Disclaimer: Severus, Lucius, and the rest of the Harry Potter crew are not mine. Just as well. I didn't want them anyway. Really.
A/N: This may or may not become part of a series...I'm indecisive like that. By the way, Metallica's "The Unforgiven" is THE Snape song, if you haven't heard it.
Never shined through in what I've shown
Never free, never me
So I dub thee unforgiven."
-Metallica, "The Unforgiven"
***
Despite the countless times the warm, sticky fluid had dripped into his mouth from a broken nose or split lip, he wasn't quite sure how to describe the taste of blood. Not sweet, certainly, but it couldn't really be called salty. Metallic, perhaps...like many of his potions, but unique in its own way.
Light was starting to beat insistently on his lids, and he screwed them shut again, ignoring the sharp pain that shot across his battered face at the sudden contraction of muscles. He didn't want to regain consciousness; he wanted to stay in the peaceful dream state, with the comfortable darkness that he knew so well...
Having learned years ago that in most situations it was best not to say anything unless he were expressly asked, Snape remained silent, taking stock of the situation. Immediately noticeable were the chains holding his body in a stiff, uncomfortable spread-eagle position, allowing him virtually no range of motion. The room was brightly lit, and was absolutely without furnishing, except for two straight-backed chairs against the wall. As he flicked his darkly observant gaze into every corner of the room, he realized that he had no idea where he was.
Snape looked down at his own body, noting without surprise that he was completely nude. Except for the aching in his gut from Malfoy's punch, he seemed unscathed below the neck...though if Draco were anything like Lucius Malfoy, that would not be the situation for long. His bottom lip was split open, probably against his own teeth. That explains the blood in my mouth, Snape thought clinically, ignoring the absurdity of his observation. His left cheekbone felt swollen to twice its size, and the eye was most likely blackened as well, but all in all, he wasn't in bad shape.
That was hardly a comforting thought when staring into the cold, pitiless gaze of a fifteen year old psychopath.
"Aren't you going to say anything, sir?" Draco's mocking query shook Snape from his reverie.
"What..." The professor's voice came out hoarse and gravelly, and he cleared his throat, summoning his usual silken tones. "What would you have me say, Mr. Malfoy? 'Pleasure to see you this fine...morning?' Pardon me for not feeling inclined toward pleasantries."
"Don't you worry, Draco," came an equally cold voice from the doorway. "He'll be talking as much as you like soon enough."
"Ah, Lucius!" Snape's sneer was automatic and involuntary. "This is a pleasant surprise!"
Lucius Malfoy stepped in the room with a frozen smile on his colorless lips, the picture of control. He leisurely made his way across the room, passing his son, who stepped back deferentially.
"Severus, Severus...my dear boy." Lucius was close enough that Snape could feel his hot breath against his chest, close enough that he could reach one aristocratic hand up, and run it lightly through the younger man's dark hair. Snape resisted the altogether irrational urge to lean into that gentle touch like a contented kitten, instead jerking his head back with as much force as he could muster. With the barest hint of a nod at his son, Lucius stepped back, and Draco directed another fierce blow at his teacher's taut abdomen.
"Sodding little fu-" Snape gasped as his body convulsed, choking back his angry shout as he stared down at Draco, past his father. The boy looked up at him, a malicious smile twisting his mouth, pale eyes alight with hatred.
He had thought Draco Malfoy was different...he had thought there was a chance of saving the youth before he took that fateful fall into the shadows. What a fool I've been, Snape thought to himself with disgust. Nothing created by Lucius Malfoy could ever remain human. Nothing could ever be redeemed...I should know.
Lucius took advantage of Snape's momentary daze, and pressed closely against the other man again. Trailing long fingers down Snape's bruised cheek, he lightly brushed against his bloodied lower lip, bringing away crimson stained fingertips. Delicately, he snaked his fingers down his chin, drawing a light line of blood down Snape's neck, swirling it on his pale chest.
Barely allowing himself to breathe, Snape tore his eyes from Lucius, turning his gaze back to the younger Malfoy. For a moment the boy looked shaken, seeing the dangerous glint in his teacher's shadowy glare, seeing for the first time the full force of his utter loathing. Draco had taken a step back before he seemed to remember how very helpless Severus Snape was at that moment.
"Severus, don't you have any questions?" Lucius asked, stepping back to smile appreciatively at his artwork.
"Of course I do, Lucius," he replied calmly, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice. "But I actually relied on you, the master villain, to reveal your nefarious plot in your own, self-aggrandizing manner at the most dramatic possible moment. Forgive me."
