Chapter Six: "I Will Do It Myself"
The Seventh Day: November 22, 1981
Remus woke up sometime shortly before dawn with Dumbledore napping by his bedside. Blinking and looking around, he realized with surprise that he was at Hogwarts—had he woken anywhere, he would have expected it to be in St. Mungo's. Or at the Riddle House, but let's not think about that possibility, Moony.
Guilt welled up with the thought.
I'd see Sirius again there. They say he's still alive…and that means he's there. Remus swallowed hard.
"Ah! Good morning," his old headmaster said cheerfully, making Remus jump guiltily.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up," he said softly.
"Hardly a problem, my dear boy. I was simply resting my eyes."
The twinkle in those blue eyes made the tension ease out of Remus' bones, and he chuckled despite himself, then caught the laughter in his throat. His chest still hurt, though not quite so much as he'd expected it to.
"You brought me to Hogwarts."
"That I did," Dumbledore replied with a smile.
Remus blinked. "Why?"
"Because you might have been rather less banged up had I shown up as soon as I intended to," the old wizard replied seriously.
"You…?"
"Of course, Remus. As soon as heard that there was a brown-haired, sad-looking wizard being attacked in Diagon Alley, I guessed it was you. So, I came as soon as I could."
"Oh. Thank you." He hadn't thought that the battle was that long—Dumbledore must have heard quickly indeed if he'd been able to get to somewhere from which he could Apparate away from Hogwarts, like Hogsmeade, and still reach Remus in time. "Did you…chase them away?"
"Oh, no." The twinkle was back in Dumbledore's eyes. "You did that by yourself, Remus. You hardly needed my help. All I did was transport you back here and plug the hole your Quicksand Charm created. The Aurors arrived right after I did. I believe Alastor Moody was much impressed."
Remus smiled sheepishly at the thought of his Quicksand Charm wreaking havoc in Diagon Alley. "Thanks. And thank Madam Pomfrey for me, too. I should be hurting a lot more than I am."
"It's Poppy now, Remus," the matron interrupted them; he hadn't noticed her standing off to the side, but there she was. "You're not a student any more, you know, and you're welcome."
He managed another smile. "Thanks, then…Poppy."
She smiled in return, patting his hand, but Remus looked back at Dumbledore.
"They were targeting me, weren't they?"
The headmaster took a deep breath. "Yes. I believe they were."
By the time they were done with the plan—and had won Crouch's grudging approval—it was too late, and Alastor knew it.
Even then, the spectacular battle outside the Riddle House should have made him feel better—they'd captured one Death Eater and killed two others, and on any other day, that would have been a good haul. A great haul, even; it was better than the Aurors had done in weeks, and the media would love him for it.
Of course, they'd never manage to hold the Riddle House after this raid, and Moody wasn't going to bother to try. He'd only waste Aurors in a pointless battle; frankly, he was surprised they'd managed to take as much ground as they had. But 'Bella Figg and Ernie Jordan had come up with a brilliant plan that had caught the Death Eaters flat-footed, and Moody had pushed hard once the Aurors acquired the slightest advantage. The first few minutes of the raid had produced surprisingly few casualties —though Alice Longbottom was down for the count, Ernie had already Apparated her out of there, and they were the only seriously injured Aurors in the bunch.
On another day, he'd have tried to blow the place, but even after their amazingly easy breech, he didn't hold the entire house. Death Eaters were pouring into the south end, and though the Aurors had managed to get into the dungeons and ensure they were clear (Moody had checked himself), they'd soon be outnumbered.
It was too easy. Too easy for a battle.
Alastor snarled aloud, making Virginia Wilson jump.
Damn it all to hell. I'm almost certain they knew we were coming. This is a trap, and we've been betrayed.
They'd found two other Aurors' dead bodies, but there was no sign of Sirius. The bright side was that they'd already known that Jenkins was dead—he'd been taken two days before. But Meadowes simply hadn't shown up for work that morning, and Moody assumed that the pair he'd sent looking for her were dead now, too, since they hadn't checked back in before the start of the mission. But there was no evidence of Sirius. None whatsoever, unless Alastor wanted to count the fresh bloodstain on the living room carpet.
