Death Eater No More—Chapter Thirty-Seven (Scearu Peine)
January 26, 1999
If it weren't for the annoying little reality that the Headmaster was obliged to be in attendance, Severus would have taken breakfast in his quarters if only to sidestep the awkwardness of meeting Granger or the irritation of suffering through close proximity to Potter, neither of whom had yet arrived. He dared not raise his hopes that—nope, there came the Boy Wonder trotting into the Great Hall without a speck of decorum and—no, no it could not be after last night—headed straight for Snape!
"Bloody hell! What am I, a magnet for Gryffindor freaks?" he growled to himself. He cast a quick sidelong glance at Minerva, who thankfully appeared not to have heard. She could get so bellicose over the slightest provocation.
"Good morning, Professor," chirped Harry.
Snape's deadpan stare at the youth seemed to go unnoticed, not entirely surprisingly, considering the source. Was Potter always so infuriatingly chipper in the mornings? He didn't recall the wretched boy being that way as a student. And good heavens, did his insufferable lack of common sense preclude dragging a comb through the spikes protruding from his head? He was a teacher…of sorts…
Thankfully dispensing with any further niceties, Harry said, "Professor, I need to ask you something. Have you ever heard of scearu peine?"
Suddenly Potter's appearance and demeanor faded into oblivion. The world as Snape knew it hadn't ended, which meant the Brat-Who-Lived had not taken up scholarly pursuits as a hobby….and he didn't seem to be possessed by an ancient spirit speaking in the old vernacular—how then could such words be coming from his mouth?
Over the years Severus had pored over many, many texts of spells and derivations of languages. Although this particular phrase didn't ring any bells as a curse he knew, he recognized the meaning of the words quite plainly from older versions of English: share torture. Severus' brows dipped into a V and his jaw tightened.
"Where did you hear that, Mr. Potter?"
"Last night I heard Bayly saying it." Harry perched on the edge of the table, one leg drawn up. A single scowl from his old teacher prompted him to swiftly return both feet to the floor and stand up straight. "I believe he was looking for it in the Restricted Section of the library. He had a slew of spell books around him."
This was worrisome. Snape wasn't even familiar with this apparent curse, which must be very old and obscure not to be listed in one of the countless books he'd studied—or perhaps it had been invented only recently? Whatever the case, it was not something a boy Bayly's age had any business playing around with. And who did he plan to use it on?
Why was Potter still here? And why was he still talking? "Bayly was very upset that he couldn't find it. He was acting kind of mental."
"I'll look into it, Potter," said Severus in a distracted voice. "Thank you for telling me."
Harry grinned broadly; it wasn't every day Snape thanked someone, let alone him! "You're welcome." He hopped over to his seat and plopped down.
Severus sighed and rested his face in his hands. Since Bayly had failed to obtain the spell, there was no rush to confront him, and frankly Severus didn't look forward to it. He'd wanted so badly to believe Bayly was doing fine now that Dolohov was gone; searching out gruesome and dangerous curses hardly qualified as 'fine'.
He shook his head back though his hair immediately fell in lank sheets against his face once more. What was he stalling for? Was the position of Headmaster charmed to lull the authority into a false sense of peace? Dumbledore had the tendency to ignore problems he didn't want to face; was Severus following the same path?
No! He would not abdicate his responsibilities! Today after classes were finished he'd send for Mr. Young and get to the bottom of this if he had to use threats, intimidation, or Legilimency to do it.
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The Daily Prophet dropped out of Lucius' numb hands onto the breakfast table where it knocked over a glass of orange juice. Barely noticing the way the liquid seeped into the paper, he pushed back his chair and stood up. This was not good, not good at all. He didn't hear his son ask him if he was alright or see Draco clean up the juice with his wand then snatch up the paper to see what was bothering the elder Malfoy.
Nott was dead, killed by the avada kedavra. While certainly a few ordinary citizens might be willing to use the killing curse, how many of them had a grudge against Nott? Sure, they all knew he'd been a Death Eater, posters littered every public area, but would they dare risk Azkaban for the brief pleasure of disposing of a man they'd never met?