The elder Malfoy was silent for a moment, staring at Snape open-mouthed, in a manner decidedly uncouth for a man of his class. As if realizing this, Lucius shut his mouth firmly, and gave the bound wizard before him a smile bright with anticipation.
"I knew this would be enjoyable, Severus," he said lightly. "Breaking your insolent spirit will be one of the greatest pleasures my Lord has ever granted me."
Strangely, the first thought that came to Snape's mind was not the revelation of Voldemort's involvement. Spirit? he mused cynically. Since when have I had any 'spirit' of which to speak?'
"So this little...endeavor of yours is with the approval of the Dark Lord, then?" he asked neutrally.
"Ah, I knew your inquisitive nature would eventually beat out that taciturn facade you so love." Lucius seemed to be digging in his robe for something. "Of course this is at the request of my Lord. As his dearest servant, it is only just that I be the one who seek vengeance on those who have so betrayed him." The words were spoken with a noble air, but the sardonic undertone to Malfoy's words was obvious.
"Yes, your dedication to the Cause was always admirable, Lucius," Severus spat out, trying to stare down the sneering man in front of him with his one open eye. "But what, if I may ask, did this humble Death Eater do to deserve such a reception?"
"Death Eater?" Lucius laughed sharply, and Snape's mouth went dry as he saw his jailer pull his hand from the folds of his cloak. He clutched a long, wicked looking bullwhip, the knotted end trailing on the ground in a vaguely menacing manner. "Just how stupid do you consider the Dark Lord? You honestly think we fell for Dumbledore's scheme?" Malfoy shook his head, a condescending smile playing on his lips. "The old Muggle-loving fool has willingly sent his little protegé into the viper's pit... dear, innocent little Severus."
"Dumble-" Snape bit back his retort, refusing to give into the fury coursing through his veins. He's baiting you, the logical part of his brain told him firmly, the part more suited for Ravenclaw. Don't fall into this trap, he doesn't know for sure, he can't. He's just trying to get information.
But what is he saying about Dumbledore?
"Do you have anything to say, Severus?" Lucius asked, the silence seemingly having gone on long enough. "Because I think I've done enough talking for now, and if you don't feel like sharing..."
"You were explaining why you extended this gracious invitation to me to spend time with you and your charming son," Snape reminded him dryly. "And Lucius, I am deeply flattered."
Malfoy's ice blue eyes flashed with the insane rage that he had seen directed at other people so many other times, but was once more hidden by a far more chilling, civilized sociopathy. Snape wondered fleetingly if he were suicidal, speaking in such a manner to a man that he had seen disembowel an eight year old girl while sipping cognac.
"So I was, so I was," Lucius said with a nod. "And I will, in good time. But as for now, we're in no hurry." The slender aristocrat took a step forward, his lips curving into a gleefully malicious smile. "After all, you're not going anywhere, are you?"
***
Pain was not actually real. He knew this, knew that it was a creation of the brain, a basic element of animal survival that should be obsolete for homo sapiens and his over-developed cortex. It was registered in the brain, a message sent from the nerves with various chemical neurotransmitters to inform the command center that the activity in which the body was currently engaged was not the healthiest course of action.
The fact that pain was a chemical fabrication didn't make it any less convenient for torturers, though.
"If I take your 'we' to mean 'I, Severus Snape,' as you no doubt intend it, Lucius, 'we' are actually feeling very little," Snape replied acidly. "This could be due to the effect that the chains around 'our' arms are cutting off 'our' circulation, and making 'us' numb throughout most of 'our' body."
Lucius chuckled lightly. "Why, you're chipper, aren't you?" he said with a grotesque parody of a fond grin. "Positively loquacious."
Snape chose not to answer this, instead taking mental stock of his injuries. His face hadn't been touched during this latest round of Malfoy father-son bonding, but Lucius knew how to use a bullwhip, and use it with style. He wasn't sure when he had finally slipped into the sweet release of uncosciousness, but judging from the deep aching in his muscles and the flayed condition of his skin, it had been a while.
"Where is Draco?" Snape demanded suddenly, looking around.
"Ah, yes, his absence is conspicuous, isn't it?" Malfoy asked in a warm, paternal tone. "Such a dedicated student, that boy. He has at least three feet of parchment to do for his Potions master before the term starts."
