Admission of Guilt

by hollance

I always wondered why Severus went to Dumbledore with his admission of guilt and request to save Lily. There were plenty of other ways and people he could have given the information to without committing himself to a miserable life trying desperately to receive redemption and forgiveness from people he didn't like. Here's my take on what could have happened.

10. Chapter 10

I realised that my timeline was slightly out of sync with canon. Which isn't a major disaster as this is an AU but it was meant to be more in line with the original. Lily is now about 6 months pregnant (canonically correct). Ignore in Chapter 8 when I said she had a month to go- at that point it is about March/ April time in 1980. I will go back and change it when my PC is fixed and I can fiddle to my heart's content.

Thank you to me very patient Beta Excessivelyperky!

Admission of Guilt- Chapter 10

To say that Tobias Snape was worried would be an exaggeration. He wasn't worried. No... he was... mildly uneasy.

Yeah right! He snorted to himself.

He hadn't been able to see his boy. While usually this would have been a blessing, because quite frankly, they got on each other's nerves, that was before he got himself locked up in a fortress with literal soul-sucking demons as guards. Dementors indeed. Why not call them Monstrum if they were so keen on Latin. It would be more accurate. Not only this, but apparently they didn't feel that having said monsters was enough of a safeguard and so didn't allow visitors. They also didn't allow parcels or letters.

It did nothing to shake his belief that the wizarding world was seriously... just... broken.

There weren't even words at this point. In his head there was just one long incoherent scream. He just couldn't fathom how this society functioned. I mean... he had seen for himself that there was a judicial system and, you know... processes, legislation and rules, all the things that civilisation had. But this was just... this wasn't just punishment. This was... it didn't have a word. Not that Tobias knew of. It went beyond inhumane and came out the other end at heart-breaking.

So while he was worried that wasn't the main emotion. No. That was frustration and anger. They were old friends. Trusted and true when directed with purpose. It was with this frame of mind, this softly simmering rage, that he approached the ministry building. After weeks of searching and pestering and using his weight and height to loom menacingly he finally had the address of the Ministry. Because God forbid that a Muggle (stupid... stupid derogatory name, as though he were a different species. Didn't they know where that led!) would know where their government was! Not that it was a government, but everyone seemed to have forgotten the meaning of the word Ministry! At best they were a bloody department that had a few agencies under them.

So Tobias had privately donned on his union hat, so to speak, because it made him feel righteous and brave. But he also had sheaves of statutes (including the cleverly worded one about secrecy) the Magna Carta and the Geneva Convention (because if they were at war then it applied dammit) under his arms, because he was not an illiterate fool thank you very much and he would show them that they were part of the constitutional monarchy. If they denied it, he planned to use their bigotry to his advantage and use their surprise at his audacity to beat them around the head until they were too discombobulated to do anything other than agree.

He was privately a bit disappointed when no one stopped him at the door or in the entry when he asked... no... demanded to know where Amelia Bones' office was from a rather wide-eyed receptionist. Because if he was going to face the Minster it was only sensible to do it with someone present. And who better than the head of law enforcement if a crime (or miscarriage of justice- whichever banal term you preferred) had been committed. He also hoped that a witness would prevent his mind from being wiped out of hand. Little did he realise that he marched up through the lobby with such vigour and boldness that no one even thought to stop the man with the face like thunder, assuming that to stop him would be more than their pay grade despite his strange attire. Sometimes conviction is all you need after all.

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"Go away". She wouldn't normally be so curt to someone who she hadn't even glanced at. But she was able to recognise his shadow upside down, fragmented over scattered piles of paper. You just shouldn't be able to do that with people you saw irregularly at work. She frowned when he had the gall to tut at her. She didn't think anyone had tutted her since she'd been a trainee.

"So we're not even bothering with basic politeness are we?" The tone was light-hearted, but she detected an underlying strained note.

She answered his unasked question "I haven't heard anything." She jotted a little note in red ink before looking up. The trainee reports had come in and she had been alerted to some discrepancies that were... well, considering these were people that were meant to uphold the law, it was worrying. She had wanted to compare them for herself before speaking with Moody and Croak. The rising annoyance she had initially felt at Professor Spleen's interruption faded as she noted the genuine worry in his expression. Suppressing a sigh as she contemplated the amount of work she was not doing right now; she shuffled the papers to one side. She resigned herself to relying on their less than impartial judgement about Black and Potter.

