Death Before Dishonor

Death Before Dishonor

Chapter Seven: The Traitor

The big black dog kept its nose glued to the ground as if afraid to lift it and lose the scent he tracked. He was tired and he was dirty, but he knew he was growing closer. The dog stopped and finally brought his head up, catching another scent in the air. A low growl came in the back of his throat, and for a moment the dog looked ready to kill, but then he shuddered and brought his head back down. Later, the dog told himself. There´s time for that later. In the distance, a large house came into view.

The wind shifted, and his sensitive ears picked up screaming.

The floor was cold.

It was also hard, dirty, and utterly uncomfortable, but all in all, it was much better than were he had been a short while ago. Where, judging from the sound of approaching footsteps, he would also be again in a very short amount of time. Sighing, Snape let his head drop back against the rocky floor in exhaustion. Fighting would be an exercise in futility, even if it would make him feel better (temporarily, anyway, until he lost), so all he could do was wait.

Two figures entered his dungeon, and hauled him to his feet without a word. Much to his surprise, Snape found that his legs would indeed support his weight, so as the Death Eaters half-dragged, half-carried him forward, he managed to maintain at least a small amount of control over his body. Like that´s going to do me any good, he thought irritably, blinking in the brighter light outside the dungeon. Suddenly, they stopped, and another Death Eater approached.

"Enjoying your accommodations?" the other snapped.

"I´m gratified that you put me in your best dungeon, Lucius," Snape purred, feeling oddly free of fear. I´m going to die, he knew. So what? I knew this would happen eventually.

He wasn´t prepared for the blow that landed on the right side of his face; his head snapped back and Snape tasted blood. Wiggling his jaw experimentally, he cocked his head at his old classmate. The fury that lashed across Lucius Malfoy´s face might have been amusing in any other circumstance, but right now it promised only pain--at the moment, though, Snape could have cared less. Later, he knew that it would matter a great deal, but he doubted even full cooperation would get him mercy at this point, and he wasn´t particularly interested in finding out, anyway. The rules are different for dead men.

"Tell me why," Malfoy demanded harshly,

Snape let his eyes burn into Malfoy´s and finally spoke the truth after living a lifetime of lies. "I learned the difference between what is right and what is easy."

Malfoy laughed. Snape hadn´t expected that to get anywhere, but it felt good. Odd, how free he felt now. The senior Death Eater´s voice grew cold, yet it held a hint of amusement. "Bring him."

Snape swallowed fear. This is it. He knew they were brining him to Voldemort.

Up a flight of stairs and through two magically hidden doors, and they were suddenly in Lucius Malfoy´s spacious living room. Off to his left, a fire was burning brightly, but that was the only light in the room. Before the fire sat a luxuriously heavy armchair, from which red eyes burned out to meet him. Voldemort vanished from his field of vision quickly, though, as the circle of Death Eaters came between them. Without a word from his escorts, Snape found himself thrown unceremoniously into the center of the circle. He stumbled, mentally cursing his weakened body, but caught himself. Eyes were upon him from every direction, but Snape resisted the urge to look around. That would only show fear.

Instead, he focused on the cloaked figure seated before him, and felt the Dark Mark burning painfully on his left arm. A small shiver of fear ran through Snape, but he repressed it viciously. He had always known this day would come, despite what Dumbledore had said. He was ready. Voldemort rose.

"Severus..." the Dark Lord hissed mockingly. "Oh, Severus...what have you done?"

With an effort, Snape met Voldemort´s gaze. Silence, he decided, was the best strategy. If I don´t say anything, I can´t give anything away. Another shiver ran down his spine, but he held the Dark Lord´s eyes, something he knew no Death Eater had ever done.

"Crucio!"