The image of young Draco dropping the whip and walking out of the room to go wash his hands of his teacher's blood, sitting down at a desk, puling out quill and parchment, and neatly starting his essay on common curative potions that Snape had assigned before the winter break was too much for the weakened wizard to bear. Lurching forward as much as he could, Snape heaved violently, expelling what little fluid was left in his stomach. Drawing in a raspy, choking breath, he fell back against the wall to which he was chained, a trail of spittle on his chin.
"There, there," Lucius murmured gently, pulling a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket. "We're going to be just fine, aren't we?" He dabbed at Snape's mouth tenderly. I don't know, Snape thought bitterly. Why don't you stop talking in these blasted rhetorical questions and we'll find out? He didn't say this out loud. There was no sense in continuing with his cutting remarks...they would only encourage Lucius to cut harder himself.
"Lucius..." his voice trailed off. "Why?" Lucius Malfoy smiled with merely a hint of triumph, and Snape knew that he had conceded what little ground he had.
"You're not going to like this, Sev," he warned. "How about I unchain you while we talk?"
Snape was wary, but decided there would be very little change except for his own comfort level if the situation were to be changed. Lucius was well-fed and rested, he hadn't eaten in days and every movement brought him closer to unconsciousness. Lucius had a wand, he didn't even have pants.
It really can't get much worse, the wizard thought to himself with characteristic pragmatism, and then cursed himself for actually thinking something so inane. It could always get worse.
As Lucius loosed him from the bloody chains, Snape pitched forward, his balance ravaged by days spent in a spread eagle position. The ground rushed up to meet him, and red explosions around the edges of his vision as his limp body made contact with a sickening thud. The cement floor was already stained a deep wine with his dark, dried blood, and the new rush of fresh, bright crimson from his nose and mouth just added texture to the patterns.
Lucius seemed to be chuckling slightly, choosing to let Snape remain sprawled on the rough concrete while he pulled up one of the finely carved mahogany chairs. He waited for the professor to gather enough strength to turn his head, and then leaned forward, as if trying to hold Snape's attention.
"It's pretty simple, Severus," he explained with a cool, almost apologetic civility. "My Lord, after...questioning a Ministry official we came into contact with, found reason to suspect your fidelity and loyalty to our Cause. Knowing as he does of our long-standing friendship, it was only natural that he ask me to intervene, and discern where, if anywhere, your loyalties truly lie."
He should not ask, it was pointless, but he had to know. "Which Ministry official?"
The fact that Snape had not even bothered to deny these charges was not unnoticed by Lucius, who answered him matter-of-factly. "Percy Weasley."
A wave of cold, sickened terror washed over Snape, leaving a rock of guilt and suspicion settled firmly in his abdomen. "Percy Weasley?" he demanded. "The boy knows nothing."
"No," Lucius affirmed. "But his father does."
Arthur. The name swam before Snape's eyes, mixed with flashes of red hair, cheerful grins, and laughing children. He could be dead...or worse. Seven children, four still in school. And the boy...how old is he? Nineteen? Maybe twenty?
He would not think about it. He would not ask. He would not allow Lucius Malfoy that satisfaction.
Malfoy watched him with glittering azure eyes, waiting for him to ask questions, waiting for him to demand explanations, waiting for him to deny it all, waiting for him to do anything. But Snape remained still and silent, dark gaze unreadable. With the slightest frustrated sigh, Lucius pushed onward.
"You don't have to admit to anything, Severus," he went on. "Your subconscious has already taken care of that for you while you were...sleeping earlier."
"What the hell do you mean?" Snape snapped, pushing himself to a sitting position as smoothly as he could.
"At I believe about five different times during your last bout of unconsciousness, you mumbled the name 'Albus' accompanied alternately by impassioned apologies and frantic pleas for help." Lucius shook his head in what appeared to be true sorrow. "Sweet as that is, Severus, it's not exactly the type of behavior the Dark Lord would like to encourage in his followers."
Snape felt what little color he had in his face drain away, felt his eyes widen against his will, felt his numb hands go clammy and slick with sudden cold sweat. Albus, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I couldn't...I couldn't help it, I...was so scared, Headmaster, sir...
"So?" he asked laconically, in a strained but controlled voice.
"So?" Lucius parroted, raising one finely arched blond eyebrow. "So Lord Voldemort isn't Albus Dumbledore, the God of second...and third...and fourth...chance. He gave you more than he gave anyone--"
"Yes, accepting me back as a shivering wreck after suffering hours of Cruciatus--" Snape cut in bitterly.
