Summoned

Chapter 6: The Cemetery

"The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. ...You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

July 10, 1995, late evening

It was late when Dumbledore finally emerged from his chambers. For the first two hours, he had sat in solitude and silence. Fawkes had swept around the room nervously, as if sensing that things weren't quite right. But he hadn't had the energy or desire to reassure the magical bird: things weren't right.

Delving back into Severus' childhood memories, made so strong now by Voldemort's pillaging of them, was bittersweet. He recalled rather fondly the days when he'd felt he had some influence over Severus, the early years in which he recalled the boy actually trying to conform to some image besides the one the world had already thrown at him. Days when Dumbledore believed Severus had tried to create within himself something Dumbledore would be proud of, someone who would merit Dumbledore's praise.

And then in his seventh year, all that changed. He was soon to graduate and, apparently no longer needing the patronage and protection of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he made no further efforts at securing the man's approval. His N.E.W.T.s went very well: he earned O's in Arithmancy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions and Transfiguration. He had declared himself interested in becoming a healer, which Dumbledore thought odd from the standpoint of his personality, but which matched his propitious skills quite well.

And he began spending more time alone in the dungeons, with the apparent approval - or ignorance - of Horace Slughorn. More time perfecting spells and potions probably designed, as Dumbledore suspected then, to serve the Dark side eventually.

The question he'd never found an answer to was: why?

Now, as he remembered things with more clarity, having just traveled vicariously through several years of Severus' life, he saw a correlation that should have been obvious to him at the time: during their seventh year at Hogwarts, James Potter and Lily Evans began dating and, at Christmas, became engaged.

Severus, having already earned for himself a reputation for utter reclusiveness balanced with virulent vindictiveness, kept almost entirely to himself, even managing to avoid the Marauders and their own forms of cruelty. He showed himself for classes and examinations, but made it a point to avoid the Great Hall for meals whenever possible, and seemed to eat only once a day, usually in the evening, and usually when most of the students had left.

Dumbledore believed, when he saw him that last day at the Hogwarts feast, that he had failed somehow to salvage the young man's soul. He tried to talk to him before he left, tried to get him to discuss his plans. But during that seventh year, Severus changed so drastically that when they had their final conversation in his office, with a quiet fire and two glasses of excellent wine, he could find no trace of the young boy who had arrived at the school seven years before.

"Please take care of yourself, Severus," he'd called out, just as the tall, sallow-skinned young man reached his door to leave. "Remember, you can always come to me for help. Any time. Hogwarts is - will always be - a home for you."

Severus had turned, leveled a cold, empty look on him, and left.

It was not until more than two years later that he saw him again, and it was one of the least pleasant memories he had. He decided not to revisit it.

He wandered the deserted corridors, taking a roundabout way to the hospital wing. Not to see Severus: he didn't think either of them was up to facing the other just yet. No, his intended target was Orestes, who was sitting with Poppy in the rear area of the wing, sipping tea with the nurse.

"Oh, there you are, Albus! I was just going to send for you. Come, have a seat!" Orestes appeared to have regained his energy, Dumbledore noticed, and pulled a chair up to the small round table at which the other two sat. "Hear there's been a lot of improvement."

Dumbledore nodded. "Some."

"I took him some soup earlier," Poppy volunteered. "Wouldn't eat it, though. Chucked it at me, actually. He might not be saying much," she added, grimacing, "but he's communicating just fine!"

Dumbledore stifled a grin at the mental image, but the grin quickly dissolved as the situation reasserted itself.

"Tell me," Orestes said. "Have you found what you've been looking for?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath and explained, in brief, vague terms, what he and Minerva had experienced. Poppy listened without comment.

Orestes nodded and squinted a lot, and then offered his suspicions and opinions.

And it was armed with those opinions and his own that Dumbledore finally went to seek Minerva's. Her door opened magically for him as he approached, and he stepped inside. The Transfiguration teacher was curled on her chair in front of the fire. She had assumed her Animagus form, and Dumbledore knew her well enough to understand what that meant.