Probably not, which meant it had to be an auror….or someone Nott knew and didn't consider an enemy, someone he didn't expect to attack him. And the more Lucius thought about it, the more agitated he became. If it were an auror, he'd have notified the Ministry to boast of his work. No one would have suggested an auror doing his job should be punished.
What worried him was this: if it was an associate or friend who'd murdered Nott, was that same person going to become a vigilante against all Death Eaters? Would Lucius or Draco walk into an ambush set by someone they'd never suspect? For himself he wasn't afraid, he'd simply have his wand ready at all times in public places; but Draco wasn't skilled enough yet to defend himself from a formidable foe.
"Draco, come with me," he ordered, already whirling and summoning his cane with a snap of his fingers.
Draco set down the newspaper. Startled at the brusque tone and the sudden appearance of the dreaded cane, he gulped and protested, "What did I do?"
His father looked back, bemused. "What are you on about? Let's go, I need to see Severus." Then he resumed his course toward the front door, plucking his heavy cloak from the rack and swirling it about himself.
Sisidy had padded in behind him wringing her hands. "Oh, Master Malfoy, Sisidy is thousands times sorry for bad breakfast. Please lets Sisidy try again."
"Breakfast is fine," Lucius assured the creature with a pat on her head, accompanied by her sigh of sheer devotion. "I have an urgent meeting. When my wife comes down, tell her I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Yes, Master!" squeaked Sisidy, noticeably brightening. She didn't move away from him, rather let him be the one to go.
Draco and Lucius apparated to the main gate outside Hogwarts and hiked up to Snape's office. Not surprisingly, he wasn't there.
"He's probably in the Great Hall at this time of day," suggested Draco.
"Elf!" boomed Lucius. Someone ought to come to find out what the visitors wanted.
Sure enough, a house elf dressed in red slippers and a dark blue pillowcase-like garment popped in looking rather confused. Its ears flapped in distress. "How you gets in Master Headmaster's office?"
"He gave us the password," said Lucius dryly. "Go fetch him, tell him Lucius needs to speak with him right away."
The elf bowed and disappeared, leaving the two to scrutinize the office. Draco shifted uncomfortably; the last time he'd been at Hogwarts had been for a year of the Carrow nuts running the show and the terrible last battle, none of which held fond memories—except the death of the dark lord, and even that was tainted by the fact that it had been bloody Potter who'd killed the dark wizard. Lucky bastard. When his eyes lit upon Dumbledore's portrait, he hurriedly looked away.
Lucius preferred not to gaze around too much. The office had changed precious little since he'd been a student here….all his trips to the Headmaster's office for this infraction or that, having his father called to meet here, the ignominious suspension for attacking Sirius Black….it all left a bitter taste in his mouth. Then, having been Governor for several years, he'd made plenty of trips to Hogwarts, but those times had ended in a shameful dismissal from the Board because of Dumbledore. He held no love for Hogwarts.
Snape burst through the door with what could only be described as an alarmed, hunted look, his hawk-like eyes sweeping over Draco in relief and immediately searching out Lucius. "What is it, Malfoy? Is the baby alright? Narcissa?"
"They're fine." Lucius took a pace forward and Severus did the same. Lucius laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close as if to prevent the portraits from hearing, then said in a very low voice, "I read in the paper this morning that Nott is dead. Have you heard?"
"Yes," said Severus, pinching his mouth tight. "Fidelia came by last night to collect her sons. The lot of them were hysterical, inconsolable."
"Any idea who's responsible?"
Snape shook his head. "Not aurors, they'd have nothing to lose by claiming credit."
"My thoughts precisely." Lucius glanced at Draco, who was reading the spines of the books on the shelf behind the desk. "I'm worried for Draco. If someone is out killing Death Eaters, we all may be targets."
"Indeed," Severus agreed. "Are you going to send him away?"
"No, Narcissa would demand to know why, and I don't want to frighten her." Lucius let out a hard exhalation. "First I'll check with our friends not so far from here, see if they can shed some light on what Nott was doing at Hogsmeade."
Our friends not so far from here. Severus noted that even under pressure and in a secure room Lucius had the sense to be vague enough to avoid detection. If any of the portraits got wind of the fact that not only were the Lestrange brothers living in Scotland not a great distance from Hogwarts, but the Headmaster was well aware of it, they'd shit a collective brick.
