Severus struggled to open his eyes, his abused body reminding him with every small movement the severity of his condition, pain spiking in every nerve, and an incessant pounding in his skull that made it hard for him to focus on anything other than surrendering to sweet oblivion. He had waited until he could no longer sense a presence in the room before tentatively attempting to move his legs. His muscles screamed at him as he rotated his feet to encourage blood flow, and with a deep breath he grasped hold of the sides of the bed frame and used his arms to push himself into a seated position. The world spun around him in a wild arc and he slumped back hard against the headboard as a wave of nausea assaulted him and he fought to keep control of his body. As he heaved in some deep breaths, his mind taunted him of Voldemort's visit. His worst fear had come to pass, he had been infected with lycanthropy. By Remus Lupin of all people. Damn the man to hell. Greyback had expressed great delight when Voldemort had broken the news. No doubt relishing the thought of lording over a Death Eater, free to abuse and punish him however he saw fit. He had been the one to identify to whom he belonged. A werewolf was rarely wrong when it came to sniffing out their pack, and that of their rivals. Being marked by a traitorous werewolf such as Lupin would relegate him to a lowly position in the pecking order. Should he be unable to cure the lycanthropy, he was as good as dead. As soon as Voldemort turned his back, Greyback and his pack would hunt him down and savage him until they had torn every last shred from his body. Interestingly, the dark mark was causing a deadly reaction in his body, a defensive response to the aggressive virus Lupin had so eagerly shared with him, and despite everything, that intrigued him greatly. He was on borrowed time, faced with three equally unpalatable scenarios. Unbeknownst to Voldemort, there was a fourth option – if he could just get to his lab in time to retrieve his research notes and prepare a vial of the potion, he might just stand a chance. Maintaining his cover afterwards would be problematic but first he had to find a way out of Malfoy Manor before his condition, or Voldemort killed him in his enthusiasm to acquire his magic. He would have to think about how to explain himself, if by some miracle, he survived long enough to get to that point.
After he had caught his breath he resolved to get moving. Sweat started to bead on his forehead as he slowly swung his legs round and shuffled forward until his feet met the floor. A wave of agony rushed up his beleaguered muscles as he rocked forward and tested his full weight on his unsteady limbs. His knees buckled and he toppled sideways, grasping wildly for the bedside cabinet, only just managing to remain upright. His strength was rapidly deserting him – he needed to move fast.
He was shaking hard, and for the first time his state of undress became apparent to him. Standing there in just a pair of soft, dark lounge pants with his mutilated chest on full view was not going to do his health much good. Looking around the room he spotted a dark silken robe folded neatly upon a chair beside the bed and summoned it to him wandlessly, quickly spelling it onto his trembling form. The use of wandless magic in his current condition left him feeling drained and the familiar sensation of crippling fatigue returned with a vengeance and sent him staggering sideways into an ornately carved sideboard. He gripped it hard and forced himself to breathe slowly. His heart was thundering in his chest, his breathing rough and laboured. Merlin, he was in some trouble. Feeling as weak as he was currently was completely foreign to him and his body's inability to follow his command was frightening him. He utterly detested appearing weak. After a long moment he released his death grip on the sideboard and weaved slowly and unsteadily towards the fireplace. Someone had set a fire and charmed it to maintain a constant temperature so as not to overheat the occupants of the room. Narcissa, no doubt. She had always had a soft spot for him. There was a bone china dish in a particularly garish peacock design on the hearth containing what looked to be floo powder and he headed towards it. As he finally reached the fire, he reached out to support himself against the mantel and looked into the enormous gilded mirror that hung above it. He wasn't at all surprised to note he looked like death, his dark eyes burned with fever, the skin under his eyes marked with dark circles. Sweat dotted his brow and was beginning to dampen the long hair about his face as it tracked a trail down his pallid cheeks. He took an unsteady breath and as he did so was startled to hear a voice issue forth from the mirror.
"You do not look your best Mr Snape, would you like a glamour to make yourself more presentable? Dinner is to be served shortly," came a honeyed, sycophant voice. How very Malfoy, he thought, and how utterly absurd. He raised an eyebrow imperiously, and was delighted to see he could still manage that, at least.