"All for naught," Lucius said with a sly grin. "You've proven yourself to be devoted to the Muggle-lovers and Mudbloods quite nicely, my dear boy. Unfortunately, they won't be recieving your services any longer."
Snape's breath caught in his throat. This was it....or the beginning of it. Lucius Malfoy was never one to rush an execution...he viewed Avada Kedavra as "unsporting," and Cruciatus as "workmanlike."
So be it. The Ravenclaw voice in Snape's head was calm, resigned. I've done what I could.
I'm sorry I couldn't do more...but I will die with honor. This would have to be Gryffindor, of course.
This isn't enough, it'll be never be enough...but Albus, I will never betray you. The Hufflepuff voice, which continued to grow stronger, but was still no match for the fourth voice.
This fucking isn't fair. Slytherin.
"My lord always thought you arrogant, Severus," Lucius went on, tapping manicured fingernails against the arm of the chair. "Felt that you thought yourself too good to engage in Muggle-torture, too good to prostrate yourself at his feet with the rest of his loyal Death Eaters."
I'm not too good for anything, Snape thought to himself fiercely.
"But you don't consider yourself too good for anything, Severus." Lucius' words caused Snape to jerk his head up, and stare at him in disbelief. "You think I don't understand you? I was always a better judge of character than Lord Voldemort. That's part of why we made such a wonderful pair." Snape couldn't suppress the roll of his eyes, and Lucius tightened his pale lips. "You hate yourself, Severus. You always have. Yet you have this bizarre pride, and sense of honor...really, I don't understand why you aren't a Gryffindor."
"What do you know about me?" Snape demanded roughly.
"I know that the Severus Snape I know would never have come back to the Death Eaters. I know that when I saw you debase yourself before the Dark Lord so willingly that something had changed. I know that I saw a light in your eyes that had never been there."
Snape looked up at him in confusion and distrust. "What are you getting at, Malfoy?"
"Well, well," Lucius said with mock indignation. "We're no longer on a first name basis, Severus, my dear? I'm wounded." He paused for a response, but getting none, moved on. "You would have rather been killed than undergo that much Cruciatus, you would have done away with yourself before rejoining the Death Eater ranks, if it were solely for yourself. What you've done, what you've been willing to go through...Severus Snape wouldn't think his own sorry life worth the effort." Lucius's silvery eyes glittered once more as he shrewdly regarded Snape. "But you would do it for Albus Dumbledore."
The spy refused to react to this, even as his mind shrieked like a child scalded. Snape kept his face impassive, not meeting Lucius' triumphant gaze.
"Too much of a coward to admit it before me, Severus?" Every time his given name came from Lucius' mouth, Snape hated it even more. Hated it, hated it... "My lord thought you were playing both sides against the middle, you know...and that would have been most Slytherin of you. But you're barely Slytherin these days...just a neutered Gryffindor lapdog."
Snape fixed Lucius with the stare that had once put a third-year Hufflepuff in the hospital wing, and replied in his most acidic tones. "Better to be a Gryffindor lapdog than Tom Riddle's whore."
Lucius' aristocratic features twisted in fury as he leapt to his feet, the blood lust oozing from every patrician pore. A sharp kick to Snape's head made the room go hazy once again, but not before Lucius knelt next to him, grabbing him before he slipped into unconsciousness.
"You fancy yourself the noble hero, Severus?" he hissed with pure malice. "I hate to inform you, but you've betrayed your precious Order already...Care for a bit more Veritaserum?"
***
Cold...So very cold. His slender body was shivering violently, in what he knew was an automatic response designed to bring his body temperature back to a healthy state. Of course, a person suffering from a high fever also experienced this condition, in a sort of psycho-somatic response to the relative chill of the environment around them. Or something like that. His thoughts were getting less clear.
Idly, he wondered which situation he was experiencing. Fever or hypothermia...
His voice. His own silky, powerful, lyrical baritone. The one element of Severus Snape that could be called beautiful...Lucius had destroyed it. Not permanently, but... Snape realized that there was little point in thinking in the long-term by that point.
His shivering had intensified greatly, but Snape saw no need to try and warm himself, even to try and push himself from the cold stone floor. Heroic feats of self-preservation were not neccessary...perhaps Lucius would forget him long enough to allow him to slip painlessly in to the quiet death he had sought for over fifteen years.
Not that I deserve an easy death, Snape reminded himself bitterly. I betrayed Albus. I was...too weak. He saw right through me. Lucius Malfoy saw right through me!
