The Last Sanguimagus

"What will you do?" asked Sarah.

The Headmaster looked pale in the twilight. "I am afraid there is little we can do," he said quietly.

"Surely there is some hope," she said.

"Even if I knew where he was, it would still be too great a risk," he said gravely. "Voldemort has many followers...it would be futile to face him in an altercation now."

"What if I could lead you to him?"

"It is simply too dangerous," he reiterated.

She had the distinct impression that he was leaving something out. She looked again at the unfortunate corpse at her feet and felt frightened. In a short while this would be all that was left of the proud Potions master.

Severus had healed her. He had spied on the Dark Lord, even though it meant his death. Perhaps he even welcomed death, as a means of absolution. She saw him in her mind's eye, tall, dark, ferocious, his black eyes gleaming, and yet she also saw a man. Someone she respected, and, she had to admit, had grown to like, which had not been easy.

The thought of never seeing him again bit deep. For a moment she stood, her mind racing with possibilities. Her hand felt in her pocket and closed around a familiar round gem.

"I will go," she said aloud.

"Go where?" asked Pomona, bewildered.

"I will find him," she said evenly. "I'll find Severus."

For just a moment she could have sworn that there was a look of triumph in the Headmaster's eyes, but it passed quickly. "A dangerous idea."

"No!" said Minerva, dabbing at her eyes furiously with a handkerchief. "Absolutely not!"

"You have no say in this," said Sarah.

"I have every right to speak my mind," said Minerva, looking at her reproachfully. "Severus was my student, and a friend. As much as I will miss him, you simply can't walk up to You-Know-Who and ask him nicely to return him. And there is the very real danger that what you carry with you will fall into his hands! There is no need for both of you to--"

"I have to try," she said quietly.

"He's gone, Sarah," said Minerva, looking as if she was about to cry again. "He's gone and you can't help things by chasing after him."

"The gates are locked," said the Headmaster. "I'm afraid you'll have to use the Forbidden Forest..." Minerva looked at him in horror.

Sarah nodded and began to walk at the fastest pace she could muster. Behind her she could hear Minerva saying something in a sharp tone of voice.

Hagrid stood, looking forlorn. Potter, Weasley and Granger were next to him, speaking in low voices, Granger watching as Sarah made her way towards the forest.

***

It was growing dark, and Sarah knew that had walked far enough into the forest. She surveyed the clearing in the wan light and nodded. It would do. She knew exactly what she wanted to attract, but she wasn't certain it would work. She had seen them occasionally, wheeling and looping above the trees.

Thestrals.

Quickly she cut the back of her hand, bringing out the warm rich blood, the potent blood of a Sanguimagus. She threaded herself into it, focusing the power, beginning the call. It thrummed on her hand, the blood weaving through the trees, seeking.

There was no reply at first, and she began to wonder if it was strong enough. The forest was so very large, after all. The blood still rose from the back of her hand, its eerie red ribbons undulating before they drifted off.

She heard a noise, a whispering, leathery noise, and the tell-tale gleam of white eyes emerged from the trees.

She looked at him critically. A large specimen, a bit older than expected, but perfectly serviceable, with strong wings that flexed slightly as he took another step. More than adequate. The dragon-like head turned toward her, sniffing deeply.

She ended the call, but he continued to walk toward her. The blood in the air dissipated, except for that near her hand. The thestral was next to her now, its reptilian skin faintly gleaming. Delicately she wove the blood, making no sudden moves.

A few familiar motions, and the thestral suddenly froze into place, its white eye open wide in confusion. Immediately she struck with her dagger, slicing the jugular vein neatly. The thestral bared its teeth and made a horrible soft whining noise, but could not move. She put her hand over the wound.

Blood, rich blood, it streamed over her fingers, and she bit her lip as the magic began to flow into her, the fiery feeling so familiar.

The thestral sank to its knees, shaking, and she kneeled with him, not breaking the connection, feeling the blood begin to slow. She began to pull harder as his breaths grew more panicked. The magic was ebbing away, pulsing weakly beneath her hand, until there was one last, rattling breath.

All at once the blood power from his death struck her, nearly knocking her off her feet, but she bared her teeth and clung to his neck until she had absorbed the last of the magical energy.

Standing up shakily she looked at the corpse before her, lifeless and empty.

"Thank you," she whispered to the dead thestral.

Closing her eyes, she began to assemble a mental picture of Severus, recalling his lanky hair, his sallow skin, his long, thin fingers. His sneer. His dark, intense eyes. His carefully guarded private self.

Another cut, and the blood magic knew what to do. The tiniest of shapes flew off unerringly. She waited.

And waited.

He must be farther away than she had expected.

Then suddenly she was filled with the awareness of him. He was a faint beacon in her mind. The locator spell had succeeded.