He had known it was coming, but that never helped. Snape hit the ground hard, knew he was screaming, and knew equally well that he couldn´t do a damn thing about it. He felt his body convulsing, and a distant corner of his mind told him that time was passing, but he was beyond caring. All he felt was the pain, even though a small portion of him still registered the circle of silent Death Eaters that surrounded him, still heard Voldemort´s voice calling him a traitor. Only an immense amount of experience with the Cruciatus curse allowed him to keep any attention on his surroundings, though, and finally even that failed him, and the world bled into pain. Some part of him realized, without caring, that this was definitely the longest time he´d ever been held under the curse; in fact, it was probably a record amongst the Death Eaters, but even as he thought of that, his ability to care dissipated. There was only pain.

Finally, it ended, and Snape closed his eyes for a moment, drawing deep breath. Lovely. The pain might have lessened, but it didn´t stop. Years of experience told him that it wouldn´t for at least a few hours, longer if he didn´t drink an antidote for the curse. That seemed a little unlikely in the present circumstances, and rather than concentrate on impossibilities, Snape struggled to control his breathing.

"Get up," Voldemort commanded, and there was no point in arguing. Shakily, Snape rose, still silent. Once more, he met the Dark Lord´s eyes, feeling amazingly calm, given the circumstances. The rules are different for dead men, he thought again.

"So this is the traitor," Voldemort said softly. "My faithful Severus Snape... Tell me, Severus, how long have you been working for Dumbledore?"

He stared. There was silence, and then a pale hand reached out and grabbed him by the chin. Snape flinched as nails dug into his cheeks, but remained still. His heart pounded like thunder in his ears, and he wondered idly if the others could hear it, or if it only sounded so loud for him.

"Answer me!"

"No." He had long since decided that if he spoke, that was the only word he was going to say. No: he was going to defy the choices of his youth. No: he was going to keep faith. No: he would not betray Albus Dumbledore.

"Crucio!"

The pain was always worse the second time. On the way down, he felt his head crack into the floor, and Snape almost blacked out; unfortunately, the fates weren´t kind enough to allow him that escape. His thoughts fled quicker this time, and it was all he could do to endure--endure or die; either would do. The agony grew greater, and he could not even hear himself screaming, could hardly feel his body convulsing on the floor.

It took Snape several long seconds of silence to realize that the curse had stopped. His throat hurt, and he knew it was from screaming. He slumped in exhaustion, blinking and staring blankly at the ceiling as he struggled to clear his vision. There was blood seeping down the left side of his face, and the Dark Mark was burning more painfully than ever. He blinked once more, and then rolled to his feet. He was going to die, but he had to play the game until the end. Excellent career choice, Severus, a sarcastic voice inside his head snapped. Just the way you always wanted to die--alone and in pain, it jeered, but resolve silenced it. No, Snape thought to himself. Just the way I always knew I would.

"Feeling cooperative yet, Severus?" Voldemort asked idly. Snape noticed that the Dark Lord was seated once more. Around him, Death Eaters shifted uneasily, and the spy realized that they had already been there for quite awhile. Daylight was shining through the living room window; it had to be noon, judging from the sun. The students would already be on the Hogwarts Express. Well, at least I did one thing right.

"No."

"Crucio."

The curse came in a casual voice, but there was nothing casual about the way his body spasmed and collapsed. Pain. Blackness. Gray. Pain. When it finally ended, Snape didn´t bother rising. Not if he was just going to hit the floor again. Besides, he wasn´t sure if he could or not. Breathing was getting difficult.

"Everyone breaks, Severus. It´s only a matter of how long that takes," Voldemort reminded him.

He stared at the ceiling, too spent to do anything more. Snape braced himself for pain. "I´d rather die."

There was no curse. Instead, Voldemort laughed. "Oh, you will. Eventually."

How nice, his mind replied sarcastically, but he bit his tongue. If you can´t say anything nice, Severus, don´t say anything at all. He almost laughed aloud at the irony in that thought, but caught himself in time. Voldemort definitely wouldn´t understand what he found so funny. "Crucio!"