"Owl me as soon as you find out anything," Severus said. "I have to go, I am a teacher here." With a nod to Lucius he called out, "Goodbye, Draco. I hope to see you soon."
Draco spun around, surprised to find the murmured conversation already over. "Bye, Uncle Severus."
Before Draco could follow the man out, Lucius motioned him over. "You have your wand, I take it?"
"Always," responded the youth.
"Good, we have another stop to make."
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"Rodolphus, Rabastan! It's Lucius Malfoy!" Lucius and Draco strolled toward the house as the older man called out warning to the occupants. It wasn't wise to sneak up on a Death Eater's lair. They halted at the door, which he rapped sharply on with his cane, the echo resonating in the air.
Rodolphus came to the door out of breath as if he'd run to be the first there. "Lucius, this is a surprise. I thought we'd agreed Draco's training was on hold for a while."
"Hi, Uncle," said Draco, to which Rodolphus grinned and tousled his hair and Draco grimaced as he raked at it to force it back into place.
"Change of plans," said Lucius, smirking. Then his face became solemn. "There was an article in the Prophet this morning about Nott. I came to see if you or your brother—"
He was cut off by Rodolphus pushing the screen door outward right into him, whacking him on the shin. He grabbed Lucius' arm and fairly dragged the stunned wizard clomping backward down the stairs as he chattered in an upbeat tone, "Draco, come on. It's time to train!"
Lucius cranked his neck around to see Rabastan's form in the doorway, coming out onto the porch slinging his cloak around himself. Rodolphus dragged the Malfoy pair away as he hissed, "Don't say a word about Nott to Rabby! I'll explain everything, but he can't know!"
Flabbergasted, the Malfoys merely bobbed their blond heads together. They couldn't have spoken if they wanted to, for their voices froze in their throats at the sight of Udo Nott sauntering down the stairs behind Rabastan, and he looked extremely alive and well.
Taking control in a cool, level headed manner, Rodolphus signaled to his brother. "Rabby, you and Nott start some easy training with Draco—nothing lethal yet! I need to do some catching up with Lucius, then we'll join you."
Draco cast a quizzical look at his father, who tilted his head toward the two Death Eaters as if to say 'go'. A moment later Rodolphus was leading Lucius to a secluded spot among a patch of trees; the snow and twigs cracked beneath their feet. He grinned, though it seemed somewhat strained.
"I suppose you're wondering why Nott isn't dead…"
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A nondescript brown owl arrived at Hogwarts, flew to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and perched on the windowsill pecking furiously. Ordinarily Severus would have hexed the annoying fowl for disturbing his class, but he was anxiously expecting this bird.
"Continue with your practice," he instructed the students. Casually he walked over, flung open the window, and retrieved the note from the creature's leg. Unrolling it, he at once recognized Lucius' perfect script on the ragged scrap of parchment…and the badly encoded message along the left margin.
Severus,
Not a thing to be concerned about, all
Is as it should be. Trickery is
Alive and well.
L.M.
His mouth curled into a smile that he immediately squelched. He couldn't have the pupils see him in that state, he had a reputation to uphold.
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Advanced Potions class let out and Bayly hurried down the corridor to Professor Conn's locked storage closet, key in hand—Professor Snape had long ago warded the door against students using charms to open it. He felt honored that the teacher had chosen him near the beginning of the year from among all the students to conduct inventory and restock whatever was needed in the classroom. Not to mention he found it fascinating to study at his leisure the wide array of potions, poisons, creams and lotions without anyone looking over his shoulder. It was like his own special shopping corner, sans the actual shopping, of course.
Shelves upon shelves of potions he'd love to try his hand at brewing…the pungent smell of fresh herbs mixed with the musty odor of mushrooms and dried roots…it felt right, it felt natural. Professor Flitwick had told him that Professor Snape used to work in a small potions shop in Diagon Alley when he was Bayly's age; he smiled to imagine himself trying to fill the potion master's shoes. Maybe one day he'd work in a similar shop.