"I'm sorry to bother you." He waited and the cat looked up at him, stretched, sinking her front claws into the fabric of the chair as she did, then transfigured back into her human form. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She looked at him for a moment without saying anything, then gestured him to a seat.

"Are you alright, Minerva?"

She tilted her head as she stared at the flames flickering in front of her. "I've wept more in the last three days, Albus, than I have in the last three decades. And all for a man who most would say deserves no sympathy, and who, I'm sure, would ask for none."

Dumbledore nodded. "He would despise it." He paused and waited for her to look at him. "The memories we saw - the ones he showed us today - they were not calculated to inspire pity."

"Nor did they," she assured him, with a tone that lied. She ran her fingers over her eyes. "But I think - he made his point."

"And what point would that be?"

She turned a sharp gaze on him. "That he would never willingly give anything to Voldemort, unless it could be ultimately used to the advancement of our cause. That he would not betray your trust."

Dumbledore nodded, and Orestes' words to him a few minutes ago sounded more ominous in his head than they had when the ancient Healer had spoken them. "And is that what you would tell the Order, if they asked you? That he would never willingly turn? That he would never betray me?"

She looked taken aback. "Yes," she answered thoughtfully. Then, with a little more certainty, "Yes, I would."

He nodded and looked away. "That's exactly what Severus wanted you to believe."

He glanced back and saw the surprise on her face. "I'm sorry, did I miss something?"

"Yes. And I hate to confess it, but so did I. Severus did willingly betray me. He betrayed us all when he became a Death Eater. He used the knowledge he had gained here - knowledge I personally spent years helping him gain - and gave it over to the service of Voldemort." He felt his mouth go dry and he tried to clear the lump from his throat. "I'm not saying that I don't trust him now. But if you were Sirius or Remus or Tonks or Molly Weasley, would you trust him based on what you just told me? That you believe I was so important in his life that he would do nothing to lose my trust?"

He thought he saw her shoulders drop a bit, saw her eyes lose the little light that had been in them. She looked numb.

"Is it possible," she began. "I mean, have you ever asked him if he - do you think he was -" She was grasping for straws that didn't exist.

"If he were Imperiused as a Death Eater?" He shook his head. "No, Minerva, he wasn't. He never even tried to use that as a defense. He joined by choice. Why he made that choice, I have never known. I'm not sure that I would understand it even if I knew the facts."

"And you're saying this. You, his staunchest - maybe his only - supporter?"

He felt terribly sad all of a sudden. He saw the despair in Minerva's eyes, he saw in memory the once-hollow look of an abused half-blood boy; he saw the desperate, pain-filled eyes of the man lying in the hospital wing; and he felt torrents of sorrow within his heart.

"I trust Severus," he repeated for perhaps the hundredth time. "But the memories we saw, the ones he showed us, what he wanted us to see? Orestes is right: he's trying to distract us from seeing something else. He's misleading us - just as he apparently did Voldemort."

She shook her head. Her hair, straying from the always-perfect, upswept bun, flew across her eyes for a moment and she absently swept it back. But as she opened her mouth, he held up his hand to stop her.

"Minerva, Voldemort may have used the Cruciatus Curse to get information from him, or to punish him, or simply for his own sadistic pleasure. We don't know the answer to that. But why did he put Severus under the Imperius Curse? What did Severus do for him?"

For a moment, he was afraid Minerva was going to be ill. But then a cold hardness overtook her features. "He couldn't have given him the address of the Order," she said levelly. "You're the Secret Keeper. He couldn't torture that out of him."

He nodded agreement.

"Could he have led him to Privet Drive?"

"Voldemort already knows that's where Harry spends his summers, and he knows also that he can't touch him there."

She met his gaze evenly for several seconds, then broke it and stared at the fire. "You're saying - what? That you don't trust him?"

"Ultimately, I do. I have since he returned, and not for reasons he's let you see. But I am suspicious of anyone who tries to lead me away from the truth. And that's what he's doing." He waited, but Minerva neither spoke nor moved. "If you aren't comfortable continuing," he finally said, approaching the topic as if it had already been decided, "I'll understand."

