the effort. But at least he hadn't seemed to have lost his touch.

The door opened almost immediately, and Potter poked his head around the edge. He looked relieved as his eyes fell on Severus' half-covered state. It was unfortunate that Severus didn't have energy enough to sneer at Potter's immaturity, especially since he hadn't deliberately placed the dressing gown over his lap.

"I need my wand," Severus snapped, as well as he could through the gurgle that was now his voice. Potter paused, but then he shook his head--firmly.

"I told you, Professor...Sirius is asleep. I don't want to wake him up."

"Potter-" Severus began, hoping he had enough energy to effectively debase the boy, but Potter didn't allow him to continue.

"He's not doing very well, sir. He needs to sleep," Potter said firmly. He studied Severus, his green eyes hesitant. "I can help you."

Severus bared his teeth; it seemed to have lost its effectiveness; Potter didn't even flinch. Severus glared at him. "Your wand, then."

Severus watched with ill-concealed contempt as Potter's hand flew around to his backside; the muscles in his arm tensed as he gripped the wood protectively. But then Potter swallowed, and with a little nod, he slid it with a quiet swoosh from his pocket. He took the three steps toward Severus and silently handed over his only protection, just as he had a few minutes ago. It was utterly absurd, and Severus had an urge to tell Potter the he was an idiot to be so trusting.

But he didn't.

He simply took Potter's proffered wand and chanted the spell that forced his dressing gown, in a whirl of fabric, to take shape around his exposed body. He heard Potter heave a sigh of relief. And then he was moving to assist, and Severus had to stifle his own sigh of relief that he hadn't had to humiliate himself further by asking for Potter's help.

Potter wasted little time in re-pocketing his wand, for which even Severus couldn't fault him. Severus did, however, bestow the miserable boy with what he hoped was a vicious scowl. Potter sighed, but said nothing in response, and with extremely careful movements, Potter slid his arm under Severus' left armpit, and then hauled Severus' heavy right arm over his own right shoulder. "Are you ready sir?" he asked quietly. Severus meant to snarl, but it sounded more like a grunt. But Severus had no chance to be irritated by his softness; his muscles began screaming in protest as Potter hauled him to his feet.

"Damn it, Potter," he breathed before he could stop himself, the hiss escaping through gritted teeth. In response, Potter tugged Severus' wrist to drape more securely around his shoulder. His other hand gripped Severus' side firmly.

"Sorry," he muttered, sounding a bit breathless. Severus wanted to say something scathing, to tell the brat to be more careful, but the pain was much worse than it had been when they'd first come in the loo; it took all Severus' effort to keep up with Potter's measured strides.

Potter faltered before they reached the bed.

Dodgy, the nervous little house elf was standing in the entrance to Severus' room. He was trembling.

"Master Snape, sir!" Dodgy's voice was sharp and high, and wobbling as though someone was shaking him violently.

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw Black stirring at the screeched greeting.

"Harry?" Black queried blearily.

"I'm right here, Sirius," Harry answered automatically, glancing back at his godfather for a brief second before turning his attention fully back to the house elf. "Where have you been, Dodgy?" he asked, his tone filled with disgusting concern, but even Severus had been more than mildly curious about the house elf's whereabouts since he'd drifted back to consciousness.

Dodgy's eyes widened to the point of ridiculousness; his fingers came up to cover his mouth. "Harry Potter, sir...Dodgy is....Dodgy is..." His mouth was moving awkwardly, as though he was trying to speak, and something was physically restraining him. "Harry Potter must..." A shudder twisted through the little elf's frame; his face formed a horrified, slanted grimace of immense pain. He clutched at his middle, and Severus, as memory kicked him soundly in the skull, suddenly understood.

"Get away from him!" he ground out, his shout petering out to a growl. Potter shifted his head around to look at him, his eyes widening in alarm as he took in Severus' features. Severus tried to pivot away from Potter's grip, in a desperate attempt to move Potter out of the way, but the fool's only goal seemed to be to keep Severus standing. "Move!" Severus snapped.

"What? What's going on?" Black demanded as he came toward them, out of Severus' peripheral vision and into the space between Potter and the house elf.

Before Severus could say another word, the world exploded.

Severus could hear the ripping reverberations as the room tore itself to pieces...he could feel the pressure against his limbs, the flow of blood outward from exposed places, as he was thrown forcibly backward by the force of the calculated blast. He even heard the thud of at least one solid body knocking into a floor, or a wall.

Severus imagined he could hear bones cracking...or perhaps it was simply furniture tearing itself helpfully into kindling. It would be easier for Voldemort that way. Voldemort was very fond of fire...and explosives...

Darkness greeted Severus like an old friend. He welcomed it this time.

--

There was something heavy in his lap...something sticky, that didn't belong there. And the smell of blood soaked the air.

Metallic and fresh.

Harry fought against the reflexive gagging that burst up his esophagus. The tangy blood seemed to be stuck to the back of his throat now. Almost as if he'd actually tasted it.