"The List..." Spleen murmured in an undertone, idly leaning against the edge of her desk.

Force of will and decades of training to not change her facial expression were the only reason her eyebrows weren't currently halfway up her forehead. As it was, the only giveaway that she had been shocked was the hardening of her expression. Its immobility was almost statuesque as she let her thoughts race at how best to approach this. As innocent as this comment seemed, Spleen should not know about this List. It went beyond classified, which, since she had found out about it, had always disturber her. Even she only had partial access to a coded section, which made hers read more like a register. She did wonder who had full access but had never been able to categorically confirm her suspicions. She had the awful feeling that Dumbledore might.

A little knowledge could truly be more dangerous than too much.

She forced herself to reply in a bored and exasperated tone. "Now, now, Helbert, you know I can't tell you how the undergraduates are getting on. I'll give you the list of those that need extra training in basic healing at the end of the month. Honestly. I know you're keen but visiting me, but this much is taking it a bit far. Don't you have enough to deal with? You have a dragon pox outbreak on the wards, don't you? I'm not giving you my trainees so you can use them as Auxiliary Healers." If looks alone could convey messages, then his ears would be ringing right now at the sheer stupidity of him bringing this up in her office. She might be Head of Law Enforcement, but all that meant was that her office had monitoring spells either from rivals who wanted incriminating evidence to relieve her of her post, or trainees hoping for an edge. She went through her office daily with detection charms but that didn't mean she got everything. Usually she just relied on not doing anything important in her office.

"Ah. Of course. Forgive my tenacity. I didn't mean to impose." With a bow he gracefully swirled on his heel and exited the room.

She was far too professional to let out the sigh of relief she felt. Pulling the sheet towards her she had barely found her place before she heard raised voices in the corridor. Rolling her eyes because, honestly, she wasn't going to get any work done today at this rate, she rose out of her chair ready to read the riot act to whichever trainees didn't know better than to argue right outside her office. It was, therefore, a shock when she came face to face with Tobias Snape.

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Prior to becoming involved with the Snape case, Amelia had the usual number of dealings with Muggles. Her initial exposure to Muggleborns through Hogwarts had given her a rudimentary understanding of their culture as could be picked up through osmosis and casual remarks (Muggle Studies did not count- it was woefully out of date). Then in her role as an Auror with actual Muggles though instances of Muggle baiting or misuse of artefacts. Admittedly this had usually been to Obliviate them, or assist with cover-ups, but to do that she had needed a basic knowledge of their current affairs and social norms. She hadn't considered herself negatively biased, but she was quickly re-evaluating that opinion. Though even now she couldn't have told you whether her incredulity came from the fact that Tobias Snape was a Muggle or working class. She just had not expected him to be so, well... capable. Of course, it was doubtful if that would actually help the man, because did he honestly expect that Minister Minchum would surrender his authority that readily? He couldn't be that naïve, even if he wasn't to know the man was a hard-liner.

"How is Severus?" His casual question was anything but and some of the worry bled through, despite his attempt at unconcern.

Amelia pondered her response. Well, that was the crux wasn't it. How was he? If she could just answer that with some sort of convincing proof then he would go away, taking all of his challenges with him, because what Amelia did not need in the middle of a racial war against Muggles (because no one believed that this was about upholding traditional values any more, if ever they had) was a Muggle challenging the very authority of the Ministry of Magic.

Biting her cheek, because she could do that without changing her expression she wondered how to reply. 'Alive' obviously was a good start, but after that? Well, the truth was she had no idea. She could tell him that he wasn't injured or ill- no deceptively cheery asterisk next to his name on the register. Other than that... well... she knew as much as he did.