She turned then and he saw a flash of anger in her eyes. "Have you considered, now that he's able to talk, couldn't you just - you could just ask him! It's possible he doesn't know what you need."

And that would have been so good to be able to believe, Dumbledore thought. "He knows what we need, Minerva. I know him well enough to know what he's doing. Now that Orestes has - helped me get my perspective back..." He shook his head. "I'm afraid I was - blinded by my affection for him."

She got up and crossed the room, stood looking out her window. He waited. He needed her to back him up. He needed her to see what he saw - what Orestes had realized. He needed to know she was with him.

"Minerva?" he finally said, stepping closer.

She shook her head slowly. " 'Or perhaps in Slytherin/You'll make your real friends'," she recited. " 'Those cunning folk use any means/To achieve their ends.' The Sorting Hat said that the first year Harry was here, remember?" Then she turned around and looked at him. "And how are we any different? Using the same brutal tactics He-Who - oh, hell - Voldemort," she spat out, "used. What difference is there between us and him?"

"A great deal, Minerva. Severus has always accepted the risks in what he does. He's been willing to do it despite them. Sadly, he's facing some of the consequences of his choices." Dumbledore looked away. "Besides, sometimes it takes a Slytherin to beat a Slytherin."

She looked at him, puzzled.

"Orestes was a Slytherin."

* * *

Orestes hadn't felt quite this good since he'd turned 150. And he hadn't enjoyed having a woman's "gentle ministrations," as the kindness of Madam Pomfrey was, since his wife had died, nearly half a century ago. In fact, there were a number of small comforts that Hogwarts had treated him to that, on his very small retirement, he was quite enjoying.

But enjoying the hospitality of Dumbledore wasn't why he was here, he reminded himself. He was here because of Severus Snape and what happened to him in the two days he'd spent with the Dark Lord.

He was here to break the spell that kept him from talking: he was here to find what Snape did not want found.

After Dumbledore left, Poppy cleared the table and excused herself to continue brewing potions she was low on, specifically those she'd been using a great deal of with Snape. Alone in the hospital wing, he poked his head between two of the rolling curtains and saw the patient propped upright with several pillows behind his back. His eyes were shut, but when Orestes made a small sound, they opened, startled, and searched for the source of the noise.

"Well, how are you feeling?" he asked, moving into the small curtained area. He pulled up one of the chairs and sat next to the bed, squinting into the dark, angry eyes. "Not happy? I understand. After all, you still haven't given Dumbledore what he wants, have you?"

Snape's expression turned dangerous. His face got red, his hands clenched into fists and after three seconds of struggling he managed the word, "Out!" with enough anger to intimidate most wizards still alive.

Orestes merely smiled and patted his arm. "Of course, of course," he said softly. "I know you were hoping this would be over but - well, until Dumbledore has his answers - and you could volunteer the information, you know? - I'm afraid the Legilimens treatment must continue."

It was at that point that Orestes heard noises and he stood and pushed aside the curtain at the end of the bed.

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had arrived, and Orestes went to greet them. "I've just been talking with Professor Snape," he offered. "He's simply expressed his desire for me to leave."

Dumbledore sighed and nodded, then strode past him and stood at the side of the patient's bed. "Severus."

The man turned his furious, glowering gaze on the Headmaster, but his lips remained shut.

"I appreciate what you - the memories - earlier. But - I still need answers you haven't - been able to give me."

Orestes stood behind the man, next to McGonagall, whose arms were folded across her chest, beneath her green tartan cape.

Dumbledore sat on the side of the bed. "Voldemort used the Imperius Curse on you. Why?"

Orestes saw the Potions master wince when Dumbledore spoke the Dark Lord's name. But that was the only response to the Headmaster's question. He continued to glare at him, his eyes dark and hollow, almost as if he'd been spending time with dementors.

"Severus. I need to know what happened. I know you understand that. What did - why did he Imperius you?"

