A Body of Clay

- 1981, Azkaban -

An unearthly sense of horror seeped in from every direction, insinuating itself deep into the very marrow of the prisoner's bones. The inhuman chill assaulted the human body from every direction, if there was such a thing as direction there in the crushing darkness. Except for up and down. The agony of his feet told him that much.

Time passed, or not.

Then the light came, as it periodically did. His tiny world exploded in spots and shapes. Disoriented, he fell back. Immediately, he gagged as the noose tightened about his neck. It was a struggle to get upright again, but he finally managed.

"How're we doing today, boy?" He could not make anything out from the spots in his vision, but he recognised the voice. It was a rough gravelly voice that constantly hovered at the edge between naturally cantankerous and purposefully rude. It was voice he would never forget.

"Could be better." He replied listlessly.

"Just say the word. It's entirely up to you, of course."

"Yes."

"Magic words."

"Yes, please. I would like a chat, sir." He said meekly.

"Since you're begging so nicely..."

The ropes slid from his neck and wrists. He slid likewise onto the ground with his legs stretched out before him. His eyes were adjusting slowly to the light, such that he could make out the two hooded and masked men standing before him. Naturally, it was Nasty and Silent.

"What should you say?" Nasty asked. He twirled his wand restlessly.

"Thank you, sir." He said meekly.

"Good boy. Now tell me something useful and I'll let you nap for a while."

"I'm confused, sir." He said in the same meek tone. "What do you want me to say? I'll say it of course. I just don't know why I'm here."

"Bah! Wasting my time again eh?" Nasty stabbed the air with his wand. The prisoner cringed, but nothing happened. Nasty started chuckling instead. "Change of routine today, worm." The man marched out, followed by his ever-silent companion.

A jolt of pain in his ribs woke the prisoner. He looked up to see Nasty and Silent back. Two others were with them. Both were dressed like Muggles. One was slim and wiry. Beneath a loose denim coat, a checkered shirt could be seen. His worn jeans were tucked into knee-high, steel-toed boots. The other tall and broad-chested. The powerful muscles of his torso bulged from beneath the long-sleeved turtleneck shirt he wore. His denim pants were the same grey colour as his shirt, and they too were bursting with the impressive girth of his thighs. Slim and Muscle were masked and hooded as well.

"He's all yours." Nasty pulled a glass vial from his robes and offered it to the newcomers. Slim shook his head.

Nasty shrugged and turned to the prisoner. He shook the vial. "Will you drink it, or do I make you?"

"I'll drink it," the prisoner said quickly. He sat up, took the vial from Nasty and downed the contents.

"All right boys, you have fun. We'll be outside." The cell door slammed behind Nasty and Silent.

Slim and Muscle looked down at the prisoner.

"What's your name?" Muscle asked.

"Severus Snape."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"What colour is your hair?"

"Black."

"List your victims."

"When I was six, I ripped up Johnson's teddy bear -"

"List your victims as a Death Eater!"

"The day you arrested me. Hogsmeade was so crowded with everyone rushing about. I bumped into an elderly lady and she stumbled into a man -"

"Enough." Slim interrupted. He moved to stand before the prisoner. He pushed back his hood, revealing pale brown hair.

"Hey, what're you doing?" Muscle protested.

"Having a face to face talk."

"Can't do that, mate. Against the rules."

"The last words I expect coming from you, my friend." Slim said.

Muscle sighed and nodded.

Slim undid the straps holding the featureless mask to his head. He lowered his face and let the mask drop into his hands. When he raised his head, it was the tired face of a young man in his twenties. His features were good-looking in a refined sort of manner, but set in a stern expression that made him look chilly.

The prisoner's eyes widened.

"Bollocks, if you're taking off your mask I'll do it too," Muscle said. He pushed back his hood and pulled off his mask, revealing a ruddy and rugged face. The man was about the same age as Slim.

"Well, who are we?" Muscle asked the prisoner.

"Arctinus Smethwyck. Homer Wood." the prisoner stated faintly.

"Surprised? Quidditch Chaser and Keeper from your school days, running this bloody horror show?" Muscle's voice was filled with distaste. He sighed and shook his head. When the prisoner did not respond, he continued bitterly, "Mister V and the consequences of his civil war are real. Today, we're Aurors. You're a Death Eater, but this part isn't so surprising to me."

The prisoner remained silent. Muscle snorted in disgust and stepped back to the side with his wand raised. He fingered his two eyes and pointed at the prisoner.

Slim inspected the prisoner disdainfully. "So our little Severus has grown up. And how are we doing today, Sev?"

"Could be better."

"I was informed that you are very resistant to veritaserum. Those complaints are well-founded, it would seem." Slim's accent and speaking style was as elegant as his features, though quite at odds with his functional clothing.

"Very?" The prisoner grimaced humourlessly. "You are or you aren't. Surely you understand the asymptotic efficacy of veritaserum. Anything beyond three drops is a waste."

Slim did not respond, but continued to inspect the prisoner with a disdainful gaze. The moment of silence became a pause, then a stretch. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed hysterically. It was a mindless, shrieking laughter, without intelligence or purpose. The inhuman sound echoed like a curse through the hollow halls of the prison.

"I recognised you that day," Slim said finally.

The prisoner closed his eyes. Blood drained from his already pallid face. His bloodless lips compressed into a thin line.