Because he had to study for a test the following day, he didn't dawdle. He selected an armful of supplies he'd noticed were getting low, layered them carefully into a canvas bag, shut and secured the door, and walked purposefully at a brisk pace back to the classroom. Just inside the lab he came to a screeching halt, surprised to see the Slytherin prefect who, as far as he knew, had no interest in this class. His surprise transformed to stunned dismay at the sight of the boy with his arms around Professor Conn's neck and the woman struggling under him.
"Sammy, you're hurting me," said Aline. She had one hand up tugging at her hair.
Filled with a sudden rage, Bayly bolted forward and grabbed the Slytherin by the arm, whirled him around, and clocked the large boy in the jaw. Sammy staggered, his eyes wide with shock and incredulity, but he kept his footing.
"Keep your filthy hands off her!" seethed Bayly.
In reply Sammy righted himself and hissed, "You're f—king daft!" To Aline he apologized, "Sorry, Professor." Then he lunged at Bayly, fists flying.
Before he could make contact, Aline had her wand out, and within seconds the boys flew apart as if someone had tugged puppet strings in opposite directions. Bayly struck a table which broke his momentum and very nearly broke a rib. Sammy slammed into the dungeon wall with a 'thwack' as his head collided. He moaned and pulled back rubbing the knot on his forehead and glaring at Bayly.
"Gentlemen, enough!" Aline considered putting away her wand, observed the angry visages, and decided it would be best to be prepared for another onslaught. Teenaged boys too often didn't know when to quit. "Bayly, what was that?"
Huffing and panting in his fury, barely noticing his throbbing ribs, Bayly pointed at Sammy. "He was doing something to you and hurting you."
Aline blinked, puzzled at first, then lifted her chin with a knowing, "Oooh. No, Bayly, it must have looked pretty bad, I'm sorry. I was chopping those newt eyes when Sammy came in to report on a third year in trouble. You know how slippery those eyes are, how they get everywhere. He was plucking an airborne chunk off my head and his cufflink got caught in my hair. We were trying to get it loose."
Sammy sneered and held up his left arm. Indeed, a few strands of the instructor's long, brown hair were dangling from the 'S' shaped cufflink and Aline's ponytail was distinctly marred on one side. In a tone that simmered with suppressed indignation and a hint of jealousy, he growled, "You'd better watch it, Young. Next time the professor won't be there to stop me from crushing you like a grape."
"Next time try keeping your hands to yourself," sniped Bayly. "I could take you any day."
"You wanna go now?" challenged Samson.
"Boys!" Their heads jerked back, their awareness of close at hand authority returning. Her voice startlingly stern, Aline warned, "It was a simple misunderstanding, I will not tolerate fighting. Bayly, I appreciate your willingness to defend a woman, but it ends now. Sammy, you are a prefect, you should set an example. Is that clear?" She stared them down in turn.
"Yes, ma'am," said Bayly, chagrined.
Samson hesitated while her eyes demanded his obedience, then reluctantly he grunted, "Yes, ma'am. But he started it."
"Sammy, please go about your business. Bayly, please put those supplies away." In all honesty, Aline couldn't determine whether to be flattered or piqued. She knew Sammy fancied her and was likely jealous of a 'rival', but surely Bayly had only intervened for fear she'd be hurt, not from any misguided affections. She had no idea Bayly had such a protective streak. It wouldn't do to encourage Sammy's feelings or Bayly's pugnacious behavior.
The prefect meandered out grumbling to himself. Bayly retrieved his sack from the floor where he'd dropped it and made haste to restock the cabinets. He felt like an absolute fool now, but the situation at first glance looked very different from the truth of the matter. For all his bravado, he'd really prefer not to clash with Sammy minus a wand because, like it or not, the kid was huge! Bayly was no slouch in an altercation, he'd had his share of brawls, but the whole thing was just too ludicrous to grapple over.
"I'm finished, Professor," said Bayly. He stashed the canvas bag in the cabinet with the wormwood root. "I'm sorry about what happened."
"That's alright, I can understand how it looked. It's heartening to know I can count on you if I ever do need it. May I have the key?"
She held out her hand palm up. At the same time, Bayly extended his in the same way. Aline reached to scoop the key from his hand, in the process brushing her fingers against the skin of his palm. In the space of a second she experienced a terrible, swift flash lasting for what seemed hours; a numbness coursed through her, freezing her in place. For the first time in her life sparks literally shot from her fingertips.