For long seconds, there was no response. Then, slowly, Snape began to work his mouth, trying to speak. He drew blood from his palms, his hands were clenched so tightly against whatever force or pain he was still fighting. His jaw locked, and his teeth ground against each other loudly enough to be heard by the old Healer.

"Can't."

Dumbledore sighed. "What did you do for him?"

The Potions master shook his head, each movement apparently causing more pain. But he couldn't speak another word.

Dumbledore turned to Orestes. "He was able to say more earlier," he commented. Orestes stepped closer.

Snape shot him a look of pure hatred, then turned to Dumbledore. "Please," he gasped.

Dumbledore got up, turned his back and shut his eyes. "Madam Pomfrey," he called. It took a few seconds for the nurse to appear.

"Oh, Headmaster! I didn't know you were back." She glanced behind him to her patient. "Is everything alright?"

"I wonder if you have any Calming Draught?"

"Of course, but -" She stopped and looked distinctly unhappy. "Oh. Yes, just a moment." She disappeared into the back room, returning seconds later at a much slower pace with a small, amber vial in her hand. Dumbledore reached for it, but she pulled back. "I'll administer this, Headmaster. This is still my ward."

She swept past him and Dumbledore glanced at Orestes before following.

"I'm trying to make things easier for you, Severus," Dumbledore said, standing, Orestes noticed, a safe distance from the bed.

Madam Pomfrey had opened the bottle and was offering it to Snape, who was ignoring her. She pushed the bottle under his nose, with a quiet, "Here, Professor, this will certainly -"

He brought his left arm up and knocked the vial out of her hand, across the room. It didn't break, but the dark liquid within it spilled on the floor and Poppy gasped and then swore quietly.

"Severus Snape, you are without question the most appalling patient I have ever treated here!"

Dumbledore took a long breath and met Severus' expression with anger. "I appreciate how cleverly you tried to mislead us earlier, Severus," he said, in a frosty tone that Orestes had never heard him use before with this man. "But unfortunately, your tricks aren't going to work. I'm sorry you aren't willing to help us, and I'm sorry this has to be so hard."

He glanced quickly at Orestes, and together, with no further warning, they drew and pointed their wands, the incantation - "Legilimens!" - soaring through the air before Severus could respond...

... He was in the cemetery where, only a few days before, the Dark Lord had nearly killed Harry Potter. The cemetery where he had killed Cedric Diggory. The cemetery where Voldemort's own father, killed at his son's hand, lay buried.

Without meaning to, he found his gaze traveling to the enormous statue that stood over the grave of Tom Riddle, Senior. It was there, as he had heard it, that Harry had been bound and tortured, and had his arm sliced open to provide blood for the Dark Lord's regeneration.

"Ah, yes," the Dark Lord hissed, watching Snape's eyes. "The boy was here. He was mine, Snape. Wouldn't you have enjoyed being here?"

"Indeed, my Lord. I would very much have enjoyed seeing the boy brought down a peg or two."

That was the wrong thing to have said. "Only a peg or two?" With his wand, the Dark Lord lifted Snape's chin as far as it would go. "Don't you want to see him dead?"

"Yes, of course, I - I misspoke, my Lord."

The blood-colored eyes searched his. Then the Dark Lord made a sound that was probably supposed to be laughter, and Severus saw the wand wave in front of his eyes...

The pain flared in his arms and legs and he fell forward, on his face. Flames spread to his chest and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't see. His throat was on fire, and only slowly did he realize he was screaming and then...

It ended. He lay gasping for breath, still caught in the echoes of the pain.

"Now, you will be more careful when you speak, Severus?"

"Yes, my Lord." It was hard to talk. He rolled onto his side and pulled himself upright, but the Dark Lord forced him back to his knees.

"Yes, my faithful servant. You have never deserted me, have you?"

"No, my Lord." He tasted blood. "I have eagerly awaited your return." That seemed to be the right thing to say.

The gap that passed for a mouth in the snakelike face turned upward. "You would have enjoyed seeing the Potter boy struggling, Severus? Trying to free himself?"

"My Lord knows I have a particular loathing for the boy. I regret that I could not be here."

