Summoned

Chapter 2: Avada!

"Give me a reason. Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will."

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

July 7, 1995

"Solo Silencio!"

The aged wizard's first words as he entered the ward put an end to the harsh cries coming from Snape. But the man continued screaming, his voice muted, his eyes wide with horror.

"He's in pain!" Minerva yelled. "He's in agony and all you can do is keep us from hearing him scream?"

Orestes, who had been focusing solely on the patient, turned to her with an angry, impatient glare that somehow survived his perpetual squint. "If I'm right about what he's going through, Professor McGonagall, trust me, the silence will be welcome. His senses are ablaze with pain: sight, sound, touch, all of them are simply more torment. The silence at least diminishes one piece of that pain." He held her gaze for two more breaths, glanced once at Albus as if expecting another protest, then turned to his patient.

After a few more seconds, Severus' body stopped jerking and his lips closed. He seemed to be grinding his teeth. The black eyes stared into nothingness. They did not focus, they did not seem to be aware. His body stopped moving altogether, and he did not blink.

"He's struggling," Orestes whispered. He leaned very close to Snape and tried to make the man's eyes focus on him. He could not.

"Alright, Severus. You can't come here. So I will find you where you are." He stood up and met Albus' determined eyes, and Minerva's worried ones. "Please, please. I need to be alone with him." He pulled the curtains around the bed, and gently nudged the Headmaster of Hogwarts outside the fabric. Then he turned to Minerva. "You, too, out! Out, out, out!" He waited for her to move back as well.

He sat back on the side of Severus' bed, looking into the man's eyes. After years of training and practice in this terribly harsh, arcane art, the only thing he could still see with any precision were another's eyes. He could see them halfway across a room, if he needed to. The rest of the world might blur and fade, might lose color and shape, but the eyes of another...

"Show me what I need to know, Professor Snape." He took a breath, then, with his wand aimed at the patient's head, his murmured under his breath "Legilimens!"

It was white. The world was white. The darkness was gone.

"Severus! Severus, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Lily! Go away!"

"Severus!"

He strode off down the hallway, leaving her clutching her books to her chest. He would not look at her again. He couldn't. He couldn't bear the pain...

"Mudblood!"

The pain! Fire!

His limbs on fire, his arm scalding with the mark of Voldemort.

He had to go, he had to escape, he had to find...

He screamed...

* * *

Dumbledore could not stop pacing. He could not bring himself to leave the room. Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid watched him, then glanced at the curtains, then at Minerva, then back at him.

"Professor...?" Poppy finally whispered.

Across the room, Minerva was sitting tensely on the edge of a wooden chair. Her face was tight with apprehension and disapproval.

Dumbledore shook his head.

It took less than five minutes before the Healer pulled the curtain aside. Severus was once more caught in a spasm of agony, the now-familiar twisting and jerking controlling his muscles. His mouth was open, and it moved over and over again with screams that could not be heard. He threw his head back, side to side, his hair flailing on the bed, lashing across his pale face.

Albus moved closer to the bed, but before he could get close enough to touch his colleague, Orestes sagged and then collapsed. Between them, Minerva and Madam Pomfrey caught the elderly Healer and dragged him to the next bed while Hagrid bent over his fallen colleague and once more tried to hold him still.

"Professor!" Poppy called. Reluctantly, Dumbledore left Severus' side and went to check on Orestes, who seemed in need of his own medical assistant.

"I'm fine, fine, really, just fine. Fine." Orestes seemed to have just fainted for a moment. He was sitting on the bed they'd taken him to, wiping his forehead - and his eyes. He cupped his face in the palms of his hands for a few seconds, then shuddered and looked up.

"I had no idea," he whispered. His voice sounded gruff. "No idea." He turned to Albus. "You were right: she is there. - She is - always there, isn't she?"

"Who, Orestes?" Poppy asked. She had already gone back to Severus' side and was checking his pulse once more.