She was in a field, unable to move—immobilized, terrified. In front of her, only steps away, stood Dolohov. He was inflicting pain on a nude woman who lay on the ground screaming as each new curse surged through her. The wizard mocked her and laughed at her, turning to Aline to make rude, heinous remarks. Aline felt an overpowering urge to scream as well, yet the immobulus would not permit it. Blood flowed from the woman's nose and from a variety of slashes that covered her. It hurt, oh dear Lord, it hurt so badly! Aline wanted to curl in a sobbing ball from the agony. More torture, searing pain, fear and humiliation. Then the wizard was on top of the nude woman—raping her. Aline felt the urge to vomit and cry and shriek all at once just as the woman was doing, but it was more than that…this was more than watching, this was happening to her, too!
When Dolohov had finished with the woman, who was too injured to move from where he'd left her, he spit on her and strode over to a naked man who appeared to be petrified up to this point. Dolohov lifted the hex before commencing to torture him with blows and slashes and burns that went on for ages, and every bit of pain resonated in Aline until she thought she'd lose consciousness. To her ultimate horror, he took out a knife and began to peel the skin off the living man. The Muggle's screams echoed those in Aline's head.
Aline cried out involuntarily and clapped a hand over her mouth as she backed away from Bayly. The myriad of emotions roiling in her brain were too fresh, too hideous to process all at once and she spun fast around, stumbled, and tripped. Her head struck the stone tabletop as she fell, wrenching her neck as she crumpled to the floor.
"Professor?" Bayly squeaked, hastening to kneel beside her but not daring to touch her since he knew naught of healing. What had happened? Why had she looked at him like that…like she was afraid of him…and tried to run away? He noted a cut on her temple along with a swiftly forming bruise, and undoubtedly that wasn't the worst of it. He had to get help. His heart beating a mile a minute, he darted for the exit.
"What'd you do to her?" shouted Sammy from the doorway. He barged in, giving Bayly a shove so hard it sent him reeling and crashing to the floor. "What'd you do?"
"She fell, moron!" Bayly got up off his rump where he'd landed.
There was no time to retaliate, he had to get help. Professor Conn was hurt and it was somehow his fault! Madame Pomfrey—no, the Headmaster is closer! Running for all he was worth, he slipped past Samson, evading a punch aimed at his skull, and sprinted down the hallways dodging students or pushing his way through if necessary, the awful haunted look the teacher had given him playing over and over in his mind. He was out of breath as much from fear as exertion when he finally arrived at Snape's classroom. To his overwhelming relief, the wizard was still there, looking dourly at an essay, quill filled with red ink poised above. Saucer-eyed he halted in the doorway to catch his breath.
Severus lifted his head, realizing at once that something was wrong. Pupils simply did not run down corridors to burst into his classroom for the pleasure of his company. He rose quickly and rounded the desk. "Mr. Young, what is it?"
"P-Professor Conn," Bayly panted. "She fell, hit her head in the lab."
That was all he needed to hear. Severus stormed out the door with the youth traveling in the wake of his billowing robes. Bayly thought it astonishing how fast the man went, seeing as he was twice the boy's age and not particularly athletic…not that he'd heard, at any rate. If he weren't so frantic he'd have thought it funny how, unlike on his trip to fetch Snape, students flattened themselves against the walls when they saw the Headmaster approaching like a dark cloud, clearing the way very effectively.
Snape wasted not a moment. He was waving his wand in a diagnostic spell even before he'd crouched down beside the injured teacher, and the look on his face heartened Bayly—he knew what was wrong and could fix it! A few more chanted spells later, Aline's eyes fluttered open, only to take on the horror again. The gash on her temple had healed, leaving only a smear of blood to indicate anything at all had occurred.
"Scearu peine," she croaked at Severus. "He used scearu peine."
The words hit Severus like a slap in the face. "Who? Not Bayly?" A fierce snarl curled his lip. If the boy had so much as thought to use it, he'd—
"No! Dolohov!" Aline struggled to sit up, assisted by Snape's arm behind her back. She propped on her hands for support.