"He's playing with me," he growled at 'Bella, who'd insisted on coming along for some reason or another. Probably because she thought he'd do something destructive.
She'd clearly come to the same conclusion. "Damn them all to hell. You're right."
He hadn't felt like such a failure since his rookie year.
"Let's move out," Alastor snapped at the others. He still had a group of twenty-two Aurors, a force to be reckoned with for sure, but not if this became what he thought it was about to.
"We could make a stand here," young Frank Longbottom suggested. "It's defensible enough."
"Ha!" Alastor barked. "And for what? We've done better than we had a right to expect, boy-o, so let's move before something nasty happens. Someone wants us here, and we're not about to oblige them."
Somewhere to his right, Francine Hoyt yelped as she set off a booby trap.
"Constant vigilance!" Moody bellowed. It didn't make him feel better, but someone behind him chucked. A bit.
"You heard the man," 'Bella ordered. "Time to go, boys and girls."
People started shuffling around, making for a defensive Apparation formation.
"Before the Dark Lord himself rains down on our doorstep!" Moody bellowed, glad to have targets upon which to take out his frustration.
His Aurors knew him well enough not to be offended by that or the swearing that followed it; they simply picked up their feet and moved with a purpose.
Less than a minute later, they were gone.
Thirty seconds after that, Voldemort arrived.
He'd strode in with the Cruciatus Curse on his lips, and that was never a good thing.
Twenty minutes later, Sirius was clinging to consciousness after having been awoken three (or was it four?) times, struggling for air and wondering how long it would take him to see straight. Was this the day he would go insane? He'd seen it happen before. Magic lifted him and he cried out, his senses and body stressed to the breaking point by too much pain.
His back hit the chair hard, and the chains snaked around his limbs immediately, tightening painfully. Sirius bit back another scream, an effort made easier by how weak and wasted out he felt.
"Crucio!" Voldemort hissed again, and Sirius' body buckled as every nerve ending exploded in pain. Fortunately, the Dark Lord only held the curse for a moment, and when Sirius' vision finally cleared, the pale face was smiling.
He was angry on arrival, and now he's happy about that. Lovely, he thought dizzily. Then he managed a lopsided smile, just because he knew his sense of humor drove Voldemort to distraction. He didn't really find anything funny, but Voldemort hated being laughed at, especially when he was having mood swings.
"Something amusing, Black?" the Dark Lord snapped. Anger radiated off him in waves. Had there been Death Eaters in the room, they'd have been searching for escape routes.
Laugh or cry, Sirius.
He coughed out a hoarse chuckle, just because he could.
"Something crawl up your skirts?" Sirius wheezed.
"Carnificius," was the next curse, just for variety. Sirius writhed for several moments, with blood trickling out of his mouth and the world in a flat spin, before Voldemort lifted the ancient torture curse.
But then the Dark Lord lowered his wand and smiled again.
"Actually, Sirius, you should be the one who is upset," Voldemort said softly, walking to his side. "They tried to rescue you today. Your friends in the Aurors."
For once, Sirius had nothing to say.
They what? He hadn't expected that. He had known there would be no rescue if he got himself caught. That was just the facts. He'd never once thought that the Aurors would try to rescue him from Voldemort, because the Aurors never managed to save their own. We've always known that the Dark Lord kills too quickly to make rescue practical. Everyone knows that there will be no rescue. Then again, he had not expected to live for seven days, either.
Seven hours is more like what I'd been expecting.
"Nothing to say?" the Dark Lord taunted him.
"Not to you," he rasped, bracing himself for more pain.
But Voldemort only smiled. "Strikes a nerve, doesn't it? They must know you will break, else they'd not be so desperate to get Potter's Secret Keeper out of my hands."
Despite himself, Sirius shivered.
"Perhaps they're just my friends," he shot back.