"Prisoner welfare is the concern of the International Confederation, Mr Snape. Our jurisdiction ends when the judgement is pronounced." She suppressed a flinch as he rose out of the chair, its legs clattering noisily against the floor tiles, and watched his irritated pacing. She could feel her patience wearing thin. Didn't these men (because of course Helbert had entered tagged along like an errant schoolboy on their way to the more or less private interview rooms) realise that there was nothing she could do now? Having submitted a strongly worded request to the Committee that the boy be allowed visitation from healers on medical grounds, she could do no more than chase up a response, which might in itself be detrimental. After all, the boy was a first-generation half-blood and his skills with a cauldron would be dismissed as schoolboy enthusiasm since none of his inventions had been published since his graduation. What possible interest, they would say, could she have in him unless she was a Sympathiser. Currently she had maintained her politically neutral stance and she planned on keeping it that way. There was more than one way to skin a Kneazle though... "Leave it with me gentleman. Mr Snape I will have an answer by the end of the week."

"What'll you do then? Since my idea's so bloody stupid." Of course, Mr Snape wouldn't just take her word for it and leave like a reasonable human being. She shouldn't be surprised really.

"I didn't say that"

"S'what you meant".

Well, yes it was, but it didn't mean he had to be so damn perceptive.

"Azkaban is a contentious issue in our world. I can pass these '' she replied, waving the sheaves of paper she had pried out his hands at the start of the talk "or copies of these to people who are lobbying for change, but in all honesty if I do this now it won't get listened to. Minchum hasn't got much longer in his post but he won't give an inch while he's there." Taking a controlled breath, because she refused to sigh, she carried on. "Professor Spleen can make more noise and I will talk to Moody, who can talk to people I can't." Not without drawing undue attention at least.

"Do you think that will work? I've already raised this as an issue." Of course, Helbert had to put his two sickles worth in.

"Yes, but that was out of concern for his health. The mark the boy had on his arm condemns him to the light, and he betrayed the dark." She held her hand up to halt the protest on Mr Snape's lips. "Neither side wants to give the other any satisfaction." And she thought that someone had been delaying the process, but that was just a suspicion. "Those that saw his memories saw how innovative his brews were. If we convince them that you need his recipes, his mind, to extort him as it were... well, more people will be receptive to that." Sad but true.

Tobias was still frowning with dissatisfaction. "Aye, well... that'll be nobbut a few visits. He's got two bloody years in that place. And why can't I send him a letter or two? It's bloody stupid."

Helbert replied before Amelia got a chance, which in all honesty was a good thing because she was forty minutes late for a meeting that she was meant to preside over, and her wand hand was itching. "There's no reason you can't pass any verbal messages through us... although we'll have to be careful. If he got caught with the letters. Well..." His wry grimace completed the unspoken answer. It wouldn't be them who paid.

Amelia barely waited for the nod before sweeping out the interview room, trusting Helbert to get their unexpected visitor out without a hue and cry. At least he was showing some sense of self preservation, Thank Merlin, Morgana and Paracelsus.

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Lily stumbled and put a hand to her taut bump at the particularly violent kick. It still caught her by surprise, although it was happening more and more. She was starting to get a recognisable bump now, although it was still small considering she was so far along. Petite, her Mum would have said. Idly stroking her stomach, she carried on painting the walls of what would eventually be the Fawn's bedroom.

In the end she had decided not to contact James. More because every letter she wrote seemed to emphasise the futility of it. She knew James well enough to know there would be no forgiveness. Not really. There would only be the facsimile of it, if indeed he accepted her apology at all. Instead she would always be viewed with suspicion. She'd had a lot of dark nights to ponder what that might morph their marriage into and had imagined it a thousand different ways. None of them had the easy carefree happiness of before though. In a blinding flash of insight, she wondered if that was what had caused Severus' parents to be as they were. Even though she had been unobservant as a child, or perhaps uncomprehending was a better word, as she had seen but not understood, she was now coming to realise that without a basic element of trust there would be no foundation for a happy marriage. She was unsure if James would try to reclaim the trust by being controlling and overbearing or if he would just view her as an untethered encumbrance and neglect her by being emotionally absent. She felt sure it would be one of the two because James had never been one for moderation, as his courtship of her had shown.

She did wonder if she should accept her fate as the consequence of what she had done, but then realised that it wasn't the sort of atmosphere she wanted her child to be exposed to. If Severus was any indication, it would not be an idyllic childhood. If James treated her poorly, he would not be discreet. His disdain for her would be obvious and whilst she could tolerate that from James, she was unable to tolerate the idea that her child might mimic this behaviour. But worse than that was the scenario where James' hatred for her bled over to the child. She could not bear the thought of her child having doubts about their father's love, or worse, knowing they didn't have it and that they never would.