"Be careful, you had a concussion," he advised before delving into what fascinated him. Off to the side he noticed the young man wilting before his eyes, his legs trembling, his entire body and mind entranced by something Snape couldn't see. He forced his mind back. "You had a vision?"
Aline nodded. She wanted to vomit. "Bayly's father used that curse on him, then he tortured two Muggles horribly." All at once she leaned to the side and barfed on the floor, splashing Snape's robes in flecks.
Severus shuffled a bit back and cleaned up the mess with a quick evanesco. To his credit he resisted retching or castigating the witch, and waited patiently while she got hold of herself again. It wasn't uncommon to throw up after a concussion, and he'd had worse than vomit on him. When she started to bawl hysterically, he became concerned.
Sammy came barreling into the room with Madame Pomfrey, both wearing apprehensive expressions. He took one look at his Head of House and his features hardened; he jerked Bayly's arms roughly behind his back as he accused, "Professor, he did it! He pushed her down!"
"No, I didn't," said the other softly, not putting up any opposition.
Poppy scurried over to Aline's side and the women clung to each other as Aline sobbed helplessly. Severus' head cranked over slowly to the teens. "Did you see Mr. Young push her?"
"Well….no, sir. But I heard her scream, and when I came running she was on the floor and he was over her," declared Sammy.
"Let him go, Samson." Severus stood up. Black eyes that revealed nothing, not a scrap of emotion, bored into the boy.
Sammy let go and gave Bayly another shove, though upon reflection he thought maybe he ought not to have done it. The Headmaster had that creepy, scary look that made firsties wet their pants and everyone else tread very carefully around him. He bit his lip and ducked his head to shield himself from the stare. "Is she alright?"
"She will be," said Severus. At the moment he genuinely didn't know what in blazes was wrong with her. Physically she'd been healed, she should be fine. Poppy had just checked her over and found nothing wrong. Instead, she was crying like a heartbroken child, presumably over what she'd seen in this elusive vision. "Go to your dormitory or wherever it is you ought to be."
Sammy rightly assumed that arguing would be an erroneous course of action. On a good day, you didn't argue with Snape. This was not a good day. He backed up to the door, took one last look at his object of affection, and wheeled on his heel. Snape closed the door behind him with a wandless crook of his finger.
To Bayly, who stood forlornly observing the scene around him, Snape ordered, "Get over here where I can see you and sit down." If the boy had done something to Miss Conn, it was best to keep him in sight.
On wooden legs the lad stumped across the floor to collapse onto a stool, his body sagging dejectedly. There was no point in denying he'd harmed the teacher, any idiot could see he had. Even if he hadn't actually touched her, it was the vision she'd had of him, of his father, that had caused it. She'd said scearu peine, she knew Dolohov had used it on him…and from the looks of it, she'd seen exactly what Dolohov did to the Muggles. He flushed with shame. He didn't blame her in the least for her reaction, his own had been the same when the grisly, awful crimes had been perpetrated.
"Mr. Young, did you in any way cause Professor Conn to become injured?" asked Snape. He walked over to stand in front of the youth, crossed his arms ominously, and waited.
"Not on purpose," whispered Bayly, staring unseeing at the floor. "She saw things from my mind and then she fell." He swallowed back a lump in his throat.
"Show me what she saw."
To his own consternation as well as Snape's, Bayly shook his head resolutely. "No, sir."
Severus snatched ahold of his chin in a lightning quick move and wrenched his face up. "Show me!" he barked.
"No!" Bayly clamped his eyes shut. He wasn't stupid, Snape couldn't use Legilimency without looking in his eyes, and no one should have to see the things he'd witnessed, the things tormenting his mind and now making Professor Conn cry. Let the man beat him all he wanted, he wouldn't let anyone else see.
"Headmaster!" It was Poppy. She'd helped Aline to her feet and led her to a long bench along the back wall. Severus turned his head at her call.
Here Aline chimed in. Her eyes were red rimmed and slightly swollen, her face still wet with tears. "Leave him be, please. I'll show you."
Bayly's eyes shot open at Aline's statement. He'd been prepared to shout for her not to do it, but the long finger jabbing into his face changed his mind. "Don't you move a muscle," Severus rasped. He strode across the floor, got down on one knee in front of her, which Bayly thought looked like he was about to propose, and asked, "Are you strong enough?"