"That won't be necessary, I am not staying for dinner," he muttered back.
"As you wish, Sir, I shall inform your host that you are currently indisposed," the mirror replied.
"NO!" he barked, rather more loudly than he had intended and promptly cast a muffliato over the charmed mirror. Instantly he realised it was too late. In the distance he heard the unmistakeable tinkling of the service bell out in the hallway, followed by the clatter of feet heading in his direction. He looked about wildly. There was no way he could attempt apparition in his current condition, even if the Malfoy's allowed it. There were strong anti-apparition wards throughout Malfoy Manor and its surrounding grounds that were lowered only on Voldemort's direct command. The Dark Lord was not keen on unexpected guests. The footsteps were drawing nearer. They were solid, heavy – not the dainty step of Narcissa or the flouncing gait favoured by her husband. Fuck.
Making a split-second decision, he reached blindly for the bowl of floo powder, accidentally unbalancing himself and sending himself crashing to the ground. Cursing under his breath, he snatched a fistful of the green powder and flung it into the fire, muttering an address as he did so. As the fire sparked green, he hastily tore a strip of material from his sleeve and whispered a charm into it before thrusting it into the flames and releasing it.
As the fire flickered back to normal, the door slammed open with a resounding crash. He couldn't risk being found beside the floo – clearly he had no obvious reason to be there other than to communicate with someone outside of the Manor, and he couldn't risk being exposed with no means of defending himself. Had he been in his normal form and armed with his ebony wand, he would've chanced overpowering them but to do so now would be mindless. Malfoy was a lot of things but he was no fool and his total lack of a believable explanation for his current position would be instantly suspicious. He gritted his teeth and swiftly slammed his head violently against the marble hearth. As he felt the skin above his left eye split open, stars exploded in his eyes and the darkness rushed up to greet him like an old friend. In the moment before oblivion sucked him under, he heard panicked shouts about him and felt a warm hand pressed against his throat. He could feel the hot sensation of blood making its way steadily down his face and into his mouth and as he began to choke he dimly wondered whether he might have overdone it…then there was nothing.
"Oh do stop fussing, Albus! It is a mild knock, that is all. To tell the truth I am more embarrassed at being outwitted by a Malfoy than anything else!" Minerva winced as she pressed the compress against the rapidly darkening bruise above her temple. Poppy was sat beside her, holding an identical compress to a matching bruise on her cheekbone, whilst Hermione paced restlessly behind the tall form of Dumbledore who was regarding the two witches worriedly. Hermione had raised the alarm by patronus whilst she revived the two witches and made them more comfortable. Tear tracks still stood out on her cheeks but she was no longer tearful, she was furious. At Draco, at Lucius and especially herself – for being so stupid, for letting Severus down by falling for such an obvious ploy.
"Do sit down dear, you are making me dizzy with your constant pacing," groused Poppy.
Hermione ceased her pacing and nodded mutely. Dumbledore cast a critical eye over her.
"I trust you are unhurt, Miss Granger?" he enquired gently.
She returned his gaze, "I am fine. I wish the same could be said of Severus."
"We will find him. Severus is nothing if not resourceful, he will find a way to communicate with us, if we are unable to reach him first, that is. Did you hear Lucius name the destination when he activated the portkey?" he pressed, his eyes suddenly intense as he regarded her.
"No, he was too far away and I could see very little from my position. I can only assume it was Malfoy Manor, given that he was taken by two thirds of the Malfoy family," she retorted with more ire than she intended. Dumbledore did not flinch.
"I understand you are angry, Miss Granger, that you should be taken advantage of in such a despicable way, but this is not your fault. You did what you thought was right in a very difficult situation." He soothed, "Can you recall if Severus was conscious? Did he say anything to Malfoy?"
Behind Dumbledore's shoulder, Hermione saw Poppy roll her eyes in exasperation and she couldn't help but recall all the mediwitch had told her before Severus had been taken. Suddenly the tall wizard before her who had once inspired such awe and admiration appeared nothing more than a manipulative fraud, insincere and cold. He just wanted to know if Severus had compromised his position as his spy. She averted her eyes from his piercing gaze and cleared her throat.