Minerva stood in front of the Healer, waiting for his answer. But Orestes met Albus' eyes and he made a very small movement of his head: No.

Orestes shut his eyes again and rubbed his face with his wrinkled hands. "Albus is right," he said softly. "Severus Snape is a very private man." He looked up. "You understand, though, don't you?" he asked Albus.

He nodded. And waited.

"Headmaster," Minerva began, but he lifted a hand and stopped her.

"It is sufficient that Orestes knows," he said, still watching the aged man. "It is not necessary that anyone else should. - Can I get you anything, Orestes?"

The man smiled, then glanced at his patient. "Would some food be possible?" he asked, as if he fully expected to receive a negative response. "It would - help to have - some nutritional support. I confess - that biscuit is the first thing I've eaten in two days."

Albus turned to Minerva. "Do you think you could see to that?" he asked politely. She nodded, obviously not appreciating the dismissal, and left.

"Orestes."

"Albus." The man held up his hand and tried to stand. He failed and flopped back onto the bed. Albus moved closer, then sat next to him.

"Did Voldemort learn anything from him?" Dumbledore asked, his voice quiet. A few feet away, Madam Pomfrey was once more trying to get Severus to swallow some potion, and the attempt was not going well.

Orestes looked past Albus as he answered. "I couldn't begin to get that far. His mind..." He got up, his legs wobbling a little, then crossed the space between himself and Severus' bed. "Don't touch him," he ordered Hagrid. "Let go."

"But he's -"

"Let him go. Touch him only if you absolutely must." He turned to Poppy and pulled the dark vial from her hand. "Dreamless Sleep?"

"Something stronger," she said, and he waited. "Something he concocted himself." He glared at her, waiting. "Asphodel and wormwood."

Orestes threw the vial across the room. "That's making it worse!" He caught himself, his voice too loud, and when he spoke again it was much more quietly. "Do you have any LimberLight?"

Madam Pomfrey looked puzzled for a few seconds. "But that's not for spasms or seizures!"

Orestes looked tired, Albus noticed. Very tired. He was pale and his movements seemed to be made as if through muddy water. "It will work in this case. The ingredients have a contradictory effect on some people. As you know. Given the type of spasms he's suffering from - they may partly be left over from the Cruciatus - the LimberLight will help dispel the rigidity that's causing the problem. Apply it topically."

He spent a few more seconds looking down at his patient: Severus' eyes were closed once more.

"Can he hear us?" Albus asked quietly.

Orestes nodded. "He can. And some part of him may know where he is and who we are. But - I'm not sure that part of him will ever be able to come back to us." He rubbed his eyes again. "You recall, I treated the Longbottoms as best I could when they were first taken to St. Mungo's," he said. "But this..." He shook his head. "Although they were excellent, strong Aurors, the Longbottoms could not fight the Dark Lord as Severus has. This man's mind is..."

Albus was grateful that Orestes did not finish his sentence.

* * *

The boy looked up at him. There was something in his eyes that looked like awe. Or fear.

There was something in his eyes that looked like Lily.

"Ah, yes. Harry. Potter. Our new - celebrity."

Pain! Screaming! Fire!

"Well, let's try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you -"

... He writhed on the ground, the Dark eyes screeching through his soul...

... "I'm sorry, I meant to tell you myself!"

"I told you. Go away, Lily!"

... "I must report, my Lord, that Barty Crouch has been unmasked at Hogwarts..."

... "You could beg for her life..."

... "Do you question me, Severus?" The snake hissed next to his eyes, he felt the tongue slither across his lips. He tried to move, to roll away, but the Binding Curse held him fast. The snake slid over him...

... "How can you stand that arrogant, stuck-up, lazy -"

"He's not stuck up!" Lily protested. "He's not lazy, Severus, he's just not -"

"Not like me?"

... The snake sank its fangs into his arm, the tattoo pulsed to life, his arm burned, his fingers clenched into a fist, he swore he would not make a sound, he would not give in...