Slim continued. "When your cloak fell off, I recognised you. Your hair, your frame, your voice, and the way you laughed. The same way you laughed after a session with - what do they call themselves - the Marauders."

The prisoner bowed his head and did not respond.

"I want the truth, Sev." Slim said softly, "I don't care if you keep the rest of your secrets, but don't you think you owe me the truth on this?"

"You may want the truth. But you won't like the truth," The prisoner said faintly.

"I may not like the truth, but I need the truth."

The prisoner raised his head. "Then ask."

"The other you took with you. Who is he?"

"A Death Eater." The prisoner sounded tired. "I will only answer for myself, Ark."

Slim nodded, his face sombre. "I see. I apologise. The truth then, only for yourself?"

The prisoner nodded.

"I know you were the Snake. Did Mister V order you to kill my family?"

"As you can imagine, it wasn't our own fun jaunt. The Dark Lord ordered me to send a warning after the solstice blitz." The prisoner's eyes twitched and he took a shuddering breath. He breathed out slowly and continued, his gaze distant, "He did not specify what type of warning. He did not order me to kill your family."

"What?" Slim gasped. His face creased into a momentary expression of shock and anger. Just as quickly, he collected himself. "Then why did you kill Amelia?"

"I - I - " The prisoner grimaced and his body shook. "It seems telling the truth is harder than lying," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"I... I... was... afraid. I was afraid!" His shoulders slumped and he continued a toneless recital with his head bowed. "I asked them to trash the house only. Believe me. I did. But one of them wanted ... more. He would jump on anything female, really. I was afraid. I had to be one of them. I couldn't be weak."

The prisoner covered his face with his hands as he spoke rapidly and tonelessly. "Amelia recognised me. I was afraid. I panicked and - and - and I don't know why. I don't know why. I can't answer. I don't know. I should have used the Killing Curse. She was looking at me. Her eyes were looking at me. Her throat was like a giant mouth. Projectile-vomit of meat sauce. The tomato-based type you put on pasta. It's like meat. Just like meat. She was looking at me. How would I stop a wound like that? Should have used the Killing Curse. Too much blood. It's different when you know the person. Completely different. I didn't want to kill her. She forced me."

"Ever...heard...of Obliviate, you fool?" Slim grounded through gritted teeth.

"Breakable charm. Easier to kill."

Slim's eyes bulged and his shoulders shook. "Then why kill the children?"

"You don't want to know," the prisoner murmured faintly.

"I don't, but I need to."

The prisoner sighed and continued monotonously. "Because I could. I didn't want them to grow up and go after me for revenge. That would be troublesome. Maybe just for fun. To make the others admire and fear me. What do I care about some brats?" He lifted his head. His eyes focused on Slim's stunned expression. "I said you wouldn't like the truth."

"But I'm glad I had it, finally," Slim breathed. "So...I guess... thank you."

"I've condemned myself to Azkaban with these words. I deserve something in return. At least tell me how the Dark Lord fell," the prisoner demanded.

"You deserve nothing!" Slim snapped. "Condemned? I'm the one who's condemned!"

Slim smiled grimly. "You will be remanded to Hogwarts today. By the highest order, your file will be closed, and you will return to your job at Hogwarts with your name untarnished."

"Why?" The prisoner asked.

Slim ignored him, and continued on bitterly. "We, the dutiful servants of the people and representatives of the Ministry of Magic, who've risked our lives time and again for it, who've seen our colleagues, friends and family died or tortured for our work, will just have to shut up and toe the line. Unbelievable. What a comedy of Justice! Aren't you lucky the big D is watching out for you? He and his so-called Order are nothing but another gang of thugs to me! What about us? How do I answer to Amelia and the kids? Why must they be sacrificed to defeat Mister V? And it was all meaningless sacrifice!"

Slim ended his furious rant, out of breath. He took in a few deep breaths.

"Ark, please, I -"

"Shut up!" Slim shrieked. He swung, knocking the prisoner to his side. A steel-toed boot crashed into his stomach, then another into his ribs. Slim kicked and stomped like a man possessed.

Muscle dragged Slim back. "That's enough, Ark. You're killing him."

Slim regarded the motionless heap that was prisoner. He pulled a vial filled with pale blue fluid from his pocket with a smirk.

Muscle laughed in relief. "You had me worried for a moment," he said.

"Constant Vigilance!" Slim rasped mockingly. He bent down, forced the prisoner's mouth open and poured the vial down the man's throat.

The Aurors waited.

After a while, the prisoner spasmed and his eyes opened. He sat up and coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood and mucus. "That's illegal," he croaked, as he felt his own body gingerly.

"So what?" Slim struck the prisoner across the face. The ring on his hand gouged a deep gash across the prisoner's face, but in seconds, the wound knitted together, leaving only blood on smooth skin. Slim nodded with a satisfied look on his face.

Slim grabbed the prisoner's collar and hauled him to his feet. "Time to pay the piper, Severus Snape."

The prisoner swayed like a drunken man. He continued shuddering. "That burns," he panted. He looked at Slim with a maniacal, feverish gaze. "Give me another dose then."

Slim threw back his coat and drew the sword strapped to his side. "That'd be a fatal overdose. You don't get to escape that easily." He said grimly, "we still have to deliver you to the big D, remember?"

The prisoner closed his eyes with a twisted smile on his face. "Do your worst then. Time is running."

Steel flashed. Blood splattered across the stone floor.