There was a certain comfort in wallowing in pure self-loathing, especially to one as familiar with the feeling as Severus Snape. He lay spread across the floor in much the same position as he had been chained to the wall, noting the trembling of his cold, wounded, starved body as if from the view of a dispassionate observer. He had no idea how long he lay there...had no idea how long his captivity even had been. Time had no meaning in that little artificially lit cell. Snape sank into the floor as much as possible, not reacting even when he felt the familiar presence of Lucius over him.
"You're ready to die now, aren't you, Severus?" The voice was soft, oddly compassionate, and Snape found himself compelled to be honest. Lucius...wants to help me?
"Yes." Yes.
"You're an utter failure as a spy, a teacher, a warrior and a man. And Dumbledore will know this...they all will know this. Unless you die here...then they will think you died a hero."
Something about Lucius' reasoning did not quite make sense in Snape's mind, but the bit about being a failure certainly did. He nodded his agreement.
"That's why I'm sending you back to Hogwarts now."
What?! "What?!"
"The spy that failed, the disgraced son...I'll send you back to your loving Gryffindors, as you're certainly no longer any help to them."
"I don't understand..." Snape mumbled into the stone floor.
"You can see first-hand how much Albus Dumbledore cares for you, Severus, now that your usefulness as a double agent has ended." Lucius laughed harshly. "You think you want to die now, you little fool...you have no idea how much stronger that urge will be when Dumbledore and his lot toss you out."
"No..." Snape whispered, shaking his head. "No."
"Yes," Lucius repeated emphatically. "Dumbledore has gotten as much from you as he can-- now let's see that oh-so touching father/son relationship continue to build." Lucius laughed again, and Snape wondered how he had never noticed how very chilling that laugh could be.
"Lucius..." he began, but lacked the strength to continue.
"Draco has set up a Portkey for you, bless his soul, the dear boy. You won't be seeing him again at that Muggle-loving school...events are getting too interesting for that." Snape struggled to sit up, and saw that Lucius was holding what appeared to be a gold necklace. The image of the arrogant smirk on Malfoy's face was burned into his brain indelibly as he accepted the Portkey, and felt the gut wrenching pull away from that horrible reality...
***
"Headmaster!" Minerva McGonagall shouted as she dashed breathlessly into the office. "Oh, Headmaster, it's Severus!"
Albus Dumbledore jumped up from his desk with the agility of a man a third of his age, and ran to his deputy headmistress.
"Where?" he asked briskly, trying to keep his voice steady. "Alive?"
"Yes, but barely..." The two professors quickly made their way down the staircases, Dumbledore practically trampling McGonagall in his impatience. "He suddenly Apparated in the very middle of the front hall, Albus-- it was a Portkey, I suppose-- Remus was there, he stayed with him while I went to get you..."
Dumbledore's usually twinkling gaze was hard and solemn as he swept into the main hall, pace quickening as he saw the cluster of people in the center of the room. He caught sight of Remus Lupin, current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, in shirtsleeves amidst the circle of gawking students, and he saw the man that Lupin had covered with his cloak.
"To your dormitories, if you please," the headmaster ordered in as stern a tone as they had ever seen from him, and the students quickly scattered. At the voice, the pale, emaciated wizard on the carpet tried to raise his head.
"Sir?" he whispered, and the broken voice was enough to make Albus weep.
"Severus..." he replied gently, dropping nimbly to his knees. "Severus, my child." The younger man was thin and pale under the best circumstances, but this Severus was a bleached out skeleton, given color only by dark bruises and fresh cuts decorating his paper white skin. Lank strands of raven hair fell in dazed looking eyes, and parched lips desperately tried to form words.
"Albus..." he mumbled. "Albus, I failed...they know everything. Albus, it's over, I ruined it all..."
"It is over, Severus," Dumbledore replied gently. "It's over, and you're safe...and I can't remember the last time I was this happy, child."
"...You don't understand..." Snape attempted to reply, but his voice gave out on the last word, and he instead closed his dark eyes, shaking his head. He continued to shiver, and stifled a little sob as he made one more futile attempt to rise up. With the utmost gentleness, Dumbledore pulled Snape up into his lap, cradling him like a child. "Albus...you forgive me?"
"It's you who must forgive me, Severus," Dumbledore told him softly. "My son."
"But, sir..." Snape mumbled as he tried to shake his head in disagreement, instead melting bonelessly into Dumbledore's protective arms.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow," Dumbledore said quietly, comfortingly. "Rest, Severus."