... "Mom, please! Stop! Stop, it hurts! I'll be good! I promise, I'll be good! Please, stop!"

... "Lucius! No!"

* * * July 7, 1995, evening

Minerva ate silently, sitting next to Severus. Orestes had placed a thick, white, cotton cloth, saturated with LimberLight, across Severus' head. Another was wrapped around each of his arms and legs. Another lay across his chest and stomach. He had not been dressed; the injuries that were visible seemed to cover his entire body, but he was discreetly covered with a light sheet and his privacy - both physical and mental - were being protected as much as possible.

Once the potion had begun it's work, Orestes had removed the Solo Silencio. The curtains, pulled together, were pushed aside a bit and Orestes looked in. "Is it working?" he whispered.

"He hasn't moved."

Orestes nodded and smiled. "Good. It's hard to heal the mind when the body is being tormented."

"Orestes," she tried, putting her plate of half-finished dinner on the cabinet next to Severus' bed. "I've seen victims of the Cruciatus Curse. None of them had spasms like these."

Orestes looked at her for a long moment, as if evaluating some quality within her. Then he let go of the curtain and he came into the shrouded space and sat next to Severus. "It's the combination. Alone, the Cruciatus Curse can torment, torture, or drive one mad. In combination with a forced use of the Legilimens, it can cripple the soul and body."

"And used in Extremis?" the woman murmured, not really expecting an answer.

Orestes watched Severus' face. There were just the smallest twitches of his muscles, half-sneers, Minerva wanted to imagine, as if, in his silent imprisonment he was still standing up to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But the expression on Orestes' face told her that was not what was happening within that sharp, bitter mind.

"The Extremis, of course, targets particular memories. It's especially difficult to withstand, even for someone trained in Occlumency. If I can find the answers Dumbledore needs," he whispered, "it will be a miracle. To pull him back to where we are?" He shook his head. "Months. Maybe years. Maybe - never."

Minerva shook her head. "I don't know what you - saw? Or felt? When you were in his mind, Orestes, but - Severus Snape is far too strong to give up. He'll recover."

Orestes turned the full brightness of his gaze upon her, and for an uncomfortable moment she thought he was looking into her own mind.

"If he does," the Healer finally said, "it will not be because he is strong, but because of his love for her."

The words shocked Minerva to her depths. Love? Severus - and love? The words did not go together. Affection? Apparently, as that was what Albus believed. But hardly love.

Severus had borne too many deep wounds by the time he arrived at Hogwarts to ever know what love was. How to feel it. How to accept it. How to even recognize it. No, love was not the word to explain his internal strength.

She half-smiled. "It will be because he is stubborn and proud," she corrected the old man. "Severus will never let another get the better of him in the end. No matter how hard he has to fight, or what he might suffer in the meantime."

Orestes smiled back at her. "Oh, he is stubborn! Very stubborn. And proud. And I don't discount that. But at his core..." The man stopped and shook his head. "Well, we can only hope."

He turned back to his patient and whispered something Minerva couldn't hear. Then he stood and, without another word, left.

* * * July 7-8, 1995

Hagrid volunteered for the midnight shift. It was his favorite time of night, and he sat in the chair he'd conjured up for himself - much larger and softer than the one in the wing - and hummed a bit to himself. He'd brought a book, one of his favorite books, one that he had read as a child and that had helped steered him on his course.

A Magical Look at Magical Creatures. Hagrid had never been very good at reading. Or writing. Or taking tests. Or - well, at much of anything, really. Until he'd discovered that he could work with almost any kind of non-Human creature, part-Human creature and, with a few exceptions, Human creatures.

One of his exceptions was being re-considered right now. Orestes and Madam Pomfrey were sleeping down the hall, available in case Hagrid needed them - in case Professor Snape needed them. Orestes had placed a muting spell around the area, so that if their patient began to make horrible noises in the night, no one else would have to endure them.

