The Last Sanguimagus

The Great Hall was filled with light. The weather had been uncommonly fine this week, and Sarah buttered her toast while enjoying the rare glimpse of blue sky.

Silas nattered away to Minerva, who was paying more attention to the Slytherin table, where it looked as if the students were about to break out into war. The tension between the students was so thick that it almost seemed tangible.

Sarah bit into her toast as she poured herself another cup of tea. Owls began to swoop, dropping letters and gifts to students. A particularly energetic tawny owl landed on the table in front of her, nearly upsetting the teapot, and she took the letter from him, giving him a bit of toast. He flew away and she opened the envelope, which was brightly coloured and decorated with Madam Malkin's logo.

She felt relief wash over her as she read the letter. Malkin had agreed to sell her two sets of robes at only a few Sickles more than she had proposed.

Then she read the closing lines.

There was a Galleon charge for delivery due to the extra time and energy that would need to be devoted to shrinking the robes and procuring owls hardy enough to transport the finished product.

Her heart sank. Another Galleon wasn't much to most wizards or witches, but to her it could mean the difference between shelter and a night in the woods. She frowned. There was no way she could travel to Diagon Alley.

She stood up and left, her eyes straying towards the Slytherin table. Nott was deep in conversation with Parkinson, and she wondered exactly what was going on.

The entrance hall was nearly deserted except for the Weasley girl, who was running toward the Great Hall in a panic, a quill fluttering in her hand.

She heard a familiar voice, and turned to see Severus taking points from the girl for her dishevelled appearance and for running in the halls. The girl looked miserable as she walked away.

"Good morning, Severus," she said.

"Malkin answered your query?" he said in what could have almost been termed a light tone.

"Yes," she said.

He walked toward her and stood close, as he did with Minerva.

"Except..." She paused, and he looked at her with curiosity.

"Except..." he repeated.

"She wishes for me to retrieve them in person, which, as you know, is quite impossible," she said quietly. "Or she will charge a Galleon extra for the delivery fee."

"Ah."

"Yes, well, I must be off...I will need to draw a further advance from my earnings."

"Perhaps I could retrieve them for you," he said, and the faintest of flushes momentarily appeared on his face.

She was surprised at his offer. "That is entirely unnecessary."

"There are ingredients waiting for me at one of the other shops," he said. "It would be fairly easy to stop in at Malkin's."

She hesitated. "You don't think that it will cause you any...problems?"

He seemed to understand what she was saying, and arched an eyebrow. "I don't foresee any unusual difficulties in picking up a parcel for a fellow professor."

"No, I suppose not," she said, and nearly smiled. "I will finish the particulars of payment before classes begin, and it will await your leisure."

He nodded and strode off towards the dungeons.

***

An eagle owl awaited Severus when he returned from breakfast, and he took the letter with dread, opening the heavy parchment envelope embossed with the Malfoy seal. He had nothing to offer the owl and it flew away after looking at him reproachfully.

His heart hammered against his ribs. Another special meeting, in the afternoon. On Sunday.

He sat down, aware that his students would be arriving at any moment. "Incendio," he said quietly, destroying the paper.

***

A day or two passed, and Severus brought Sarah's robes to her, finding her marking essays at her desk and frowning.

"Your parcel," he said, placing it on the chair.

She looked up, rubbing her left eye. "Thank you, Severus, that was really quite helpful of you."

"You purchased both sets of robes, then?"

"Yes," she said, looking relieved.

He nodded. She looked up at him with her curious green eyes, and he could not resist the temptation to probe further. He could see her gratitude clearly, and it pleased him.

She had been here less than two months, and already he felt something shifting. She had changed the balance somehow, and he felt as if he skittered across a set of scales.

"Severus?" she asked quizzically.

"Yes, I must be going," he said abruptly. "Good evening, Sarah."

"Good evening," she replied, and he could feel her eyes upon him still as he was walking out the door.

The corridor to the dungeons was blessedly cool, and he felt the faint flush on his cheeks recede.

***

Further into the week, late at night, responsibilities weight heavily upon Severus.

He looked longingly at the bottle of firewhisky on the table, but didn't bother to reach for it. The Order Meeting had gone on too long and grated on his nerves thanks to Silas; everyone was wondering what would happen tomorrow.

He couldn't indulge in a drink just yet; he'd save it for tomorrow. He would need all of his wits about him for the Death Eater meeting. He did not want to have to imbibe a hangover remedy and find his wits dulled.

***

It was a lovely day, sunny and bright, and Severus was surprised that the weather was still holding. The Mark on his arm burned as he strode out of the gates of Hogwarts. A few more feet and he would Apparate to the chosen location.

He had seen Sarah on his way out, but could do nothing more than nod at her.

The burning on his arm intensified, and he clenched his teeth as he drew his wand. For a moment he stood still, readying his Occlumency skills, preparing himself as much as he could for his difficult role.

The crack of Apparating filled his ears for a moment, and he found himself somewhere else.