A low chuckle.
"Friendship does not last through experiences like this, Sirius," Voldemort said softly, reaching out long fingers to brush hair away from Sirius' eyes.
He flinched instinctively, his body desperate to get away from the hands that had already caused so much pain. This was the first time Voldemort had used his name like this, and it was terrifying. He could not stop shivering. But then the words sank in, and anger lent him strength.
I won't forget my friends, no matter what you do to me. Monster.
"You must never have really cared about anyone, then," Sirius retorted. "Not really surprising."
The wand pressed into his lower neck without warning. "Rumperis."
Sirius cried out as his collarbone snapped, spreading a spiderweb of cracks and pain down his sternum, across his shoulders. His vision swam, and he ached for the strength to scream.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he wheezed after the curse had completed its work.
"Oh, but I do. And we have all the time in the world, you and I." The wand moved away. "They will forget you long before you forget them, and then you will break."
Sirius scowled, using his defiance as fuel to fight the pain. Still, forcing back the tears was hard. Breathing was agony. "I won't break."
Voldemort only smiled. "They all say that, Sirius."
"I haven't yet, have I?"
"Crucio."
The First Month Ends: December 15, 1981
"What do you know, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. They were standing in the Forbidden Forest with seven layers of wards between themselves and the rest of the world, because even Hogwarts was not always safe in those dark days.
"The Dark Lord—Voldemort," Snape corrected himself angrily, still shuddering as he said the word, "is continuing on with his plans to take Azkaban. I am of the opinion that it will take some time, perhaps even months, but he is determined to take the prison. Some of his favorite pets are there, after all, and he would like to let them loose upon the world."
"I see," the old wizard replied, still looking serene.
Severus swallowed. "I'm not…not really sure what else you want to know, Albus."
He was still uncomfortable using that name. He was still uncomfortable being a spy. This was all new to him, mostly, and he hardly knew what to do with himself.
I saved my best friend, even if she'll never know, he told himself firmly. Even if Black died to do it, I saved her.
"And have you heard anything about Sirius Black?" Dumbledore asked quietly, making Severus flinch. There were times he feared Dumbledore's ability to read his mind far more than he feared Voldemort's.
"No," he said slowly. "I've heard…nothing, which, in itself is strange. But he has been the Dark Lord's private project almost since his capture, and that is not normal. Lucius knows something, but when I asked I was rebuffed. Simple curiosity over an enemy's fate can only take me so far."
"I understand."
Severus took a deep breath, his mind racing. But—there was no choice to be made. He'd chosen Lily, chosen Dumbledore and the Order, and there was no going back. No regrets.
"I did…I did find this. This isn't the original—I had to copy it. It may be nothing, but…"
And he held the paper out to Dumbledore, who did not even seem surprised that the copy mirrored Voldemort's own handwriting.
It was dated 12 November 1981.
I have him. The fool thought he could hide from me. He thought he could put up a fight when I found him hiding like a pitiful castaway in that rathole of Muggles. Black is mine, now. He has earned his place at Casa Serpente, and a place of honor it is.
My personal guest.
He is full of strength now. Full of defiance. He went so far as to laugh at me when I visited him. He will be one of the greatest challenges that has ever been brought through my doors.
I look forward to breaking him. It will be enjoyable. It will not be the simple pain, scream, snap, break of the average man. This will take art. My only regret is that my Bella and her Rodolphus were taken. What exquisite work they could have done with him. What a challenge he would have been for their skills.
They were the only ones worthy of one such as him. This must be done properly.
I will do it myself.
It was not much of a relief to know that those words could make even Dumbledore shudder.
Author's Note: So, if you think things are going to look up from here…you probably weren't reading this chapter much. :D Obviously, life will get far worse before it gets better, so on that lovely note, stick around for Chapter Seven: The Third Circle,in which the Order of the Phoenix faces the inevitable, Dumbledore contemplates the nature of friendship and then squares off against the Minister of Magic. As always, reviews are cookies, and authors love sweets.