Hagrid was studying one of the first moving-pictures he'd ever seen of a thestral, a picture that someone had hand-drawn and animated, since the author of the book had never seen one himself, and since one could not take pictures of them. Hagrid watched the picture and for a moment the fact that only those who had seen death could see it made him ponder his patient in a new light. Snape never tried to hide the fact that he had been a Death Eater. He had been able to see thestrals since his second year at Hogwarts.

The figure was roaring its forelegs up in a wild claw through the air, and it made a loud, whinnying sound...

No! No, the sound was coming from the bed. And it wasn't a whinnying. It was - a word.

"Told." Severus' eyes were open again, and they were wide with horror, not fixed on anything in the room, staring into a space beyond the curtain.

Hagrid shut his book and let it drop - noisily - to the floor as he bent closer and tried to hear better. "Wha's that, Professor?"

Severus winced from the noise, and his lips moved, trying to form a word, a sound. Hagrid waited, listening, and watching the man's struggle to speak.

"Told." He began to breathe heavily, as if he'd been running. " Noth-" He gasped for air, and then his body began to spasm again. "Nothing!" he screamed, and then the sound became barely human. He screamed like a wounded thestral, as if someone were shooting arrows into his flesh.

"No!" And then his writhing became violent and he flailed hard and twisted and rolled and only Hagrid's arms kept him from falling to the floor.

He wasn't sure what to do. The professor was moving too fast, too strongly, for him to leave him. But he had to get help, had to get more of that LimberLuck or something!

"Professor," he tried, hoping maybe the man would hear him. "Professor, I got - I can't hold ye - I hafta get help!"

What would he do if this were one of his magical creatures? What would he do...?

"Okay, professor, here, now." Ignoring the fact that this was actually the severely imposing and frightening Potions master of Hogwarts, he lifted the man from the bed, the flailing limbs lashing out at Hagrid, beating against his arms and chest as he held the man. "Ye'r gonna be jes' fine, professor, there ye go." He stood with his patient in his arms, and carried the man down the hallway. "Gonna get ye all fixed up, right as rain, don't ye worry now," he whispered.

This was just another magical creature.

He carried Severus to the doorway, beyond which lay Madam Pomfrey's chambers, and placed him carefully on the floor. Severus was still caught in his spasms, but he was also still trying to speak, trying to form words through his cries of pain.

"Tol! No! Nothing! Nothing! Lily!"

Hagrid knocked on Poppy's door, then looked down at his patient. Lily?

Madam Pomfrey had wrapped a robe around her nightshirt and was squinting at him when she opened her door. "Oh, my! Hagrid, get him back to his bed!"

"I couldna leave him," Hagrid tried to explain, scooping up his fellow instructor. "I had to get ye, but I couldna leave him now, could I?"

He felt slightly abashed by the expression on the nurse's face. But her expression softened and she patted his arm. "Of course not, Hagrid. Go on, I'll be right there."

She was, and once she and Hagrid had re-applied the curative bandages, she sent him to get Dumbledore.

Severus Snape could talk.

* * *

"Get out of here! Get out!"

James Potter, dragging him back, out of the tunnel beneath the Willow... Sirius laughing like a maniac... Remus howling, rising on two legs, snarling, wanting blood...

"Get out of here!"

..."James Potter, stop that! I don't believe you!"

He fell to the floor in a tangled lump and saw Lily cross her arms angrily, scowling at Potter...

"Don't need your help!"

..."Crawl, Snape! What are you? A Slytherin Snape, or a sniveling snake? Hmm? Crawl! Crawl like a sniveling snake! Crawl to your master!"

Lucius...

* * *

Dumbledore, like Minerva and Orestes, wore his nightclothes, not bothering with any semblance of formality or propriety. It was 3:30 in the morning and Hagrid had hastily woken Dumbledore, who had summoned Minerva, and together they raced back to the Hospital Wing.

Orestes, however, had been there first, and when they all arrived, tying robes and - in Minerva's case, putting a floppy slipper back on her foot - Severus was, apparently, asleep.

