Title: Caught
Author: ligs
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters within the books belong to the lush mind of one J.K. Rowling. This story line is inspired b one of the stories of Ambrose Bierce whose works have greatly influenced my approach to writing.
Caught
A black figure sat on a chair, hands in front, bound with rope that dug into his skin. His hair matted with blood, clung to his head and face. The eyes bruised to the point of popping but still managed to register the presence that now stood in front of him.
"A pleasant evening, isn't it Severus?"
"Spare your inane pleasantries Dolohov and get on with it!"
"Such impatience won't do you good Severus. I hold your life in my hands you know."
"Wait until tomorrow morning and you'll find me dull and patient enough to your liking."
"Oh? And what makes you so sure you are to die tomorrow morning?"
"Please. All caught spies are executed at the crack of dawn with the killing curse. It is one of the few predictable things this war has wrought."
The newly appointed General of the Dark Lord's armies smiled at this, though not for the reason of pleasure but rather of amusement. His features half hidden by the flickering yellow light of a lone candle, he nodded towards the armed guard that brought in the prisoner to exit the tent and stand post.
The tent itself was a common 'wall-tent' about ten by ten feet in size. A faint drumming sound can be heard from the top as the storm continued to rage outside. The fragile structure swayed side to side, the winds howling as it went past.
"I see. Since you are so eager to die, why don't you answer a few questions for me?"
"Depends on what knowledge you seek. I will answer you for I will not gain anything after tomorrow's first light."
Having a final inspection of the captive and being thoroughly satisfied, Antonin Dolohov strode over a rickety makeshift table and sat on a stool behind it. Pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill, he turned to his indisposed guest and began his interrogation.
"Your name?"
At this Severus Snape couldn't repress a smile. Several teeth appear to be missing and blood started to drip to the ground. "Must you really ask that?" he coughed out, as if chuckling.
"Shut up! Your rank?"
"I'm a spy! What else do you think am I?" said the captive, now coughing up more blood as he laughed heartily.
"You have not lost your wit Severus. You'd do well to hold that tongue if you know what's best for you."
"My wit is the only thing I have left and I refuse to part with it. As for my tongue, you value it more than I do."
The General paused for a moment, contemplating the situation. He would have to tolerate Snape's company for a while. He could not afford to displease his Lord.
"Where is your regiment and how many?"
"You'd have to pardon me. That information is what I came here to get not give."
Dolohov cursed as he remembered how his supply of veritaserum had already been expended. His sufferance was wearing thin. Snape clearly will not cooperate and he was getting desperate for answers. He drew out his wand and conjured a bowie knife. "Perhaps a different method of persuasion is in order."
"Do you really think that after what I've been through tonight I'd be frightened of a muggle cooking tool?"
Yes. His patience is definitely at an end. He'd have to find a way to break the man, but how? Dolohov began scribbling on a new parchment and after finishing folded the paper. He called for the guard outside the tent. "Take this to Oslo; then return to your post."
"What of the prisoner, General?"
"Do as you are told!"
With that, the officer watched as the guard took his leave. Turning to Snape, "It would seem the night may yet turn bad."
"For me, it already is," replied Severus in a monotone, his head now lolling from his shoulders.
"Have you any idea of what I've written?"
"Something to do with me I suppose – about tomorrow perchance?"
"Your intellect serves you well. Yes, it contains the details of your demise. It also contains instructions to those that will prepare for that event." Dolohov peered at Snape looking for any sign of breaking down, seeing none.
"Then it is my hope that you spare no expense in preparing the spectacle as I would be attending it myself," Severus answered in a stoic manner.
"I suggest you stop worrying about that and take your time to pray to whatever gods may listen to you."
"What? And have them bother my rest?"
"Amazing how a man such as you would joke at a time like this."
"This being my last night, I thought I'd try something new."
"And you find death laughable? Don't you know this is a serious matter?"
"I'll believe death is of that importance when someone who has experienced it comes back to tell me."
This may be it, Dolohov thought. "Death," he said "is a loss – a loss of happiness, a loss of opportunities for more. Death is a terrible thing. It is not too late to avert it Severus. Make your choice!"
"Save your breath Antonin. How can I lose happiness when I never had it? I am not conscious of the loss you speak of. My death will be borne by sorrow. And death will not be so terrible if it means I won't have to see your face."
Unable to rein his anger any longer, Dolohov stalked over the bound prisoner and using the knife stabbed Snape's left thigh. "Feel that, Severus? Your end will bring ten times more pain than that!" he spat.
"It will be unpleasant, no doubt. But after tomorrow, I daresay I won't be aware of it."
The General stood there, shaking in unleashed anger. Snape, however, continued, "You can execute me tomorrow, Antonin, but there your evil will end. You cannot condemn me to heaven."
Dolohov did not appear to have heard anything the once-death eater had said. His attention drifted to the storm now abating. An officer entered the tent, Alexander Oslo, in-charge of execution.
"Yes General?"
"Ah. Oslo, this man," pointing at Snape, "is a spy sent by Dumbledore. He has confessed. How is the weather?"
"The storm has passed sir. The moon can be seen."
Snape didn't miss the evil glint in Dolohov's eyes. "Good. Take this filth to the parade grounds and have the dementors at him."
A dry, inhuman scream came from the captive spy. He looked up, eyes wide in shock. "Surely you do not mean that! I am to die! Tomorrow!" he said in panic. "I am not to die till tomorrow!"
"You said that Severus. I never said any of the sort! Oslo! Take this man at once!"
Oslo drew his wand and motioned Snape towards the exit. The prisoner hesitated, as he began to stand, Severus pulled out the knife still embedded in his thigh and lunged at the surprised Dolohov.
Both men tumbled towards a tent post causing the structure to collapse. A struggle ensued, attracting death eaters outside, none of who had any idea of what to do. Barely a moment has passed and a faint glow of green flashed beneath the tent, a killing curse had been used.
Removing the tent would reveal a man dressed in black robes curled on the ground, a blank expression on his bruised face, his eyes severely dilated. Severus Snape died five hours short from a possible rescue. He died six minutes after the storm.
Oslo knelt beside Dolohov, a knife's hilt protruded over the General's heart.
"Oslo…" he gasped.
"Yes General?"
Antonin Dolohov slowly closed his eyes and with inexplicable sweetness said, "I suppose this must be death." and with a smile he died.