CHAPTER 3
WOULD YOU DO THE HONOURS?
As the rotting leaves covering the forest ground squelched under his boots and Goyle's breath wafted through the damp air behind him, Severus had the certitude that if luck or anything remotely similar to it existed, tonight of all nights would not be his lucky one.
Black's hideout wasn't far. Leading to it was a narrow trail, made uneven with gnarly roots and with nothing to see left and right save for dark tree trunks and never-ending shadow.
Severus amped up the light at the tip of his wand.
No wolf howls or bird screeches haunted the woods tonight, only the plodding feet of Bellatrix, Goyle and Yaxley. Given a choice, Severus would have preferred the wolves.
He still couldn't fathom why he was going through such trouble, and for Black, of all people. He never quite liked Black — hated him, to be more precise, like the medieval Muggles hated the pest. The strutting, the arrogance, the baggage that the two of them shared.
It was barely a week since they had nearly blown each other's head off in Black's despised kitchen.
And yet, here he was.
He wasn't doing it out of some secret inclination for heroics. In fact, he much prefered routine and books over brainless bravery. Very much.
By all means, his motives were decidedly less altruistic. Severus wasn't helping Black; he was avoiding delivering him to his execution, with his own hand. There was a subtle difference between the two. Or perhaps it wasn't even that subtle.
He had even considered acting as though there was nothing he could do in the circumstances — he had had no choice, he would have later probably argued. It would have been comfortable, would it not? But... He was not such a coward.
Besides, he wasn't keen on making Black a martyr. When Black died, he hoped it would be something pointless and stupid, like tripping on his shoelaces or slipping in the bathtub.
It was as simple as that.
The dark lattice of leaves above their heads dissolved to make way for the starry sky and the light of the moon. They had reached a meadow, and, not far ahead, a lazy trail of smoke was rising from a small construction.
Severus flicked his wrist, and the wand's light died out. The glow coming from the wands behind him dimmed, though it didn't fade out completely, and Severus didn't have to turn around to know who the thick one was.
"Put out your wand, Goyle," he said, annoyed. "We attack at night to take by surprise, not to play the Pharos of Alexandria."
The light went out with a grumble, something about being a Muggle pharaoh. Indeed, Goyle wasn't the brightest in the lot, but, on occasion, that wasn't necessarily unwanted.
They had slowed the pace now, and Severus carefully placed one foot in front of the other, blindly feeling the uneven ground while his eyes accommodated to the darkness.
A foreboding feeling seemed to be tingling his stomach. The plan was a wild bet at best. What was worse, it relied on Black following instructions. And expecting Black to do as told, was — well, simply a bad idea. If Severus had had his doubts before, now he had the absolute certitude that he should be anticipating disaster.
He came to a halt before the forlorn wooden lodge. It looked like something that had once welcomed travellers and housed summer camps but was now abandoned and had been so for a long time.
For a long while, he found he could only stare at the moss-covered door that led inside. He hadn't credited until now how gut-wrenchingly nervous he was. Blood pumped in his chest so hot he did not feel the frosty wind around him anymore, and his stomach was churned to a knot.
He drew in a cold breath and closed his fingers around the smooth handle of his wand. For a moment, he let everything sink in — risks, ramifications, his plan from end to end — and found he only had one conclusion to it: he wished he could kill Black with his own hands.
Another cold breath, feeling the grip of the wand. Well, there weren't many options left now, were there? His heart was pounding; his hands were steady, mind made. Unwavering.
It would end badly. Terribly so.
"Bellatrix," he said, his voice measured and even in the brisk cold air, "would you do the honours?"
The witch stepped forward to stand beside him, a dry smile on her face. "I did not hold you for a man of manners, Snape."
She was no longer wearing her Death Eater mask. But then again, why would she? She wanted Sirius Black to see her face as she sang his demise with her wand. She stretched her arm out at chest's height, wand in hand.
"Reducto!"
Blue light sprang out and rammed into the door. The wood creaked and caved in for a fraction of a second before the light exploded and smashed the door to dust and rubble. It wasn't for nothing that Bellatrix had a reputation for dramatic entrances.
Severus made his way inside the lodge, the scattered splinters crunching under his boots. The air was suffocating, and he held his breath against the choking smell of smouldering wood.
They were in a hallway, tight and shabby, a faint golden light coming from the room at the other end of it.
"This way!" Severus said and trotted to cross the corridor. Bellatrix followed, Yaxley and Goyle behind her, and with them, the troop of marching boots assailed the hallway, making the floors tremble to announce the wreckage that would come.
Severus stormed the room and cast a hex, blindly, before he could glimpse the target or register the surroundings.
They were in a dining hall, large, oblong and dusky. A row of sturdy wooden tables with stumps for seats took out most of the space; cabinets lined the walls, clutter crammed everything else.
At the other end of the room, the wall glimmered in a golden glow. It was a fire burning, probably. Hopefully.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are…" Bellatrix hummed in mocking dissonance as she slinked through the tight gap between a table and a rocking chair.
Severus tried to make sense of the source of light; his view was obstructed by a massive wooden bookshelf, standing tall near the far end of the room.
Bellatrix swayed with ease and elegance through the narrow spaces, as though dancing to a music of her own, her face glowing with the wicked delight that drawing on her prey gave her. Blue magic sprang from her wand, and a cabinet exploded to dust.
"Oh, come on, dear cousin, don't be like this."
CRACK! Another cabinet smashed.
"Don't be such a poor host! You've got visitors, darling, come out and greet us." CRACK!
"Incendio," Yaxley cast the spell from the doorway, and the many candles in a lamp, which hung from the ceiling, lit up. "No need to hide in obscurity."
There was a clatter ahead.
"THERE!" Yaxley shouted and pushed his way into the hall past Goyle, a jet of light already darting from his wand.
The magic crossed the distance to crash into the wall at the far end of the room, inches away from a dishevelled man with wild dark hair and moth-bitten attire — Sirius Black.