"You would have enjoyed watching him when I put the Cruciatus on him? You would have enjoyed watching him crawl and scream and twist in pain?" His voice became more and more shrill as he spoke. "You would have enjoyed that, my servant?"

Severus felt his flesh begin to crawl. "I would have, my Lord." Behind him, he heard the soft hissing of the Dark Lord's snake.

"I think your loyalty should be rewarded, Severus," the Dark Lord whispered. His voice sounded as if it were sliding along gravel as it came out. "I have a special reward for you."

Before he could take a breath, the Dark Lord was inside his head, in his thoughts, and...

... Harry was struggling against the bonds that held him... Wormtail sliced off his own hand, then brought the dagger to Harry's arm and cut it open...

"I said bow!" Harry doubling over, grunting against the unspoken Imperius.

"And now - we duel."

Harry was rolling on the ground. His screams were deafening... the Dark Lord laughed, Lucius Malfoy laughed, the entire cadre of Death Eaters laughed...

You hate Harry Potter! Severus reminded himself. You hate the boy! He is getting what he deserved, he is -

God, he had to stop it! He had to stop what was happening, he had to get the boy out of here, he had to save him...

... He was writhing on the ground...

And then...

... she was writhing on the ground, screaming his name... "Severus, please!"

"Harry! No!"

He didn't realize until the visions ended that he had spoken aloud. He fell forward on his hands and knees, trying to breathe.

It had already happened. The boy was safe. Lily's son was alive. He couldn't help him...

... she begged him to kill her, she begged the Dark Lord to end her suffering...

... his wand flashed a powerful, blinding green light and she lay there, dead...

"What," the Dark Lord demanded, "is this, Severus?" He kicked upward and caught him in his ribs. "Kneel!"

He obeyed, still catching his breath.

This was ridiculous! How could he have allowed himself so strong an emotion here! At this time! And where the hell had those feelings come from?

"You didn't like watching it? You care for the boy?"

"I loathe the brat! He is like his father: pompous, arrogant, weak!"

Severus hadn't been able to protect the boy from the dragon. He couldn't protect him from the merpeople. He had acknowledged that with his usual equanimity. Why, then, was this any different?

"But you felt pity for him?" The Dark Lord circled him, his wand moving around Snape's neck in a circle, as if he were drawing some diabolical necklace. "You didn't want the fun to continue?"

He didn't find an answer quickly enough. Once again, with a silent flicker of his wand, the Dark Lord imposed the Cruciatus on him.

Engulfed with pain, he heard the distant words. "Pity--is not - an appropriate - response!"

The nearly-unbearable pain finally ended but it was almost a full minute before he could get back up. When he did, the Dark Lord grabbed his hair and pulled him close, until their bodies touched, his back pinned against the Dark Lord. The wand was under his chin, tracing a slow line to his clavicle. .

"Now, then, faithful servant. Do you want to see more?"

He had to control.... Had to hide... He had to escape the visions...

What was wrong with him? He should have no feelings here, none! He had to block...

"Yes."

The visions flared in his mind...

"That hurt, didn't it, Harry?"... The boy was gasping for air, trying to catch his breath. He felt sick, wanted to puke...

e He

"Answer me! Imperio!"

Snape - Harry - felt himself soaring, blissful, at total ease, at rest... The Euphoria draught he'd created so many years ago had made him feel this way...

"Answer me!"

He had to fight it, had to... not answer. Don't do what he wants, don't let him control...

"I WON'T!" Potter yelled. The spell was broken, the bliss ended, the fear returned, he knew he was going to die...

Another "Crucio!" Potter dove sideways and out of reach...

But the blast of the curse hit Snape in the chest and he screamed with pain. The Dark Lord released him, tossing him forward, and he was rolling again on the ground, trying to escape the white-hot needles that seemed to stab him everywhere, that penetrated his mind, that fed him images he couldn't block...

He was there, in the graveyard with the Death Eaters around him and Potter crouching behind a headstone.

It wasn't possible for him to be there! But he was!

"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry... Obedience is a virtue I need to teach you... Perhaps another little dose of pain?"