There was another alternative of course. One that she pondered on those nights when the dark was almost suffocating. When she lay on the bed and felt insignificant and small, felt herself stripped bare of all artifice, her character exposed. She could give the child to James…

James… their father… but also the man who wouldn't go into hiding for their safety… who wouldn't take any precaution to protect him.

Oh, she analysed those thoughts. Because she was honest enough with herself on those nights to realise that she was not a selfless person and wanted this child above all else, particularly now she had nothing else. But she was a Gryffindor, synonymous with bravery and purity and goodness and above all she believed in those values. She could do it. She had already sacrificed one life. She could sacrifice this one as well. But only if she believed the child would have a better life. How do you define that? She truly believed that this child would be more loved by her than James, if only based on their actions thus far. But love didn't put food on the table or a roof over your head.

So she cried tears for the life she had lost anew, because there would be no loving reconciliation and it felt like she was making that sacrifice all over again with that realisation. But there was a new quality to those tears, which were acceptance and resolve. So when she had finished weeping she picked herself up and metaphorically dusted herself off. She still cried but it had a softer quality to it that spoke of the grief ending.

As much as she wanted to make a new life for herself here, there were still barriers to overcome, but she was nothing if not tenacious and she was coming to the conclusion that the adage nothing easy in life is worth having was true. Some of the local women terrified the trousers off her and her natural exuberance and cheerfulness hadn't broken their standoffishness yet. She had exchanged hopeful smiles and pleasant small talk with the younger women closer to her own age but when anyone heard her accent there was a subtle closing of ranks. She seemed to strike the wrong tone, either being too English or too middle-class. It set her apart and that was before they found out she was husbandless. Still, the midwives were friendly, and she had been given a pamphlet with some prenatal classes to attend. Hopefully she could make some friends there or if not then, perhaps when the baby was born.

They would have to accept her eventually. She just wouldn't take no for an answer, after all… she was a Gryffindor.

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Severus was no stranger to nightmares. Or so he had thought. Apparently his mind had been quite restrained compared to what it could have dredged up. He almost missed the days when he woke as a child shivering his way to consciousness under his threadbare blanket, or the times he had spent, more comfortably but equally sleepless, as an adolescent at Hogwarts, anxiously pondering his existence or ruining his eyesight through pouring over archaic texts. Then his dreams had been the cottage garden variety with the odd faceless monster or lurking dread thrown in for good measure… the occasional memory twisted beyond recognition.

What he wouldn't give to have a dreamless sleep.

He had taken to ranking his dreams. Purposeless, but if he thought about the ultimate existential futility of life he might as well roll over and die. It was a hollow sort of victory, but he had always taken a morbid sort of satisfaction out of remaining alive, even if just to spite those who'd derided him and would happily have danced on his grave. He had come to the conclusion that the dreams that were less graphic were more anxiety provoking but less horrifying, and on the whole he felt more rested when he woke from those. Perhaps it was because he was used to dealing with quite a high threshold of anxiety anyway.

Therefore he was a bit miffed, to put it mildly, when a siren that was eardrum wrenchingly loud to the point of stupidity, woke him up with a startled "gggnnnhhhrrr" that made him sound like a sheep being murdered. After making an impromptu headdress from his blanket, because it made him feel better, even though it did very little to dampen the sound, he sat on his bed and started to think about what had caused this new, needlessly startling, development.

Brow furrowing, he tried to reason. The noise made it so hard. You would have thought that he would have been immune to noise between his parents' barneys and trying to get homework done in the Commons during Hogsmeade Weekends, but the blitz sirens weren't a patch on this one. It was relentless.

Deep breath in… deep breath out…and hold…

The siren was loud… Wizards were able to communicate quietly over long distances… they had multiple means of doing so… so… why make it so loud? Answer… to raise an alarm instantly that would inform multiple people at once of an event… say an escape... or a fire.