Somewhere outdoors. Apparently the Dark Lord wanted to take advantage of the unusually fair weather. He looked around, noting that he was still in Scotland, but somewhere remote. The scrubby brown grass under his feet was an indication of how close winter was.

A huge bonfire lit the gathering, and he saw Lucius, his blonde hair shimmering in the firelight. The afternoon light was burnished gold, lingering against the grass. The Dark Lord sat on a throne, and Peter stood beside him.

"Good evening, Lucius," said Severus, coming up to stand next to him.

"Good evening, Severus." Lucius seemed preoccupied, staring into the bonfire.

The last few who arrived joined the semi-circle. The Anti-Apparition spell was cast, and Severus emptied his mind of emotion, readying himself for the night's events.

Red eyes smoldered as the Dark Lord surveyed his followers.

"My faithful Death Eaters," he said, fixing them one at a time with his gaze. "Here we are." He leaned back on his throne. "All of you, loyal to me, and our cause."

An immediate chorus of "Yes, my Lord!" followed, and Severus voiced the words along with the rest, though he could not prevent the vague sick feeling that squeezed his stomach for a brief moment.

"Yes, my faithful wizards," he said, looking pleased. "My dragons. You are the pinnacle...the pure-blooded paragons of our world.

"And yet...it is not truly our world, is it? Muggle filth infests every corner, finding its way into and polluting every crack and crevice.

"That old fool persists in helping them. He does not understand their true place in the order of things." He looked around thoughtfully.

"Dragons. Muggles do not understand them. They are kept hidden. Dragon keepers track them, watch them, force them to live fettered.

"Yet they are the true leaders of the animal world. Just as we are the true leaders of our world, yet we are forced to swallow our pride and let the Muggles master us. Muggles, vile Muggles, who should be grateful that we have allowed them to live in our world for this long. You, my loyal followers, my Death Eaters, my Dragons...we should be ruling this world. We are its natural lords. The Muggles will remember us now. They will remember us and remember true fear."

Severus stole a glance at the others. Macnair looked delighted. Lucius looked subdued. Flint looked enthralled. Severus repressed a shudder.

"Yes, they will fear me...and you, my loyal followers." He looked around again. "Yet are you truly loyal?" He seemed to ponder for a moment. "Are you truly my faithful, willing to follow me to any end?"

"You know my heart!" said Bellatrix resoundingly. She prostrated herself before him. "I would do anything for you, my Lord."

"Yes, Bella, truly you are my servant," he said, sounding pleased. "But not all of my servants are so committed to our cause."

"Give the unfaithful to me," said Bellatrix, her eyes wild.

The Dark Lord laughed. "You may indeed have that chance before the night is through."

Severus clamped down tightly on his emotions. He arranged his face carefully, leaving just enough curiosity leavened with indignation to allay any suspicions. Lucius smoothed his blonde hair back from his face, a tiny, nervous gesture that made Severus's skin crawl.

He had to stay calm, but he felt the tension gathering. Desperately he tried to maintain control. Fools who wear their hearts on their sleeve...

"This traitor I welcomed into our inner circle," said the Dark Lord. "This traitor I gave my Mark. This traitor betrayed me...he betrayed our cause...and he betrayed each and every one of you."

Severus forced himself to keep his breathing even.

"He is vile...a coward...an affront to every loyal Death Eater who stands here...and he shall be punished tonight."

"Oh, give him to me, my Lord," said Bellatrix in breathless delight. "I'll break him, you'll see, I'll make him crawl."

"Perhaps later, Bella," he said, his white face gleaming. "Crabbe? Goyle?"

The two thugs nodded and left the circle, and Severus could hear their muffled footsteps in the grass. I must remain calm.

There was a noise behind him, but he would not react. He could imagine their beefy arms grabbing him at any moment, taking his wand, pinioning him. His breathing remained calm only through tremendous effort.

There was a moment of silence.

Then Rookwood made a satisfied sound as Crabbe and Goyle brought a completely terrified Igor Karkaroff into the circle and threw him in front of the Dark Lord, in the middle of their circle.

Severus felt lightheaded with relief. Again, he had slipped from suspicion. He wound his self-control even tighter around himself, shielding, protecting his inner self, his secrets.

He replaced his fear with anger. Karkaroff had attempted to sell Severus out. Severus remembered the fury he had felt. When the Mark returned Karkaroff had fled like a coward. Severus sneered at the turncoat. The spineless sneak, who now cringed in fear at the Dark Lord's feet.

"Igor Karkaroff," said the Dark Lord in an almost pleasant tone. "I thought you must have been killed...you did not return to us, not even when my Mark called for you. Imagine my surprise when I heard that you were alive and well in Poland."

"Master, I can explain," cried out Karkaroff, grovelling. "I was looking for information for you--I could not return to you empty-handed, after all..."

"Information?" He leaned forward, his red eyes menacing. "What information could you have that could possibly be of use to me?"