With a blinding flash, the visions left. The snake slithered over the backs of his legs.

Voldemort was talking to Harry Potter, so why was he feeling it? Why did the curse leave him retching and crawling along the ground, grabbing at the overgrowth around Tom Riddle's tomb, his hands clutching briars and thorns, while Harry Potter crouched behind the stone, trying to decide what choices he had...

"Petrificus totalus!"

The snake hissed next to Snape's eyes, he felt the tongue slither across his lips. He tried to move, to roll away, but the Body-Binding curse held him fast. The snake slid over him...

"You see, my faithful servant," Voldemort gloated. "I can touch Potter. I can sense him."

He felt the snake's fangs pierce the flesh on the back of his right leg. He felt, almost instantly, the venom traveling through his body.

"Are you enjoying Potter's fear? I hope you appreciate what a gift this is for you. The venom will enhance every memory and feeling until you can barely endure them." He stared down at Snape's immobilized body. "But you will endure them, for you are my faithful servant, even if you arrive late and fail to look for me and bring me nothing I can use!" He screeched the last phrase and the sounds pounded through Snape's head.

Silently, Voldemort lifted the Petrificus spell. The snake sank its fangs into his arm, the tattoo pulsed to life, his arm burned, his fingers scraped at the earth, he swore he would not make a sound, he would not give in... The snake coiled around his leg...

Voldemort's red eyes burned into him. His arm throbbed. Snape forced himself up. The snake slithered across the back of his legs as he knelt in the cemetery dirt. He heard the snake's tongue flickering in and out.

"I hear rumors, nasty rumors, that you are, in fact, Dumbledore's man."

"My Lord - knows that I am not - I could never be, loyal - loyal to that clown!" The venom, like molten lava, flowed thickly through his veins. He was going to pass out...

"Let me see, Severus. Let me see..."

... The fire burned and penetrated his mind and Voldemort's eyes were in his thoughts, his memories...

He fell forward on the ground retching, the pain so intense that he could not breathe. He choked and felt the glowing red eyes search his soul, his mind, his body...

He bit his tongue until it bled, clawed at the ground to escape, grabbed thorns and felt them pierce his hands, fingers...

And then he was falling, hitting the ground. Pain exploded in his chest, he couldn't breathe...

* * *

Dumbledore broke the spell.

Orestes sagged forward in his chair.

Severus was screaming and flailing and red, frothy foam was coming from his mouth. Minerva and Poppy moved forward, Poppy tending to Severus while Minerva went to check on Orestes. Dumbledore sat unmoving, as if Petrified, his eyes unblinking, his lips almost white, his hands shaking.

"Orestes," Minerva called. "Are you alright?"

The man nodded his head, then put his wand on his lap and cradled his head in his hands. "I will be."

Reassured, she turned her attention to Dumbledore. "Albus?" She got no response at first. Then Dumbledore shook himself, as if shaking off a nightmare. He focused on her and shook his head. Then he looked at Severus and Poppy.

Severus had stopped screaming and was choking. Poppy pulled the pillows off the bed and turned him on his side, wiping the foam from his mouth and chin. "Merlin's ghost!" She glared quickly at Dumbledore and Orestes, though the latter didn't see it. "Aren't you satisfied yet?"

"What's wrong with him?" Minerva asked. Dumbledore seemed as incapable of speech as Severus was.

"I don't know yet." She pulled her wand from the pocket on her apron and whispered something, then held the wand over him as she had done before when he had first been brought in.

"His lungs," she said quietly. "Fluid. Pneumonia..." She waved her wand in a small circle, then flicked it with her wrist. A few seconds later, the bubbling foam stopped coming out, and Severus' body went limp. His eyes were shut, but his face registered so much pain Minerva knew he hadn't lost consciousness.

Dumbledore turned to Orestes and put a hand on his back. "Are you - can you go on, Orestes?"

"No!" Severus cried out.

He struggled up and pushed Poppy aside, trying to reach the cabinet where the large bowl that had once held the LimberLight sat. He couldn't reach it and Poppy, fairly easily, pushed him back on the bed.