For Circe's Sake

He scrambled to the floor and peered under the door. He didn't try shouting, he couldn't hear himself think, let alone hear a response. It surely couldn't be a fire, the place was too bloody damp, and he couldn't smell smoke. His hands scuffed against the rough floor and he almost laughed at his stupidity. This place was a fortress made of stone. Stone was famous for not spontaneously combusting. He rocked back on his heels… so not a fire. Maybe someone had escaped; lucky sod! Although the guards surely had better means of communicating that … Perhaps it was to alert the Dementors?

Well if someone had done the impossible the guards would presumably want to do a headcount. Probably a good idea to get away from the door then, he reasoned. He would have to forgo his usual routine in case he was caught unawares.

He was glad he'd decided against wrapping his head in his mattress, feeling it made him too vulnerable, when the door flew open. It meant he could see the guards that entered as he certainly couldn't hear them. Lamenting his non-existent lip-reading skills, he stood up and was about to walk towards them to get closer to hear what they were shouting when he froze, hands slowly raising in the air as the guard on the left raised his wand. Not knowing what else to do he stood uncertainly as they stepped towards him, stern and foreboding. Shuffling in place, dread pulled at his stomach and constricted his throat. He tried to calm his racing thoughts and think rationally. Evidently, they hadn't come to evacuate him, which meant one of two things. Either this was an official routine inspection or they had come to torment him. The noise could account for either. It would both alert prisoners and cover any… sounds.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to bend his head in supplication and stretch his arms further in an effort to placate them, even though it exposed his sides and made him feel vulnerable. They looked a bit trigger happy and despite evidence to the contrary he wasn't idiotic enough to challenge them. Besides, if they had come to torment him it would be over quicker if they thought him uninteresting. A lesson hard won by the Marauders' attentions.

In his peripheral vision he saw the older one smirk to the younger as he stalked around him, eyes weighing him up, finger idly prodding his ribs hard enough to bruise. Suddenly angry, he fought not to let them see his snarl. He knew how he was seen by these sanctimonious pricks who would gleefully taunt him for a bit of casual fun. Never mind that doing so was breaking their Oath. No doubt they had twisted their thoughts until they convinced themselves that they were upholding their duty by harassing the Deatheater scum.

Grimacing as he was poked once more in the chest, hard enough to leave a bruise and make him stumble backwards a step. It hadn't taken long for his already scarecrow thin frame to verge on malnourished. The food, unpleasant in the first place, was literally further fouled by the Dementors presence. He swayed only for other hands to catch and steady him. The grip was firm but not cruel. A pleasant surprise.

He was expecting the shove that pushed him more towards the centre of the room and so barely stumbled. He would not be riled by these petty men. Time seemed to stop while he waited for something to happen, and he almost sighed with relief when he was spun around to face the younger chap who was looking uncertain of himself. Knowing that smiling would be construed the wrong way he put on his best neutral expression. He was honestly starting to wonder if he should ask what they wanted him to do just to break the… well he would say silence, but it wasn't silent because of the monstrous wailing which was still happening, completely unnecessarily in Severus' opinion.

Keeping his eye on the younger man's wand he couldn't help but flinch as the spell was cast. Blissful silence blanketed the room and he couldn't resist the sigh of relief that escaped his lips.

"Scum". He wasn't expecting the shove from the other guard when it came and he berated himself for his mistake. He stumbled and fell, landing hard enough on one knee to make him whimper, before he was hauled up with all the care given to a sack of potatoes. He thrashed, jerking like a puppet with the strings cut, but the vice-like grip on his arms only tightened, making him mewl like a new-born kitten.

"No... you bastards..." The words were ripped out of him despite his earlier resolution to be meek. Chest heaving with indignation and fear, he supposed that it had been futile. He had never been one to back down. He had a bloody minded streak a mile wide that more often than not resulted in him being beaten bloody. He expected the blow that knocked him back to the ground. Tongue gently probing his now split lip he forced himself to stay where he was, nose grazing the flagstones.

"Get up!" commanded the older guard.

Slowly shuffling upright, Severus buckled as he rested his weight on his injured knee. He flinched at the hand that entered his peripheral vision, even though it only hovered in front of him, waiting to be taken. When he just looked at it suspiciously and didn't move it was slowly retracted, only to be replaced by the younger guard crouching next to him. "Come on…" he chivvied in an oddly cheerful voice.