"There is a--a potions maker in Poland..." babbled Karkaroff. "A potions maker...he had an amulet, from a witch, she might be a blood witch--"

"I already know of this witch," said the Dark Lord. "And as you have brought me neither blood magic, nor witch, I fail to see how this improves your situation."

"Please, no, my Lord," said Karkaroff desperately. "Please, I am your servant. I will do anything for you...just give me a chance..."

The Dark Lord seemed to consider for a moment. "There is one thing you can do for me."

"Yes, Master, anything!" The hope on his face was agonisingly clear. Karkaroff sweated profusely despite the cold.

"You can die a betrayer's death, slowly, as an example to the rest of a traitor's due," said the Dark Lord, his eyes blazing in fury.

Karkaroff sobbed in fear.

"Master, let me, please!" cried out Bellatrix.

He turned to her. "Not just yet, Bella," he said, his abnormally long fingers cradling his wand. "Be patient." Again his attention was focused on Karkaroff. "I believe that there are others here who have prior claims." He looked meaningfully at Rookwood.

"You gave them my name," said Rookwood angrily. "I went to Azkaban because of you. Crucio!"

Karkaroff's screams rang out into the evening air.

***

Sarah finished detailing the list of charms that had to be cast on the turnips and looked across the table at Filius. The staffroom was fairly quiet, and as she picked up her teacup he began to draw a diagram showing the interaction between the spells.

Sarah sipped her tea, looking out of the corner of her eye at Rolanda and Pomona, who were placing a wager on the upcoming Quidditch season. Silas was absorbed in an enormous book called Curses for the Faint of Heart and making disapproving noises with every third page.

Filius moved the placement of one charm, explaining that its interaction with the Levitation Charm had caused too much strain within the turnip. She nodded in agreement. She'd made many talismans over the years, but talismans never required levitation, so she had made a few mistakes in the original placement.

The door opened forcefully and in rushed Minerva. "You're needed at once," she said breathlessly. "At the gates. All of you."

***

The mangled remains of Karkaroff were being levitated away from the circle by Peter as the Dark Lord began to speak again.

Severus watched out of the corner of his eye as Peter stood over the mutilated corpse, his back to the rest of them, his right arm moving in jerky motions. Severus wondered what last bit of ignominy he could be wreaking on Karkaroff's corpse. There was a sudden blur, and he realised that Peter had used a Portkey and, oddly enough, taken the body with him.

"...the fate of all traitors," the Dark Lord was saying. "Karkaroff was not true to us. He betrayed his fellow Death Eaters."

They had all taken a turn in the punishment, and Severus's wand arm felt numb from the repeated hexing. He felt cold down to his very bones. Lucius handed him a glass of firewhisky and he knocked it back in a single swallow, welcoming the hot rush of the alcohol in his throat.

***

Sarah followed the other teachers out into the dark. There was a light up ahead, at the gates. Hagrid stood watch, warning any students who neared to go back up to the school.

Sybill had a white sheet in her hand and had conjured a stretcher. The Headmaster said something in a grave tone of voice to the Arithmancy professor. A globe of white light hovered overhead, illuminating the scene.

Pomona, Rolanda and Silas had been a few steps ahead of Sarah, and she heard sudden gasps. "Who was it?" she heard Rolanda ask in a horrified voice. Silas staggered to a nearby bush and was promptly sick.

Sarah approached hesitantly and looked down to see a body so terribly mangled and disfigured by hexes that she was unable to ascertain anything other than it had once been human.

The Headmaster looked grave. "Igor Karkaroff," he said.

"Oh," said Pomona in a half-sob. "Who would...oh, this is..." Minerva gave her a handkerchief.

Sarah continued to look. His facial features had been brutally mutilated, except for his eyes. So that he could see what was coming next, she thought to herself. The few fingers and toes that were left were crushed to a pulp. There were half-healed marks here and there, and she deduced that they must have given him a Blood Replenishing Potion or some sort of restorative in order to prolong their torture.

The smell of burnt flesh and blood filled her nostrils unpleasantly. His dead, terror-filled eyes stared at her. Dark Magic still crawled on his flesh, pulsing weakly, still attempting to rend and ravage even though he was beyond their touch now.

Yet there was something else there. Some sort of crude pattern. She frowned and kneeled down, attempting to look closer.

"Sarah, you must move," said Silas weakly. "We need to get...him onto a stretcher, away from the sight of the children..."

She looked up and realised that nearly everyone was averting their eyes at this point. "One moment," she said. Someone had slashed a message into his torso, she was certain of it, but amidst the carnage it was difficult to see. The letter N...and again repeated farther down...

She thought her heart would burst in her chest. She couldn't breathe. Everything swam in front of her eyes. "Headmaster!" she said, lurching to her feet. "Someone has written...it says 'Snape is next'," she said, catching onto his arm for support. "He's been found out--they're going to kill him!"

Minerva turned deathly pale. "No, no..."

The Headmaster turned and looked down at Karkaroff's corpse, his eyes piecing together the words. He said nothing, but the expression on his face suddenly turned to one of sorrow, and someone made a frightened noise behind her.