"If you want the LimberLight, Professor, I'll get it!" she said sharply, and hurried off to get it.

"No," Severus hissed. "No!"

"Help me, Severus," Dumbledore begged quietly. "Please."

"We're very close, Professor," Orestes chimed in. "We're going to find it." His words sounded almost like a taunt.

"Tell me, Severus. Tell me what happened. What happened when you were Imperiused?"

Severus crushed his eyes together, his breath coming hard and sharp and he moved his head on the pillow. Poppy returned with a bottle and a number of clean cloths, and poured the fluid into the bowl. "Here you go, Professor, this should help."

He reached up, grabbed her wrist with his right hand, then pulled the cloth from her and threw it across the room. Poppy was not pleased.

"Professor Snape, I think you could have some decency! I'm trying to help you!"

Minerva felt a cold wave in her stomach; she couldn't imagine anyone but Albus speaking that way to Severus. Apparently, neither could Severus. His eyes widened and hardened into fury, and he struggled to speak.

"Get. Away. From." He gasped hard for several seconds before the word, "me," was forced through his lips. Then, without warning, he reached over and grabbed Poppy's wand from her apron pocket and aimed it at her.

"Expelliarmus!" Dumbledore roared and the spell struck with enough force to send the wand across the room and to throw Severus back against the bed. "Restraints!" he ordered Poppy, and before Severus could respond, he was once more strapped to his bed.

"Albus," Orestes whispered. He sat back up and glared at the Potions master. "Now."

Together, free hands clasped, they intoned the spell and Minerva watched as Severus' body was once more wracked with convulsions.

It took less than two seconds before the spell broke and Dumbledore sank back in his chair struggling to breathe. "He's blocking," he finally said. He looked at the Potions master. "Congratulations, Severus. You're certainly - beginning to recover. - Legilimens!"

* * *

... "Lucius," the Dark Lord snarled. "I have a present for you..."

The spell broke again. Dumbledore had trouble catching his breath. Severus had repelled them so quickly, so forcibly, that he felt as if he'd been punched in the chest. From the small grunt that came from Orestes, he assumed the old Healer had had much the same reaction.

It was tearing him inside to keep this up. He was only trying to find out what had happened, but with each fresh attack on Severus' mind, his conscience bothered him more and more. He glanced at Minerva who was standing on the other side of the bed, her attention on their patient.

"Orestes," Albus said, once he caught his breath. "You need to take a break."

The old man shook his head and glared at Severus. "Not now." He looked at his colleague. "This is it. This is what we've been looking for. Together now: it won't work alone."

"Orestes..."

"Legilimens!" Orestes grabbed his hand and Albus felt himself being sucked into a darkness like nothing he'd ever experienced before...

... "Imperio! - Weak! Coward!"

"There, there, Lucius. He might be weak right now, but - I'm sure he's no coward. Not like Karkaroff. I'm sure that once we've finished here, my faithful servant will return to Dumbledore a - new man. And I'm sure the next time he's summoned, he will have something to give me!" The Dark Lord's face was right next to his: he smelled the stink of his breath, like rotting flesh...

"Move!" Lucius ordered. And he did. He had no strength, he couldn't resist...

"Be sure he's still useful to me when you've finished, Lucius. And don't forget the Memory Charm. We can't have him babbling to Dumbledore about this, can we?"

And it started...

"Enough!" Severus burst out. "E-nough!" He shot upright, his eyes ablaze with a wrath that would have sent students running from the building. But the only reaction he got from Dumbledore was a look of disbelief, of horror.

"Severus?" he whispered.

The Potions master looked away, quickly, and shut his eyes.

"Orestes," Albus said, "we're done." He got up and turned to the Healer, giving him a hand as he struggled weakly to get up. They stepped away from the bedside and then Dumbledore looked back at the Transfiguration instructor. "Minerva." He gestured her to follow.

She glanced at Severus, who was lying back on the bed, and turned quickly away, following Dumbledore and Orestes out of the hospital wing.

Tears were marring Severus' face.