Severus almost laughed. He wasn't on the floor out of choice. Still… It was surprisingly comforting to hear a human voice. He struggled upright, aware of the impatience radiating off the older one of the two.

"You can't wait for 'em… be here all bloody day… and if you try that with some you'll end up dead."

It was ironic that Severus agreed with him. Even so the reply "he doesn't look like much" stung slightly for reasons Severus didn't want to examine too closely.

"Well looks are deceiving… he's a Deatheater this one." He raised his voice louder as if Severus wasn't less than three feet away and could hear him perfectly well. "Aren't you, you prick!... Don't you look at the dockets? Any with the red marks on the door and you want to be careful. Anyway, we've wasted enough time. Turn and strip, you."

Severus whipped his head round in horror to face him. "What?" Mind racing his arms folded over his midriff protectively. Why the hell would they want him to strip… it… he couldn't… he wasn't attractive enough to… they wouldn't… would they?

"Turn. Strip. It's not hard… or is that how you got your jollies? Eh? On the raids?" The guard didn't wait for an answer, instead choosing to forcibly wrestle Severus out of his clothes. He wasn't sure whether to be glad he was in his long johns and robe today as they were a bit more heavy duty and less likely to tear from the rough treatment. The contrast from his trial couldn't have been more profound as the much coveted items were strewn without care on the flagstones.

Eventually he stood, nude, chest heaving, goose pimples lining his arms, watching as the guards cast charms to clean his clothes. Trying not to wince as they cast with far too much force. He bit his tongue so he wouldn't say anything, although the voice in his head was shouting in fury. Too much of that and his clothes would soon be rags.

As the guards turned, focusing their attention on Severus, he couldn't help but back away. Only stopping when his back grated against the stone. Unable to do anything else, he stood, trying to preserve his dignity, wide panicked eyes flitting from one to the other.

"Turn" was spat out with reluctance when he failed to move. He couldn't help but be annoyed by the tone, it wasn't as though he was given a leaflet on the rules and customs of prison, and he was willing to be obedient. Well… provided they weren't about to rape him he was willing to be obedient. Knowing better than to say anything his shoulder scraped against the stone as he begrudgingly turned his back, hating the fact that his legs felt like jelly and his stomach churned in dread.

He gasped as the cold water hit his back, but half of his mind was rejoicing that there wasn't anything worse to come. As the water pummelled the back of his head and shoulders he wondered how Azkaban had turned a shower, something that he had been wishing for as he smelt his own unwashed reek whenever he moved, into a sufferance.

"Turn" came the dreaded instruction. Well there was nothing for it. He would have to just hold his breath for as long as possible under the deluge. Maybe they would spell him dry?

Severus didn't look up from where he had fallen on the floor as the guards' boots trudged out of view. Coughing and spluttering he waited until he heard the rattle of the key in the lock before crawling over to his drenched clothes. Ghosting his fingers over the fabric an involuntary "fucks' sake" escaped. Why the hell couldn't they have kicked his clothes to the side or at least cast a quick drying charm. Pushing himself up he sorted through to find the driest items and laid them on his bed. Moping had never helped him in the past and he was determined not to give up so easily. Towelling himself off using his blanket he quickly shrugged on his long underwear, glad his robes had absorbed the worst of it.

Next time, because he didn't doubt there would be a next time, he would undress himself as quickly as he was able and put his clothes on the bed so at least they'd be dry. It would be a small victory if it worked. With a grim sense of satisfaction at having thought of a plan he draped his robe over the washstand. He didn't think for a moment it would get dry. Mildly damp was the best he expected. If he didn't catch pneumonia before the year was out it would be a minor miracle.

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Only a fortnight had passed when the guards returned. This time they came in silence when he was sleeping. At first he thought it was a nightmare. The door swinging open on its hinges was a common dream, but usually a dementor appeared… not a guard. He didn't realise he had woken until he was hauled out of bed and landed with a thump on the floor.

Severus was tired and he was lonely and he felt so numb. Not just physically, although his fingers felt like they had when he was a small boy and had played in the snow for too long and you only realised you were cold when you tried to move your fingers, but they wouldn't quite do what you wanted them to. His feet had permanent pins and needles. No, it wasn't just that. He felt like the Dementors had used up all his emotions. Apart from fear. He definitely still felt that.

