A/N: Shanna Seanachai, you guessed it! How did you know? And Morrighan, I just slapped words ogether..kasta is Old Norse, etymological root of 'cast.' With sortia I just kinda meant 'out.' Y'know, as in French? Auroro means 'shine like the sunrise' in Latin, as aurora means sunrise, one of which the word 'Auror' must derive from. So the spell's just a sublimated version of "Chuck out this Auror."
I Was Right
Chapter 8: Fair Exchange
This is not pain.
Pain is a natural defense, an alert for danger and damage. If a person could not feel pain, he could lose his extremities, such as fingers, without even feeling it. Without sensing pain, safety and well-being would be impossible. It is Nature's way of warning and informing every form of animal life, whether magical or Muggle.
And this was not pain. It was an abomination of the senses.
Snape dimly sensed he was on the floor now, cowering against a corner with the two Aurors standing over him. That he could think at all meant he was not under the spell just then, but the residue of torment continued to course intensely through his body, tearing through bone and muscle, searing his insides.
"What did the letter you received over breakfast say?"
"I already told you, it-" he said.
"I don't think so. Crucio."
An uncontrollable spasm seized his whole body, paralyzing him. The strain on his muscles was unbelievable. Soon bones would snap and sinews be torn..
"What did the letter say?" The voice came from high above, but also from deep within. The light from the lamp ripped into his eyes as he jerked from pain running white-hot through his body. And something was floating up from the darkest depths, something never meant to be recalled...
He scrabbled for it, fought the resisting mucus of his mind, and the answer came to him. It did not strike him as odd that it was a different answer than the ones he had given before--all he cared was that this might stop, he might be rewarded if this was right. It had to be. It had to be..
"It said-" he gasped for breath as his chest constricted unbelievably, robbing him of air. Redwood lowered his wand. Then the muscles relented, slowly relaxing from a degree of constriction they had never been meant for.
"It said, 'Severus, come immediately to London. Follow the directions below to get here. To any eyes but yours this letter will seem to say that Mother is ill in the hospital and that you must come to London to see her. Just to be on the safe side, do not let Dumbledore see this letter. We trust you will act with prudence and the utmost secrecy. We need your help. Sincerely, Septimius.'"
Redwood and Viridian looked like they had struck gold. Would they stop, now?
No. This was not what they were looking for. This was only a first.
"Did you do as the letter said?"
"Yes," it came out a dry sob. With the combined effects of the Truth Potion and the Cruciatus Curse, things locked under the Memory Charm came flooding back. How could he have gone, just like that? So trusting and gullible?
"What happened when you went there?"
"I..I.." Redwood had only to raise his wand slightly, and the words spilled out. "They put the Imperius Curse on me." They had given him a chance to do the job of his own free will. Knowing he had to get out of there, he had agreed, resolving to report them the moment he left the place--but had not counted on there being a mind-reading witch among them.
Redwood was unrelenting. "Why?"
"They needed me to make one last preparation for their biggest..prey. A grownup would attract more attention, and it was dangerous for them to venture from the house."
"Who is this prey?"
"Barty Crouch."
There was a sharp intake of breath. Redwood recovered first.
"And what did you do?"
Snape paused. How could he say it, when he couldn't even bear to think of it? The answer came in another bout of agony. Trembling one moment from uncontrollable cold, smothered by intense heat the next, he blurted it out.
"I went to the Ministry and killed a man...an aide, Terence Crockford." He could never remember striving so hard as he did then, trying to throw off the Imperius Curse. But his attempts at drawing the Ministry workers' attention had failed--and under Septimius' control he had found the man in an isolated hallway...Stunned him...and then...
"I cut off his hair for Polyjuice Potion, then killed him with the Killing Curse. I Disintegrated his body so he would not be missed. Then I went back to the house and had my memory modified." He spoke without emotion, not quite believing what he was saying. This couldn't be himself he was talking about...could it? Yet he saw the man's blank face, his look of slight surprise so clearly now. Please, he thought, Please stop..
"Crockford? Then we have an imposter at the Ministry...right at Mr. Crouch's side?" Redwood's voice was harsh with shock. "Viridian--contact the Ministry immediately." Viridian turned away, fumbling with his Auror badge.
He wasn't sure how much more interrogation he could bear now. He was completely drained, mind and body, and was dangerously close to breaking down or fainting. He tried in vain to stop himself from convulsing.
"What was the address Septimius gave you?"
"No, please--I don't know--" he couldn't take it any longer. He couldn't remember...the location must be guarded under an even stronger Memory Charm...he couldn't remember..
"Where was it?" And Redwood's voice took on an even steelier note, if that was possible. "Crucio."
Somebody screamed No, and the lamp shattered, the light fragments exploding, leaving only darkness within and without.
Darkness, and the abomination.
He woke with a terrible start, fear and dread such as he had never known coursing through his veins, threatening to implode his heart. Instinctively he raised his hands above his head, a futile gesture of self-defense.
He was alone. Fragments of a lamp lay scattered on the table and the floor around it, and one cut into his palm as he propped himself up.
He had vomited from the pain before passing out. His robes stank, and he was sick again from the smell. Leaning his head against the corner he retched helplessly, sickly yellow stomach fluid spurting from his parched lips because there was nothing else to throw up.