Moaning through wrinkled lips, Harry willed his eyes to open. Hammers seemed to be pounding right behind his sockets. It was dark...and cold. Wind was biting against his bare shoulder, even though Harry was certain he was fully clothed. At least, he thought he remembered getting dressed that morning. He felt very confused...and tired.

Harry blinked as he stared upward. The stars splashed against the velvet expanse of night were very fuzzy.

Stars?

What had happened to the roof?

With fumbling fingers, Harry felt his face; his glasses were just as they should be. Wanting to get the awkward weight off his legs, Harry fumbled some more, this time reaching toward his lap. His fingers probed gently until they found soft purchase on what could only be flesh, and it seemed to be rounded, and had hair. His relief whooshed into panic as his fingers suddenly slid into something so sticky and wet, it coated his fingertips. And the fresh scent of coppery blood assaulted his nostrils again.

His heart thudding madly against his ribcage, Harry quickly pulled his wand, which mercifully, was still poking into his lower back, out of his pocket and aimed it as best he could. "Lumos," he said hoarsely.

Huge, round eyes stared, unblinking, back at him.

Half-screaming, half-moaning, Harry frantically batted his hands it--at Dodgy's head. He dropped his wand as he tried to scramble away and there were three dull thuds as the head bumped along the ground. The tip of Harry's wand illuminated eerily along the floorboards...Dodgy's head was nowhere to be seen.

Somehow, Harry's feet had propelled him upwards, and he stood with his back against something as solid as a wall, his chest heaving as he tried to make his heart stop its stuttering.

He's-dead...He's-dead...He's-dead, it seemed to be saying.

Harry wanted to tell it to shut up. Of course Dodgy was dead. His head, his decapitated head had been sitting with him for only Merlin knew how long. Dodgy's head.

Harry swallowed down the revulsion as reality finally caught up with him. Dodgy had exploded. He must have. He didn't understand how or why, but in the split second before it had happened, Snape had realized it was about to happen; Harry had seen it in Snape's face. And Sirius had been standing in between Snape and Dodgy. Close to Dodgy...

A cold wretchedness clutched at Harry's chest, and began spreading slowly toward his limbs.

Where's Sirius?

There hadn't been even a scratch when Harry had cried out. Not a rustle of movement from anywhere nearby. Nothing to indicate that anyone was alive in here.

With a swipe so fast, it was almost indecipherable, Harry had his wand back in his hand. Wishing he could keep its tip pointed straight ahead so he wouldn't have to glimpse Dodgy's head again, Harry moved cautiously along the wall and trained his Lumos toward the floor. No head.

Harry swept his wand arm higher, attempting to find his bearings. The creeping shadows and razored edges made it difficult to tell exactly where he was. He'd been standing closest to the bathroom door. Harry twisted a little, ignoring the twinges in his back and arms. He ran the wand tip up and down. There was a wall behind him, but no door.

"Sirius?" he called out softly; his throat felt like burnt parchment. The whistle of the wind from above his head greeted Harry's call. Harry glanced upward, training his enchanted light toward the stars. The ceiling wasn't entirely gone; he could make out jagged edges of roof. He wondered pointlessly if the rest of the tiny shack had been similarly singed. His room across the hall was very likely to have been, since Dodgy had been standing in the doorway.

Harry's throat tightened again. Sirius had been standing awfully close to the doorway. With fear increasing his volume, Harry called out again, "Sirius!"

Silence.

With his fingers beginning to ache around his gripped wand, Harry shouted coarsely, "Snape!" Nothing. "Professor!" he tried again. He can't be dead, Harry told himself as his heart skipped wildly. He was standing right next to me. Not caring anymore if he saw all of Dodgy's mangled remains, Harry commanded loudly, "Lumos Maximus!"

The tip of his holly exploded with light.

Harry began retching uncontrollably. There were no mangled remains. There were bits of Dodgy, tiny bits pelted haphazardly around the space that had been Snape's room. Blood dripped in scarlet rivulets from the walls and the remaining half of the bureau to Harry's left.

Too much blood for one tiny house elf.

"Sirius!" he cried, panic seizing his chest and making it very difficult to breathe. Pages of books, and scraps of fabric stretched a path of destruction across the room. All the way to the far side of the room where Snape's heavy oak bed was still more or less intact. The mattress had caved in, split into two ragged pieces and the bottom two legs were no longer in sight, with a lumped pile of twisted coverlet on the floor. Snape's chair, where Sirius had been dozing only minutes before, was on its side, as if someone had casually knocked into it.

Cursing fate, Harry stabbed his wand toward the doorway. There was a gaping hole where the corridor should have been...and Snape's tall cupboard was gone.

And Sirius had been standing so close...

The ache in Harry's chest became a sob. The wet, cracking sob wrenched its way through Harry's throat. But a muffled choking was all that issued through Harry's lips. He pushed the despair firmly away. He wouldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe Sirius wasn't all right. Not when he'd just gotten his godfather back.

His eyelashes wet with unshed tears, Harry stared helplessly at the jagged hole.