It seemed like hours; for all Snape knew, it could have been. There were questions, many questions, and even more pain, but after awhile, Voldemort simply stopped asking. Snape knew he hadn´t given up; rather, the Dark Lord was just allowing him to be worn down, grinding his resistance down through torture. Around the circle the curses went, one from each Death Eater present, and Snape lost count. He stopped caring; there was simply agony. This was hell. Once, sharp and sudden pain brought momentary awareness, and he felt his right leg hit the wooden floor just wrong, felt it snap under the pressure. Then there was nothing, nothing except for pain and more pain, but no matter how hard Snape tried to lose himself, he could not. There was always a long enough pause to ensure that he reminded conscious.

The pain stopped, and the spacious room was silent except for Snape´s labored breathing. He was shaking now, in fits and starts, but he was also beyond caring. Somehow, he´d ended up face down, and he couldn´t remember having flipped over, but the ache in his chest told him that he´d broken at least a rib or two when he had. Thankful for the pause, he lay still, not bothering to move and sure that would hurt too much. There was blood under him, he realized, which made him idly wonder if more than just his head was bleeding.

Abruptly, magic yanked him to his feet, but before he could even dream about getting his legs underneath his body, an invisible hand shoved him to his knees. Snape cried out as broken leg bent.

"Severus..." Voldemort´s voice broke through his haze of pain. "Why must you do this to yourself? You know you will break eventually."

Snape didn´t have the energy to reply. He only hoped he had the energy left to die, and soon. His head was spinning, but the Dark Lord was continuing, his voice oddly soft and falsely compassionate.

"Tell me how to breach Hogwarts´ defenses, and I shall let you die."

Death...how tempting. That was the only mercy had left for him, Snape knew, the only way to end it all. He had come knowing he would die, and had begun to wish for it as the hours passed. To die, and to end the pain... Hogwarts, he thought suddenly, and his mind cleared with painful abruptness. Dumbledore.

"No," he croaked.

Through the window, the black dog watched as Severus Snape finally lost consciousness. Interested, it studied the figures that took Snape through the hidden doorway that led to the dungeons, and waited, watching as the Death Eaters Disapparated one by one. When the room was empty, no one noticed that the black dog had become a man.

Snape awoke the moment hands touched the magically enhanced chains that held him to the floor, but he didn´t bother to open his eyes. I´d rather be unconscious, thank you, he thought crossly. With a click, the chains popped open. If I act like I´m dead, will they leave me alone? Probably not. Still, it was worth trying. Think dead. Think unconscious. Think--

"Ennervate," a voice muttered.

A wave of energy ran through his body, but against the oppressive pain and weakness rushing through him, it really wasn´t much. Wait a minute! His eyes flew open and immediately recognized the figure bending over him. Snape scowled.

"I should have known it´d be you," he snarled.

"Well, good morning, Prince Charming," Sirius Black responded merrily. His eyes were dancing, which only made Snape´s mood grow even fouler. I will never, ever, forgive him for this, he vowed silently. The bastard.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Saving your life, Severus," Black replied. Then his expression grew serious. "Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk," Snape snapped irritably. There was no way he´d show weakness in front of him. "What do I look like, a child?"

"What you look like is hell," Black replied. "But we don´t have time to argue. Here." Without another word, the other man hauled Snape to his feet.

A wave of dizziness swept through the Death Eater, and he bit back a hiss in pain. But then, as pain shot up his right leg and he felt it buckle, he remembered that it was broken and had to hold back a cry. That took much more effort than he´d ever admit to, and much to his embarrassment, Black caught him before he could fall. Fortunately, Black had the sense not to comment on it, and Snape managed to support most of his own weight through force of will alone.

Black looped an arm under his shoulders in support. "There are Anti-Apparition fields all over this dungeon," he said. "But there aren´t any upstairs. When we get up there, can you Apparate?"

"Yes, of course I can Apparate," he replied, trying to hang on to his temper. It wasn´t working. "Let´s just get out of here before we both get caught."