"All I care about is getting Severus back before it is too late. We were no closer to identifying the cause of his deterioration and he was worsening when he was taken. We need to act –" she replied fiercely.
"Miss Granger –" Dumbledore began but was cut off by a sharp crack of apparition and the abrupt arrival of a house elf clad in St Mungo's livery. She stood proudly, proffering an official looking letter, her eyes as large as saucers as she implored the headmaster to take it.
He bent down towards her with a small smile as he accepted the letter, "Thank you, er?"
"Mabel, Sir!" replied the elf with a small curtsey. She watched as Dumbledore tore open the envelope and scanned the contents rapidly. His face grew ashen as he finally finished and busied himself carefully folding the crisp white paper . He sat down heavily in a nearby chair and leant backwards, his face turned to the ceiling. The house elf nodded grimly and promptly vanished with another sharp crack.
Hermione looked at the old wizard in alarm. He said nothing, but had closed his eyes and was wearily rubbing the lids as he took some steadying breaths.
"What did it say, Albus?" Poppy prompted.
The headmaster let out a heavy sigh.
"Henry had special dispensation from the Ministry to accelerate Severus's test for lycanthropy. Under special licence, the test can be completed within an hour using a rapid detection solution, rather than the standard five days. How the Ministry became aware of this I have no idea – we had been so careful. But once they knew of the possibility of someone contracting lycanthropy they will have been compelled to act, especially someone like Severus. They could hardly have the student body of Hogwarts taught by a potential lycanthrope."
The irony of his words was not lost on Minerva and she let out a bitter laugh.
"Good heavens Albus, who would let a werewolf teach at Hogwarts, pray tell me what madman would allow such a thing?" she retorted tartly.
Dumbledore did not respond, and when he raised his eyes to hers she immediately recognised the bleak message in them. His voice was a mere whisper when he finally spoke.
"Severus has tested positive for lycanthropy, Minerva. The Ministry have ordered his immediate capture and incarceration until his condition can be fully assessed." He rose to his feet, "So in answer to your question, I am that madman." He gave her a sad smile before dropping the letter into Poppy's lap and turning to face Hermione.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, tears glistening behind the half-moon glasses Hermione had once found so endearing, "this is all my fault."
Harry stared in frustration at the complex formulas in The Halfblood Prince's annotated copy of Advanced Potion Making. Not for the first time, he was wishing he had paid more attention to Snape when he had lectured them on the finer points of potion making. Merlin he could really use Hermione's help right now. He leaned back in the old kitchen chair and rubbed his face wearily. What had started off as a promising idea had quickly faded as he realised he was held back by his own lack of skill in the field. He had turned to the annotated copy of Advanced Potion Making in desperation, praying there would be a clue on how to help Snape. He was sure that his condition was something to do with the dark mark, that something within it was preventing him from recovering. Dumbledore had alluded to it in the infirmary but Harry had got the feeling from somewhere else entirely. He didn't want to acknowledge the source of the information but he knew beyond all doubt, that he was on the right track. The fact that his scar had seared with pain as the revelation came to him was something he would keep to himself, for now at least. It would appear that he and Voldemort finally had a common goal – a desire to save Snape's life. When he had told Hermione he had a plan he hadn't told her he was planning to use his connection to Voldemort. She would never agree to it and he knew how much she worried about the increasing frequency of these links. He was almost certain Voldemort knew how Snape could be saved.
He was startled from his thoughts as the floo suddenly flared to life and a pale, trembling hand appeared to reach out of the flames towards him, a small shred of black material clenched in its fist. Harry surged to his feet, drawing his wand as he moved and edged closer to the fireplace. The fist opened and the scrap of material floated down onto the floor before the hand disappeared back into the flames and the eerie green glow that accompanied a floo message vanished. Cautiously, Harry knelt to retrieve the shred of fabric from the grate. It appeared to be blank. How odd. He turned it over in his hands, checking both sides. Both were unmarked. He gently laid the fabric onto the table and tapped it with his wand, "Revelio." At first nothing happened, then suddenly the cloth became ablaze with a series of magic runes that glowed in myriad colours. Harry's understanding of runes was basic at best. Hermione was the only person in their year who had shown any interest in runes – Merlin, he REALLY needed to speak to Hermione. As he made to stand up, Lupin entered the kitchen breathlessly, wand drawn.