She reopened her eyes, putting her knife in her pocket and bringing out her wand. She could see white eyes watching her from the edge of the clearing.

She Apparated.

A cold wind ruffled her hair, and she drew her winter robe tighter around herself. She could just make out a bonfire in the distance. The blood power from the thestral swam within her, disorienting, intoxicating, and she had to lean against a large rock for a moment to collect herself.

Now that she was here it seemed more like a fool's errand. Fear swamped her. Could she really face this Dark Lord again and come away with Severus safely?

She didn't think so. A half-moon shed a bit of pale light on the bleak terrain, and she realised how vulnerable she was. The Dark Lord was the strongest wizard she'd ever seen. She shivered.

None of the Concealment Charms that she knew would work against him. She would have to take her chances on a blood spell and hope that he was as unfamiliar with them as she thought he was.

A gamble again. Always a gamble. Her life, and Severus's, resting precariously on the thin thread of hope.

She cut her hand again, bringing out a larger measure of the thestral's power, which was already beginning to dissipate. It could not stay long in her veins. She began to weave, deftly spinning it about her body until it covered her entirely. She took a tentative step forward and it moved with her, settling around her like a living garment.

Quietly and carefully she began to make her way towards the bonfire, watching for anyone posted as a guard, but she saw no one. Not even a lone spell, except the distinct presence of an Anti-Apparition. Entirely too arrogant, she thought as she neared the gathering. She could hear jeers and shouts.

The heat from the enormous black-flamed fire was powerful. It burned high and red-sparked, but it was not the centre of the circle; it was set to the side. A throne stood raised from the ground, and opposite it Death Eaters formed a semi-circle, with a figure in torn robes lying on his side as if too weak to stand. A figure that was instantly recognisable even if the locator spell wasn't still humming with his presence. Severus.

Her stomach spasmed violently. He was broken and bleeding, helpless against his assailants, and she knew only too well how that felt. Her knees were suddenly weak as she remembered a hand on the back of her throat, crushing her into the damp earth, bright twists of pain, sobs choking her.

He was so strong, so inviolate in her mind, and to see him broken on the ground, his robes shredded and bloodied...it was far more frightening than she ever could have imagined. She clenched her teeth as she watched someone cast another Cruciatus Curse. It shocked her to realise that it no longer mattered that he had participated in her torture. It only mattered that Severus was suffering and that she had to stop it. She had to get to him.

She grimaced and took a deep breath. Severus would be of no help. She had only herself and the ebbing blood power of the thestral. She could only hope that it would be enough.

She could see Nott rummaging through an open potions case that she recognised as Severus's, pulling out various restoratives, and she began to think. Clearly this was a pause in their show. They would give him a potion or two, let it heal some of the damage, and then begin anew.

She steadied herself and focused on him.

***

The whisky burned in his throat. Lucius watched him, grey eyes reflecting black flames eerily, and Severus wondered why.

Then the Veritaserum began to take hold.

The peculiar detachment was already surfacing, and he fought it, but he knew it was a losing battle. His vision was graying. It was enough of a dose to force him to speak the truth. His most dangerous memories had been left in the Headmaster's Pensieve, but that thought brought him little relief.

The Dark Lord loomed into view, and Severus realised that he was on his knees somehow. He was completely disoriented.

"Severus?" said the horrible creature. "Is something the matter? You look pale."

He could control nothing. Not his teeth, his lips, his tongue. They spoke without him. "The whisky. Veritaserum."

"Yes, quite." He laughed. "Since you've returned, I've wondered about you, Severus." He leaned in closer, his red eyes burning dangerously. "I don't think you are loyal. I don't think you are a Death Eater. Are you loyal to our cause, Severus?"

One syllable. One word, and it would all be over, the end would come, everything he had tried to do would crash to a halt. The question was impossible to misinterpret. In the portion of his mind that he still had control over he screamed in useless fury. He focused everything upon stopping his mouth, but it was of no use. "No." It damned him entirely.

"When did you first betray me, Severus?" asked the Dark Lord, almost conversationally.

"Nearly a year before you were first killed by Harry Potter," said his mouth.

"In Albania I had time to think, you see...I wondered who had been leaking information to the other side. It became apparent to me, through ways I will not mention, that some one was betraying me...but then you returned, and I gave you another chance.

"I do not give second chances lightly, Severus, as you already know. Out of respect for our past accomplishments I decided to let you live a little longer, to see for myself. Lucius vouched for you, said you were loyal, you were strong in our cause...

"Who is your master, Severus?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

The Dark Lord's face transformed from curiosity to rage; Severus's body was planted firmly and could not respond to his urge to flee. "That infantile, loathsome fool," he hissed dangerously. "That is who you give yourself to? That is who commands your loyalty? You are more stupid than I expected."