He knew it was ironic that he had wished for human company a few weeks ago, but even that thought was devoid of bitterness. He just couldn't bring himself to care. He slumped on the floor and hoped his corpse impression would make them go away.

It didn't.

"You scum… you bloody… you bastard." The words were punctuated with kicks and Severus curled into a ball to protect himself from the worst of it. All he could hope was that they would soon get bored.

Eventually they left. As he had known they would. He crawled back onto his pallet and tried to get to sleep. At least the cold helped numb his throbbing rib cage. He let his mind drift, aimlessly wandering the well-trod path to his childhood and his potions and books, where he could find some solace.

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He didn't know what seemed to make him such a target through life. He had tried, God knows he had tried, to remain passive and pliant when they visited, hoping they would become bored. It wasn't always this bad. Sometimes they would complete the inspection with clinical detachment, giving curt orders in impassioned monosyllabic voices. At other times they would jeer and jest, invading his personal space as he backed away. The worst times, the times he had come to truly dread were the unscheduled visits that had no purpose other than to hurt him. They had been happening more and more often.

It sort of helped… in a twisted way… it gave him something to do… trying to figure out why they were coming more often to hurt him. He knew why… he was the "baby deatheater" who wasn't really a deatheater. He was readily available and he was safe compared to some of the other nutters in here he imagined. Even if they killed him he doubted there would be repercussions for them… it would just be blamed on Azkaban. He did feel a pang of regret at that… he was only 19… he didn't want to die so young. He hadn't lived yet.

When it had gone silent and all he could hear was the gentle plink-plinking of the blood dripping from his nose he raised his head, trying not to catch their eye. If nothing else he had learnt from his schooldays that standing up for oneself only encouraged a certain kind of torment. Some people seemed to take that strength as a challenge. A thing to break and overcome.

The guard roughly hauled him up by his shirt. "What did you do to people eh? Get a kick out of it, did you?"

He was so close that Severus could smell the lingering scent of chocolate on his breath. He said nothing. It was a rhetorical question. He had tried holding his unmarked arm out but that had only increased their ire. They didn't care he wasn't a Deatheater now. His head whipped round as another fist landed. This was far more than the usual beating. Something had got their dander up. It wasn't hard to guess something had happened outside… a person ill at home perhaps or a death. Although this felt harder and rougher than usual… perhaps a raid…such an innocuous word for the horror that had been described to him. And here he was, an easy target for all that pent up rage and fear and anger.

After the words "She was three" registered he stopped listening, although he couldn't help but hear. He wondered if his schoolmates had participated, or if it was older zealots. He couldn't imagine any of them doing that. Not Wilkes who used to tell raunchy jokes at the most inappropriate times just to get them to pull faces, or Rosier who fussed in front of the mirror endlessly until they had to physically push him out the bathroom. Mulciber had a more malicious streak but Severus had never seen him go after younger students, and he loved his little sister to distraction, always writing her letters in a careful, clear script.

Quite suddenly he felt angry. Pure roiling wrath warmed his gut, filling him with red hot fire. He was fed up with always being someone's punching bag. First his father in his drunken rages, then the Marauders for no reason at all. Couldn't anyone leave him alone for once in his life! They did not know him. How dare they presume he was some sort of paedophilic psychopath. All he had ever wanted was acceptance.

Severus bellowed in anger and magic tore out of him, wild and untameable. For a moment he felt exhilarated and free. He wasn't even paying attention to the guards' frantic flailing or the fact that his few possessions were whizzing around the room as if an angry poltergeist had decided to have a bit of fun. But it was soon spent, like a spark blown out by a puff of wind. Clattering and clinking signalled the end of the storm and the shrieks gave way to heaving breaths and an ugly silence full of the promise of retribution and anxiety. Slowly backing away he didn't register the Dementors behind him, so focused was he on the guards. He walked right into them, their skeletal fingers curling around his arms, holding him fast. It burned like ice against his skin, spreading from his arms to the top of his head and down to his toes. He pitched forwards, the voices that had seemed so loud a moment ago turning echoey and distant.

Ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss

When Amelia saw the list had an asterisk next to Severus' name she sent a request that Moody came to her office and proceeded to shout very loudly at him about his handling of the Swithers Case, whilst writing a message in the deliberately spilt coffee on her desk. It said simply 'SS *'.