"I thought I heard the floo –" he cried.
"You did. It's the strangest thing – a disembodied hand dropped this scrap of fabric and then vanished! It's covered in runes but I can't read them, do you know how to?"
Lupin leant over the table, moving his head closer to the fabric. He scanned the runes once, then a second time and finally looked up.
"To even activate the floo here it would need to be someone in the Order to evade the fidelius charm protection. The only people I can think of who would know runes well enough to compose a message like this are Dumbledore and Severus. As they are both at Hogwarts, and Severus is comatose I cannot see that it was him, and why would Dumbledore send a message that nobody else could decipher?" He turned the fabric over in his hands and his eye was caught by a particularly distinctive rune, "Aha!" He pointed excitedly at the vibrant purple rune, "I have seen this rune before, in Snape's office. I'm unsure of its meaning, but I seem to recall Dumbledore once referring to Severus as a Prince?" He traced his finger over a section of the rune and it flickered slowly, changing shape to a cursive P. It reverted back to its former shape when he removed his finger. "P, for Prince? Harry, I think this message is from Professor Snape!"
Harry shook his head, "No, it makes no sense – Snape is safe in the infirmary at Hogwarts, he would have no reason to send a coded message with Dumbledore so close by. He could tell him personally. Besides, the last time I saw Snape he was barely clinging onto his life, let alone decorating pieces of fabric with secret codes."
Remus tapped his face thoughtfully, "Unless - what if he isn't at Hogwarts?" he looked down at the fabric again and tapped a small section of runes beneath the distinctive purple rune, "I cannot read it all, but see here? This series of symbols reads 'Secure, fading, distraction?" He shook his head, "I wish I had paid more attention in Ancient Runes," he grumbled. Harry offered him a sympathetic smile.
"Don't tell me, Snape excelled at runes?" Harry murmured as he peered over the runes again.
"He excelled at everything," Lupin replied distractedly.
"Except being likeable," announced Sirius as he strode into the kitchen. "He especially excelled at being an obnoxious git." He pushed a swathe of curly hair from his eyes and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier – just the mention of that man's name does something to me that I cannot control."
"It's okay, I understand – but he is a member of the Order, and more importantly, Hermione loves him. I'm doing this for her. You need to understand that." Harry replied levelly, taking his eyes off the fabric temporarily to look at his Godfather. He had the grace to look embarrassed but Harry doubted he'd admit it.
"Listen, I came down here to – wait, what is that?" Sirius noticed the scrap of fabric for the first time and took it from Lupin's hand. He scanned the glowing runes before turning to Lupin "Can you read it?" he asked.
Lupin shook his head. "I can't, but I believe it may be from Severus. Which of course makes no sense as –"
"I think it makes perfect sense, Remus." He exhaled heavily, looking somewhat torn. "He also excelled at being a clever sod. Sending rune messages is just the type of thing he'd do." He ran a hand through his hair as though debating something before sighing, "Look, I wasn't sure whether to tell you but Phineas Nigellus returned to his portrait a few minutes ago. He was shouting for Severus, I mean, properly yelling. The old git wouldn't tell me why until I threatened to douse his painting with turpentine."
"And?" Harry pressed urgently.
Sirius raised his eyes to meet those of his Godson. "He said Snape was abducted from the infirmary earlier by Lucius Malfoy and that they have no idea of his current whereabouts."
Harry snatched up the fabric, "Then this is from Snape! It's telling us where he is – we have to get this to Dumbledore!" he cried, wasting no time and heading straight towards the fireplace.
"Are you coming Remus?" he called over his shoulder. He tossed a handful of floo powder into the flames and in an instant the two men had stepped into the grate and were gone.