"Albus," the old man greeted, looking up as the three teachers all entered. Madam Pomfrey was on the other side of the bed, folding a long, white cloth and dipping it into a large bowl on the cabinet next to the bed. She squeezed out the excess fluid and carefully placed it across Snape's heaving chest.

"He's resting," Orestes said, as if that needed to be explained. He was still whispering. He glanced at Hagrid and then stood. "You did splendidly, sir," he said.

Dumbledore noticed only then that Hagrid had looked worried; now he smiled. "I didna know wha' else to do, sir."

Orestes nodded to Poppy, then moved the curtains back around the bed and gestured the others to follow him. Halfway down the corridor, he stopped and pulled his moonlight-blue robe more tightly around him.

"You said you were humming to him?" Orestes asked, startling Dumbledore and cutting off his first questions.

"Excuse me, Orestes, but - Hagrid, what exactly did Professor Snape say?"

Hagrid sighed. "I tol' ye, Professor, he said, 'Told, nothing, nothing, no, lily. Tha's all!"

"You were humming?" Orestes repeated.

"Orestes..." Dumbledore started, but the Healer held up his hands, palms out.

"Wait!" He glowered at Dumbledore, then glanced quickly at Minerva, as if waiting for her to dare try saying anything. "I have a patient, Albus! A patient!" He turned back to Hagrid. "What were you humming?"

"I don't see how this is -"

"I was jus' hummin' a little ditty I sometimes do when I'm takin' care o' one of my creature friends. Ye know, just a little 'dum-diddly-dum-dum', like that."

Orestes took a long breath. "How long had you been humming when he first spoke?"

Hagrid looked helplessly around at the rest of them, then shrugged. "I dunno, sir. I - I was jus' readin' my book and hummin' and - and he said, 'told'. So I stopped hummin' and - and he started with that seizing up-like, ye know, and I grabbed him and we went an' got Madam Pomfrey, and -"

"Alright, okay, thank you Hagrid. Stick around, can you?"

Hagrid grinned, "Why, sure, profess- uh, sir."

Dumbledore took a long breath and waited as Orestes turned and looked back to the bed where his patient lay. After a few more seconds, he turned back to Dumbledore. "I'm sorry, Albus. I - "

Albus nodded once, not needing any further apology. He looked to Hagrid. "Is there anything else, Hagrid? Anything he said, or - maybe tried to say?"

Hagrid shook his head. "No, sir. Nuthin' else."

"It seems he was trying to tell us - that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named didn't learn anything," Minerva said quietly. She was looking past them, trying to watch Severus and Poppy.

"Yes, I - I'm sure he was." Albus rubbed his forehead, then moved past them all and went back to Severus' side. He sat on the bed and watched the sleeping man. "Severus," he whispered. Poppy was wrapping his arms in wet cloths. The man wasn't moving, except for several short, shallow breaths that seemed to pain him. "I'm sorry, Severus."

* * *

July 8, 1995, afternoon

"Th' las' time my singin' did any good was with Fluffy," Hagrid was saying, as he and Minerva ate sandwiches together. They were in the midst of changing shifts, and Severus was lying as peacefully as ever. Two days now, and so far Orestes had made no breakthrough. There had been no further sign of consciousness from Snape, and Minerva was beginning to feel something akin to despair.

"I remember, Hagrid," she said, trying to keep her mind from wandering into dark alleys where Severus was taken to St. Mungo's to exist in limbo until his body decayed... Like the Longbottoms...

She wondered, though she wasn't going to ask, if Hagrid had realized that Severus' final word had not referred to a flower. And she had, in the last two days, tried to recall all the instances she could in which Lily Evans and Severus Snape had been together as students.

She recalled very little.

But she was certain Lily Evans Potter was what Dumbledore and Orestes believed would keep Severus going. Strange as it seemed to her.

"So, ye'r gonna try singin' to him, are ye?" Hagrid asked.