"Don´t want me for a next-door neighbor, Severus?" But Black moved forward willingly enough, and with his help, Snape hobbled towards the stairway.

The stairs were harder than he had thought they would be. They took them one step at a time, but Snape discovered that his right leg was fluctuating between numbness and excruciating pain. It didn´t want to bend right, rebelled at the idea of supporting any weight, and made a downright nuisance out of itself. He hated to admit it, but it was a very good thing that Black was standing to his right, otherwise he would have toppled down the stairs for sure. Trying to shut the pain away drove him to distraction, and Snape tried to concentrate on anything but his leg. That seemed to help a little.

What he really wanted to know was how Black had gotten through the multiple layers of wards on the dungeons. Now was not the time for questions, though, and he figured that he could save it for later; besides, he really didn´t want to have to depend on Black for anything, even answers. Jerk, he swore. If he doesn´t wipe that insufferable grin off his face--and I know it´s there--I´m going to turn him into a French Poodle. A tiny, yipping, black French Poodle wearing a pink collar with a bow on top. A big, floppy bow.

Damn, I need my wand for that! And to Apparate!

They finally reached the top of the stairway and made it through the second hidden doorway. The living room was empty, now, but Severus saw an ominous stain on the floor that had to be his blood. Wonder why the house elves haven´t cleaned that up yet? he thought idly, then wrenched his mind back to the present. One look at Black told him that the asinine expression was gone, but Snape still scowled again. He hated asking for anything.

"I don´t suppose you possessed the foresight to retrieve my wand, did you?" he asked sarcastically.

Snape´s eyebrows shot up as Black reached inside the left side of his robes and withdrew two wands. He extended one to Snape, still supporting him. "Here."

A wave of relief washed through him as Snape accepted the wand, and he hoped it didn´t show on his face. His wand was certainly one thing he hadn´t expected to see again--abruptly, he realized he was staring, and tore his gaze away from the wand.

"Where are we Apparating to?"

"The Forbidden Forest." Black shot a glance around the room, and Snape noticed that it was growing dark outside the window. Black had spoken so casually that it took a moment before his words sank in.

"Are you mad?" Snape demanded. "Not only is most of the forest warded against Apparition, it´s full of dangerous beasts. We´ll be dead before we reach the castle."

"Would you prefer to take your chances with Voldemort?" Black asked mildly.

Snape snarled and glared, but he knew that no matter how dangerous the Forbidden Forest was, trudging through it was safer than staying. Anything was safer than staying. "Fine," he growled, then couldn´t resist getting in a dig of his own. "I suppose the werewolves don´t bother you, anyway, do they?"

Fury blossomed in Black´s eyes for a moment, and the Potions Master had to stop himself from flinching. This time it was Black´s turn to snarl, "Don´t make me regret saving you, Snape."

Their eyes locked, and every bit of their old animosity flared back into being. For a moment, Snape considered hexing Black in the nastiest way he could think of, regardless of the circumstances, and it was clear by the look on the other´s face that he was considering the same thing. Both of them tensed for action, remembering every reason they had to hate each other, every miserable and malicious prank, every gloating smile and every detention they´d served for fighting with each other--it would be so easy, so simply, so satisfying to finally bring an end to their feud. There was no Dumbledore to stop them now. There was no responsibility to stand in the way. Dumbledore! Snape thought suddenly, and blinked, opening his mouth to say it could wait, but Black beat him to it.

"Never mind," he said. "Northern edge of the forest. Quickly."

At least that was bearable. No apologies necessary on either side. We´ll just leave it alone. Forget it happened. We have better things to do. Nodding, Snape pointed his wand at himself and disappeared.

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Author´s Note: Keep reading...please? And of course, thank you for all the wonderful reviews... J If I ask nicely, would you give me more? Stay tuned for Sirius and Snape´s attempt at escape--life can never be easy.