Moody gave a curt nod, promptly yelled back at her about incompetent Greenies mucking up the investigation and stomped out her office.

At midnight she got the expected Patronus message.

Ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss

"Helbert" whispered a voice from a dark shadow.

"Circe!... Gahhh… I've just lost 10 years!" Professor Spleen lent against the wall, his hand still grasping his chest as recognition set in.

"He's been subbed."

He looked at her uncomprehendingly for a minute. To give him credit it didn't take long for him to put 3 and 3 together. "That shouldn't be possible! He doesn't have enough reserves to make a feather float."

She replied with a shrug. "Well apparently he does. Moody has managed to push for someone to see him on the pretext of assessing his threat level… tomorrow".

"Me?" He asked hesitatingly.

"They wanted Stibbins to go." Even whispering he could hear her contempt. "Luckily he declined. Suggestions?"

"Thebbs."

"Too progressive."

"There's only so many people at our level… What about Pel?"

She tapped her chin in thought then nodded her head sharply. "That'll work." Without even saying goodbye she apparated away.

Ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss

Pel, known more formally as Professor Pelszynski, suppressed a sigh as she looked through the viewing hatch. She had hoped that Moody's mutterings had been exaggerated somewhat but looking at the oblivious form slumped dejectedly on the trundle bed she very much doubted it. Lingering a moment to consider the most appropriate approach, whether to be stern and authoritative, or consolatory and comforting, she decided to let instinct guide her. Gesturing to the guard to unlock the cell and was unpleasantly surprised when he saw the boy flinch at the scrape and clank of the lock.

Making a mental note to inquire into that further, she stepped into the dank cell. "Hello Severus." After taking a few steps she waited where she was until the boy's hollow eyes inched their way to his. She suppressed the flinch at the emptiness as they met his gaze.

"I'd hoped to see you better than this." No response, no change in facial expression. Eyes watchful and weary. A shrug in response, if a millimetre rise and fall of the shoulders constituted a shrug.

She wasn't sure whether to feel pity for the boy or annoyance at his attitude. She walked forward, noting that at each step the lad seemed to cringe and curl inwards. Pursing her lips in thought, she completed her journey until she was crouching knee to knee with Severus. Ignoring the stench emanating from the unwashed body, she gently rested a hand on the boy's arm, which was thinner than prison food accounted for.

Without waiting for permission she gently pushed the sleeve up to reveal bruising "Tell me about your day Severus". She was only half prepared for the tears and stuttering with hesitant hands reaching, beseechingly for the comfort of physical touch without pain. Eventually, when the tears petered out and the stuttered confessions detailing the casual abuse of the wardens finished, she merely tightened her hug until the boy stopped shaking and his vice-like grip relaxed. As she rocked the lad, still more than half a boy, despite being a man in age, she stroked his greasy locks and hummed a half-forgotten lullaby from her own childhood. Waiting until the breaths became steady and rhythmical to set the boy, all skin and bones, down next to him, still firmly ensconced by her side.

A wave of her wand and her badger Patronus came gambolling out. She watched as the boy slowly held out a trembling hand, waiting for the badger to stroke himself against it. She knew from experience that he would feel a ghost touch of warmth.

Keeping a deliberately calm voice she spoke "I need to examine you, Severus, and I need to treat your injuries. Then I'm going to request permission to take you to St Mungo's for a medical examination." She waited for a response and was pleased when a small nod was forthcoming. Without wasting time for him to change his mind, she cast the diagnostic spell, wincing at the information. Malnutrition was the least of it. She fired off a battery of healing spells, but with the boy's poor health and magical depletion they didn't have much to work with. He would need to heal the old fashioned way for some of his injuries and a lot of potions.

When she had finished she turned to look him in the eyes. "I will be gone for an hour to secure the necessary paperwork. I will... Severus, look at me" She stopped when the boy let out an inhuman keening sound. Taking Severus' grimy face firmly between his hands she forced the boy to make eye contact and waited until he was quiet. "I will come back, Severus. I promise." She whispered earnestly.

Walking away from that room, from the dejected abused boy on the bed, was the hardest thing she had ever had to do in her career so far.