Minerva chuckled. "Oh, I hardly think so, Hagrid. I can't hold a tune. And - well, can you imagine what Professor Snape would have to say if he woke up and I was singing to him?"

They both laughed, and for a few seconds the depressing possibilities seemed to waft away from them. Then Severus made a noise and the situation hit home again.

Poppy was in her chambers. She had left plenty of the LimberLight potion and clean cloths, and each of them knew now how to apply them if their patient should be in need of them. But as Minerva rose and went to the bedside, she was relieved to see that Severus seemed to be having a simple nightmare. His head moved, his eyes clenched and his hands gripped the sheets convulsively, but this was nothing like the horrible seizures he'd been having.

Orestes had predicted that, with time, those would stop. But he had still warned them that they should not hope for much more than what they had now.

Minerva did not want to surrender hope.

"Well," Hagrid whispered, once he'd seen that the patient wasn't needing his services, "I'll go get some shut-eye meself, then."

"Thank you, Hagrid."

He left and Minerva cleaned up the remnants of their lunch. Orestes had concocted a particularly foul-smelling tea that he and Poppy carefully poured down Severus' throat twice a day, the only form of nutrition they could manage to give him.

"Well, Severus, you always were a little too - slender - for my taste," she whispered, pulling up her own comfortable chair, which she'd conjured for her shifts. She had conjured a small table, as well, and while she kept watch she indulged in one of her summer habits: needlework. She had two tapestries in her chambers and was working on a third to complete a tri-partite historic image of the Battle of Blistol in 1235, which she intended then to bewitch into reenacting the critical scene.

"I remember the first time I saw you there, under the Sorting Hat. You looked so very - frightened. And too proud to admit it. But then, when the feast began, I watched your eyes. You were scared to eat. You kept looking around, as if you expected someone to take the food from your plate..."

She stopped talking. The memory, in light of the present circumstances, seemed far sadder than it had then. Many of the children who first came to Hogwarts had come from impoverished or misunderstood backgrounds. Fear, uncertainty, excitement, curiosity: they were all normal parts of the first year experience. She remembered Harry's eyes the first time the feast appeared before him.

"He was a bit too thin, too," she murmured, not realizing she was speaking aloud again.

For a few moments, her thoughts wandered, and she found herself rethinking the question Orestes had implicitly asked her: why she considered herself a friend of Severus Snape. Looking back, it was hard to find any single justification. Partly, she supposed, she had felt sorry for him from time to time when he was a student. But then, just as often, she'd felt sorry for his victims, mostly James and Sirius, though anyone who stepped across Snape's path could expect to be the recipient of some form of payback.

She remembered one time in particular, during his first year, when she had caught Severus using an amazing combination of four jinxes on James Potter, just outside her doorway. Smothering her desire to laugh at James' unfortunate predicament, she'd ordered Snape to undo the spells, had called him into her office and had sentenced him to a three-page essay on why he should not have used those particular jinxes - together.

And she remembered one line, the final line of his essay, that, more than anything, gave her an acute and unique insight into her student. "So I will never be without my wand, even at home."

She remembered asking him about that, about what it implied; he had avoided a direct answer, had been flippant and rude, and earned himself a detention.

There was a muffled moan, and she looked up, her memories interrupted. Severus' head was rolling back and forth on his pillow, his face was covered with sweat. He began to groan, and Minerva put aside her needlework and got up to prepare fresh LimberLight bandages.

His eyes snapped open.

He stared at her, eyes wide, horrible, ugly terror in his gaze. He worked his lips, trying to speak, to say something. She sat next to him and took his hand.

"Severus?" she whispered. "What is it?"

He kept working his mouth, his eyes still wide, then filling with anger. He moved his lips and grunting sounds came out and the more he tried to speak the angrier he got that he couldn't.

Minerva stroked his hand. "That's alright, just be patient. You'll tell me when you can. There's no hurry."