"Yes," his mouth said, and again, "Yes," because it could not understand the difference between a rhetorical question and a real question. The Death Eaters laughed uproariously.

"If you were to live past tonight," said the Dark Lord in a terrible voice, "you would have found yourself shunned by the very group you so foolishly joined. You cannot possibly think that the Order cares for you in any way. They only wanted the information you brought them. They are Gryffindors, a collection of Mudbloods, Muggle lovers...they are disgusting vermin that hate you. They laugh at you and your pure-blood ways behind your back. They use you to their advantage. They would have discarded you, left you to rot in Azkaban."

"Greasy little bastard!" screamed Bellatrix from the other side of the clearing. "How could you do this?"

Severus felt as if his head was going to explode. His mouth was opening and closing, unable to put a true response together.

"Quiet, Bella," Voldemort said. "Are you listening to me, Severus?"

The pressure was released, and he gasped involuntarily, drawing in breaths. "Yes," said his mouth.

"Good. The Order of the Phoenix will curse the day they sent you back amongst us. When I have sent them your body they will understand what it truly means to toy with me." A grin that was nothing but evil appeared on his face, made absurd and disturbing by his lack of lips. "I am going to utterly annihilate the Order. I already know where their headquarters are; I know everyone in their ranks. Shacklebolt's manipulations were naïve...Sirius had his part to fulfil, and I knew all along how it was going to happen."

The nightmare was getting worse. Beyond the pain and horror that awaited him after the interrogation was the imminent destruction of the Order. He had no way to tell them. He railed and quaked inside his own mind.

"Crabbe, Goyle...take his wand and escort him to the centre of the circle," said the Dark Lord.

And there they were, finally, inescapable, their meaty hands grabbing him and dragging him unceremoniously. He could not resist. His wand and his cloak were ripped away from him and he was thrown on the ground. His heart pounded furiously. This was worse than any frightening dream. The cold earth stung the side of his face. Still partially caught in the grip of the Veritaserum, he could not even sit up.

Everything went dark suddenly, and he thought he could hear laugher from somewhere far away.

He heard a noise, there was a feeling of bright shock. Someone said, "Ennervate." The world came back into focus.

"Some are too delicate for Veritaserum, I fear," said the Dark Lord lazily from his throne.

Lucius knelt next to him, a look of pain and shock on his face. "I thought you were loyal," he said numbly. "I thought you were loyal."

"Yes, Lucius, he betrayed us all," said the Dark Lord.

"I had no idea...I thought you would..." Lucius looked as if he was going to break down.

"I'm sorry," said Severus softly.

"Lucius," said the Dark Lord. "It is time to punish this traitor. It is time to show your loyalty. Remind him of the taste of pain."

"No," said Lucius, his voice nearly inaudible.

There was complete silence. Severus could imagine the shocked looks of the other Death Eaters.

"You will not participate in the punishment?" hissed the Dark Lord.

"No," repeated Lucius.

It was a battle of wills. Despite the power the Dark Lord wielded, he still needed someone like Lucius at his side, someone with wealth and connections. Severus shivered to think of what would happen to his old friend in retaliation for this moment.

"Very well," said the Dark Lord coolly. "Crucio!"

The fiery pain of the Cruciatus Curse engulfed Severus, bathing his body in flame. He barely managed to not cry out in pain.

The curse ceased, and he gasped weakly, dizzy from the leftover vestiges of Veritaserum. Lucius still stared at him bleakly.

He heard footsteps approaching, and Bellatrix was next to him, her face transfixed with fury. "I will rend him, my Lord," she said breathlessly. "Let me show my devotion..."

The Dark Lord regarded Severus intently. "It is too early for that," he said. "You would leave him ruined, and the others would not get their chance...I want him destroyed like no other. I want him to suffer like no other."

"His potions case, Master," said Nott. "There are enough restorative potions in it to keep him alive for a good while yet."

"Precisely," said the Dark Lord. "Death is too good for our traitor...perhaps I will simply keep him alive for some time...he makes such a lovely centrepiece for our meetings..."

Bellatrix leaned in low and breathed hotly in his ear. "I always thought you'd find glory here...I thought you understood our cause." She bit down on his tender flesh, causing him to grit his teeth against the new pain. She leaned back again, blood standing out against her white teeth in her parody of a smile. "You'll regret this. You'll regret everything."

Lucius stood up and joined the rest of the Death Eaters, moving stiffly away.

For a long, horrible moment there was no sound except for his own laboured breathing. In that moment he saw the truth reflected in their eyes.

He was going to feel pain so terrible that he would wish for death. He wasn't going to save anyone. He had failed. The Order was going to be destroyed, and all of his work would be for nothing. He closed his eyes and reopened them, finding Lucius standing alone among the figures, his grey eyes shuttered.

Once again, the Dark Lord's voice cut through, pinning him against the cold ground. "Crucio!"