"Yes," she said simply. It had been an incredibly intense experience, the worst ever because in this case the emotions felt like her own rather than another's, but she'd get over it. Fortunately for her, the emotions of visions subsided rather quickly, though they took weeks sometimes to dissipate entirely. This one she feared might take longer. Poor Bayly had lived with this for two months already with no lessening.
When the Legilimens touch entered her mind, Severus expected to have to search, but the memory in the forefront of her mind struggling to escape threw itself at him like no memory ever had. It consisted of a confused jumble that made no real sense….if it was a vision of what Bayly had seen, why was he seeing it from her point of view? He was seeing it through her eyes, the inhumane acts against the Muggles they'd found in the pit behind the farmhouse. But it was Bayly's memory, how could this be?
Severus yanked his eyes away, staggered by the depth of cruelty—not to Muggles, he expected as much from Dolohov—but to his own son. Blinking back his own horror, Severus remarked, "Miss Conn, you mentioned scearu peine. I assume you know what it is and what it does. Might you enlighten me?"
Aline nodded again. "I suppose you're familiar with peine forte et dure?"
Severus inclined his head in agreement. "An ancient Roman punishment—curse, if you will—designed for painful humiliation before execution."
"Yes. Salem authorities long ago took it upon themselves to utilize that punishment. People being what they are, one of the Council twisted that curse into a new invention called scearu peine." She paused long enough for him to voice his thoughts.
"Share the torture," he said.
Her head bobbed listlessly again. "It's particularly insidious because it makes the victim feel as if he is enduring whatever he's watching, without leaving any outward marks."
Left unsaid yet understood by everyone in the room was that Dolohov had cursed Bayly and made the boy watch him torture the Muggles. In the process, everything the youth had seen had been—in Bayly's mind—done to him without leaving a scratch of it on his body. No doubt the boy had been tortured himself, as evidenced by the multitude of wounds, but in his mind he'd suffered more than anyone had guessed: he'd been both raped and skinned alive.
"However," Aline went on, "Even though the victim isn't physically harmed, he suffers all the same emotional and mental damage as the one who is being tortured."
"Watching torture is easy, that's what he said," intoned Bayly in a flat voice, his eyes holding a dead look. "Anyone can watch, he said. To become strong I had to experience it from the other side."
The adults shuddered in unison.
"Why didn't you tell anyone what he'd done?" asked Severus so softly it would have gone unnoticed had the room not been deathly silent.
Bayly gave a languid shrug, still examining the floor rather than look at anyone here. "I didn't want people to see how pathetic I am. I mean, that horrible stuff he did to them…I know in my head that it didn't happen to me, but I feel like it did. What could I say? I was raped? But I wasn't! He didn't peel the skin off my body! You'd think I was pitiful and weak and stupid for not being able to distinguish the difference. It plays over and over in my mind and I don't know how to change that, I don't know how to stop it. I just feel so ashamed, like I should have been able to stop him, or to do something!" Tears he'd been trying to stave off washed down his cheeks.
When Poppy made to go to him, Severus put out an arm to block her. They needed his cooperation, they needed the whole story; if Poppy went to him he'd break down completely.
"Can't you undo it?" asked Poppy. Her eyes glistened as she gazed at Bayly.
"No," said Aline quietly. She allowed a wry smile. "There's something unique about this spell, a strange quirk the originator didn't intend. There is a curse inherent upon the curse. If a person uses scearu peine, neither he nor his descendants will ever be able to use it again. That's the good part. Regrettably, they also can't use the countercurse because it contains the curse in it. Since one of my ancestors was idiotic enough to use this curse, I can't do anything."
She looked over at Severus, who'd cleared his throat. "There is no hope? Is this what you're saying?"
"No, not at all. I can't use it…but one versed in the Dark Arts can." Aline smiled over at him and he scowled.
"Miss Conn, how can I reverse it if I don't know how?" demanded Severus, irritation grinding in his voice. He felt a tinge of embarrassment at his lack of knowledge of a dark spell, knowledge others possessed.
"I can show you how," said Aline, removing her wand from her pocket. "Do exactly as I do."