Well, that was something of a lie. If Severus could tell them anything about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's plans - and why he had chosen this particular time to torture Severus into insanity - she would have to get Dumbledore. The Order needed information immediately, if any was to come.

"Hide."

He finally got the word out and then shut his eyes, tightly, and gritted his teeth. He was in pain. Again. The hand she held convulsed suddenly with such strength that she cried out: she was sure he had broken one of her fingers. She tried to pull her hand free, but he was growling with agony, like a wounded creature...

"A little song to sleep by," Minerva began to sign. Very softly. "A little hand to warm you." It was a lullaby her mother had sung to her, many, many lifetimes ago. She tried again to pull her hand free, but he was tossing on the bed... "A little light to sing by, and a little love to hold you..."

Slowly, his grip relaxed. His breath hissed through his teeth and she could tell he was trying to say something else. She hummed the same tune again, this time without words, and waited.

"Hide."

"Hide - Potter? He's safe, Severus. He's at Privet Drive, still. We're watching him. The Order -"

"No!"

He began to gasp for breath. He let go of her hand and suddenly, without warning, his body arched upward and his screams tore through the room. Minerva jumped up and grabbed one of the cloths from the basin and, barely bothering to wring it out, laid it on his chest, holding it down and whispering, singing, humming, trying to silence the terrible cries.

It was as if Voldemort tortured him anew every time he tried to talk.

And then it occurred to her that maybe that was exactly what was happening.

* * *

Tobias had been drinking. It was always so much worse when he was drinking. He felt like a pieces of pounded meat, and he curled into his bed in the corner, pressing his back against the wall, his arms and legs swelling and purple with bruises, his nose broken again, bleeding...

He tried to ignore the pain.

He thought of something else, something that made the pain less: he knew where she kept her wand. He knew how he could get it.

The next time his father came into his bedroom, he would use it... he knew how...

... "Afraid, Snivellus?" Lucius stepped forward. His goons had him on the floor, kneeling.

"Of you? Never!" His wand was gone. They were alone. The prefect's bathroom was empty.

"Let's see if we can't scare up a little respect, huh?"...

... "Kneel!" He held his arm out with no support, and Voldemort touched it with his wand...

The fire burned into him...

... Tobias staggered forward, unzipping his pants. He dropped the belt. Severus huddled on the bed, his hand clutching his wand beneath the covers. He was ready... He knew how to use the wand, he knew what to do this time...

"Beg, you little coward! Beg for mercy!"

"Avada -"

He screamed!

* * *

"It could be, that could indeed be part of it." Orestes, still yawning from being woken - again - in the middle of the night, poured his own tea this time as they sat once more in the Headmaster's office.

Albus, Poppy and he were tiredly considering Minerva's theory: "Every time he tries to speak, the pain becomes - fresh. Again. As if he's fighting a spell that wants to keep him silent."

Albus rubbed his eyes and put his spectacles back on. He glanced at Minerva's hand; Severus had actually broken two of her fingers when his hand convulsed around hers. They were small fractures, and Poppy had already healed them, but Minerva was still wiggling her fingers and clenching and unclenching her fist.

"It could be the Imperius," he said. He was almost infinitely tired. His joints were old, and they ached. He could imagine how Orestes felt. And Poppy looked pale, her eyes sunk in darkened shadows, her hair flying every which way, uncombed.

Minerva, on the other hand, seemed quite - animated. "There must be something we can do to fight it," the Transfiguration instructor said.

"If he's fighting the Imperius Curse?" Orestes shook his head. He sipped his tea. "I know of only one person who was able to fight it off. And that was back when the Dark - You-Know-Who was in power."

"I know of at least three more," Albus said, remembering Barty Crouch Jr.'s confession. And then there was Crouch Sr., as well. Two people who had fought it... And Harry. Perhaps the odds were in Severus' favor.

"So far, Severus has managed to tell us that he gave nothing away. At least - he thinks he gave nothing away. And - that we should hide Potter. But we do not know what he did to earn Voldemort's wrath. Why was Voldemort so - angry? We need to know what caused this!"

