Trapped

Chapter 4: Unicorn Blood

He woke up to the unblinking stare of a rat. A fat and almost hairless rat. How appropriate for this dreary location. There ought to be hundreds of rats down here. So, he might end up as rat-food, after all. They did eat people when their victims were too sick to fight them. And he didn't feel much like fighting right now.

The rat continued to stare, sitting on its hind legs and seemingly scrutinizing him thoroughly. It was so bizarre that Severus started to wonder whether the rat was real. He blinked. But the rat was still there. Then he noticed the missing front paw - Peter Pettigrew in his Animagus form. Was he here to check on him? They hadn't forgotten their prisoner then. But was this a good sign or a bad one? Probably the latter. Wormtail's presence almost qua definition meant that bad things would happen.

The rat sneered, then, surprisingly quick for its bulk, crossed the room and disappeared through a hole in the wall. Running to its Master, Severus assumed. And indeed, shortly after the Dark Lord appeared in the door frame.

"How do you enjoy my hospitality, Ssseverusss, dear? Everything to your liking?" he began mockingly. Severus only blinked. It was hard enough to concentrate on the blurry vision and to grasp the meaning of the words. The task of answering was completely beyond him.

"Too haughty to reply? Ssseverusss, Ssseverusss, you really should know by now that a polite question merits an equally polite answer. Or do you have anything to complain about? Speak!" He motioned to Pettigrew, now back in his human form, who entered the cell and kicked hard at Severus's badly swollen knees.

"No," the injured wizard croaked as the pain shot through his legs.

Another kick and Voldemort's voice barking, " 'No, my Lord,' you imbecile! Try again!"

"No, my ..." A violent coughing fit rendered him unable to finish the sentence.

"Oh, you are sick, poor child?" The Dark Lord's voice was dripping with mock-concern. "Cold and hungry and miserable, are you? That's exactly what you deserve, traitor!"

"Yes ... my ... Lord," Severus managed to whisper while trying to get some minimum oxygen into his aching lungs. He might die of pneumonia, though, if the thirst didn't kill him first, or the cold ...

"But I'm not inhuman," continued Voldemort. "We'll feed you well enough, Wormtail and I. I don't want to loose my favorite plaything, you see - not before I have tired of it." He signaled to Pettigrew again who promptly produced a glass vial with a silvery blue liquid from the folds of his robes. A poison?

Wormtail knelt down at the prisoner's side and forced the strange substance down his throat. Severus gagged violently. He had never swallowed anything that tasted even half as horrible as this concoction. The taste was impossible to describe with words, even for a Potions master. A mixture of fear, pain, desperation, and death would probably describe it best, only that he couldn't tell how these would actually taste. Strangely enough, in spite of tasting like death, Severus did not feel that close to dying anymore. Not that the potion had alleviated the numbing pain in his knees and arm or the chill that made him shiver almost constantly, but he instinctively knew he would not die any time soon. Not a favorable prospect considering the malicious sneer on the rat's face and the mad glimmer in Voldemort's eyes.

The Dark Lord's next words affirmed Severus's worst fears.

"I must admit," he said silkily, "the taste is rather appalling. But the effect is magnificent, I can assure you. I used to drink this amazing substance in large quantities a couple of years ago, lived on it. But nowadays it is regrettably difficult to come across. Too bad. Otherwise I could keep you alive for years. But since unicorn blood has become so scarce and precious, I fear we will have to limit the fun to a few weeks."

Merlin. Weeks. He had to wait for death to come for another few weeks. Weeks full of torture, pain, and humiliation, to be sure of, since that was the Dark Lord's sick notion of fun. The prospect made him want to vomit. But not in the monster's presence, no, rather choke on the rising bile.

"By the way," Voldemort drawled on sneeringly, " I let Dumbledore know about your fate. Would have been too cruel to leave him wondering, wouldn't it? Actually, this was Wormtail's idea. He has his moments once in a while. To think of sending that old fool the tell-tale present instead of a letter of condolence. Rather ingenious. Too bad we couldn't enjoy the expression on the great Albus Dumbledore's face when he opened the box. Surely a priceless sight. Just imagine him sitting there, probably expecting another delivery of lemon drops, but unwrapping the bloody arm of his missing Potions master instead. I'm almost positive he threw up all over his ridiculous robes. Don't you agree, Ssseverusss, dear boy?"

Severus had closed his eyes. He refused to think. Think of the Headmaster open the box. The shock and disgust on his face. How the twinkle in his eyes would freeze and turn into sorrow and despair. And all and everything was essentially his own fault, Severus Snape's, who had foolishly run into the Dark Lord's trap for a mere schoolboy's grudge.

When the Cruciatus hit him in the chest, the pain was almost welcome as it distracted him from his dark thoughts and quickly drove his exhausted body and mind over the edge and into merciful oblivion.