Orestes continued to flinch when Dumbledore used Voldemort's name. "It seems as if the Dark Lord put a spell on him to keep him from talking," Orestes said. "Some variant of the Imperius, so that any time he tries to break that spell, the pain from the torture will return. And I think it will eventually drive him mad. If he isn't already."

"He's not," Minerva said very quietly, but only Albus seemed to hear her.

"Then what do you propose?"

Orestes sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. After a few moments, Albus was afraid he'd gone to sleep. Then he opened his eyes and looked directly at Albus. "You said he was a natural Occlumens?"

Albus nodded. "Yes."

"Did you ever work with him on it?"

A cold, sneaking feeling began to crawl up Dumbledore's spine. "He was naturally very gifted in the skill," he said carefully.

"Yes, but - did you teach him anything about it?"

Dumbledore glanced at Minerva and Poppy, then looked back. "What are you asking, Orestes?"

"Have you been in Snape's mind before? Do you know what is in there? Do you know - his mind?"

This was something he certainly would never have wanted to discuss in front of anyone else. But Orestes would know that, too. Teaching Occlumency - or trying to enhance another person's skill in it - was a nasty business at best. In the case of his efforts with Severus it had been - quite unpleasant. For both of them.

"Yes."

Orestes gave him a quick, sympathetic look, then said, "We will have to go into his mind to find the answers, Albus. I think that, together, we will be able to stagger through his desecrated memories and find what we need. When I tried, of course - I did not try to penetrate his defenses. He was - in too much pain. But it seems..."

Albus had, from the first, considered this unpleasant prospect and remembered Orestes' protest: "I'm here as a Healer, Albus, not an interrogator.". He had hoped that Orestes would either have been able to handle this himself - or find some other solution.

"I would not want to go wandering through his thoughts as they are, Orestes," he protested quietly. "I would be afraid of causing more pain. More damage."

Orestes was shaking his head. "Back in the war, we used to call this type of spell a 'snare of the senses'. The more he struggles to break free, the more he will be tormented. Light, sound, taste, touch - all of it, will continue to be agony for him.

"Professor McGonagall, were you singing to him by any chance when he tried to speak this time?"

Minerva looked as if the question had just barely avoided being one she had not wanted to answer. "No, but I was talking to him. I suppose my naturally dulcet tone had the same effect as Hagrid's humming must have."

Albus allowed himself a little smile, and saw that Poppy and Minerva were also grinning.

"I'd like you to do that again. Or - perhaps we should ask Hagrid to come back and sing -"

Albus shook his head. "No. If - if there's likely to be any - personal revelations - from Severus - I would prefer that Hagrid not be part of this."

Orestes looked around him at the others, then nodded. "Well. Alright. I think we should all get some rest. Madam Pomfrey, please ask Hagrid not to hum tonight. I believe this will go much better tomorrow after we've all slept a bit. Including Severus."

* * *

"... the prohibition against the use of magic by an under-aged wizard, outside the confines of -"

"He didn't know!" his mother screamed. "I never told him!"

"Then you admit your own guilt? You admit you were remiss..."

"... Azkaban. Though, if you ask me, it's the brat who should go..."

".... Right rough start, you ask me. Murderer by the age of ten..."

"'e's twelve, actually. Don't tell me 'e didn't know how to use a wand... Been to 'ogwarts, 'e 'as..."

"I didn't kill him! I didn't kill him!"

... "See how you like this, Snivellus!"

"You're the coward, James Potter. Not him! You gang up on him like a pack of wolves!"

... "Late again, Mr. Potter..."

... "He has her eyes. Precisely, her eyes..."

... "For your detention, I would like a brief essay on why you should not have used that jinx..."

... "You will serve me without condition?"

"Yes, Master."

"Your arm, Snape."

... Fire! His mother screaming.

The iron bars of Azkaban...

"You brought a child here?"

"His mother's here because of him..."

He screamed...