His mouth and lips stung hideously from the acidic liquid, and once his insides settled down he reached up to feel dry, encrusted blood--he had nearly chewed through his lips and the inside of his mouth. Had it been that bad?
He closed his eyes, exhausted, but could not sleep. He didn't know how many minutes, hours, or days he had been tortured--don't think about it--but he seemed to have babbled some directions to a place on(or under) Knockturn Alley at last, and Redwood had rushed out, issuing orders over his shoulder.
"Contact Agent Moody immediately. Collect as many men as you can, in plainclothes and other disguises, find that place and have it surrounded without the occupants knowing."
"But sir, it might be a ruse," Viridian had followed his boss out without giving a second look at Snape sitting hunched on the floor, limp and unresponsive after having passed out several times in a row.
"Not if they didn't anticipate our questioning the boy. They don't seem to have, judging from the hasty job on the Memory Charm." The voice had come from far away, and was cut off abruptly as the door clanged shut and the lock clicked.
Now, the sour taste of acid still in his mouth, Snape found himself wondering what time it was, and whether class had started. He had Charms first thing in the morning--he couldn't afford to miss that class...
Don't think about anything else, he ordered himself. Nothing happened. I only have to worry about classes and midterms. Nothing else. He thought very hard about human transfiguration, and his unfinished History of Magic essay. He was only a hairbreadth away from insanity, he knew, from caving in from the horror and--he looked away--using one of these glass fragments lying about.
And why shouldn't he?
Because--he groped about, trying to give a name to the one point of light still in his field of vision.
Lily. Because Lily is waiting at Hogwarts.
Breathing grew easier, though he still ached all over. Lily.
So concentrate on living, on breathing. Concentrate on homework and getting to classes, and on not looking at the glass pieces. What time is it? Flitwick will have my head if I'm late.
Severus Snape was more or less in one piece when he Portkeyed back to McGonagall's study at eight thirty in the morning, less than twelve hours after he had left. They had fixed up the places where he'd bitten himself and got cut on shards of glass from the broken lamp, cleaned him up, and given him fresh school robes. (Did they keep a supply around, he had wondered idly.) The workers there seemed strangely elated, though nervous, about something that was going on. There had been a flurry of activity...He steered his thoughts clear of that.
"Snape!" Professor McGonagall stood up, alarmed, when Snape appeared. Queasy and dizzy from the trip, he fetched himself up against her desk, gasping for breath.
Someone grasped him firmly by the shoulders and sat him down on a chair. He looked up to see Professor Baddock's face, white with dark circles under the eyes.
Both Professors looked like they had been there all night, waiting for him, as most likely they had. He felt suddenly and idiotically grateful.
"Snape, are you quite all right?" McGonagall looked faint and deprived of sleep, but still upright and severe. Again, he was insanely grateful--she was the same, before and after. She had not changed. Nothing has, he reminded himself.
"Yes, Professor," he said, careful to keep the weariness out of his voice.
"Did they question you?"
"What do you think?" He gripped the sides of his chair to keep from keeling over as a sudden and deadly wave of fatigue rushed over him. "That they took me away for dinner? Of course they questioned me--and made idiots of themselves in the process."
A short pause. "There will be a formal complaint," McGonagall said at last. "An inquest-"
"Forget it," Snape spat. "He won't try that stunt again in a hurry, not after the way he made an ass of himself in front of his inferiors." He had to lie; he couldn't admit what had happened, because he would then have to admit the things he had done--by his own hands, if not under his own will. Redwood knew that. He knew his dirty little secret was safe.
McGonagall scrutinized him. "All right, then. I won't keep you--you look dead on your feet. You may take the day off."
"No. I don't need it." Nothing good had ever happened when he was excused from classes, anyway. "I don't need rest."
"Then surely, a bit of breakfast.."
"No," he said with vehemence, before she could raise her hand to conjure food. The very thought of food turned his stomach. "They-they fed me. I'll go straight to class. Charms."
"Snape," she was looking at him with real concern now, as was Baddock. "Are you quite certain you're all right?"
"I'm fine!" He cried, and stood up, trying not to sway. "What do you care? They won't be using those blasted warrants, will they, Professor McGonagall? And Slytherin house is safe now, isn't it, Professor Baddock? All's well that ends well, as the Muggle saying goes. Now excuse me, I have a class to get to."
He left, closing the door behind him with a shaking hand. Everything's back to normal. Everything has always been normal.
But the shadows and dark nooks in the hallways had never seemed so fearsome, and the way to the Charms classroom had never seemed so long and difficult.
Next day, the Daily Prophet announced AURORS THWART MINISTRY OFFICIAL'S ASSASSINATION in huge, triumphant letters. The Evening Prophet had reported it the day before, of course, but only bits and fragments--this was the first full report for the wizarding public.
"The Aurors in the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement had intercepted information of a pending strike only two days in advance," Sirius Black read jubilantly. His voice carried all the way to the Slytherin table. The teachers didn't bother to make him quiet down--they, too, were too busy grinning, poring over the paper, or listening to him.
Except three of them, that is--Professors McGonagall, Baddock, and Dumbledore seemed subdued as they ate, Dumbledore's eyes without their usual twinkling light but gleaming with a different light as they glanced at his pocket watch once or twice.
"However, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement managed to obtain vital information at the very last moment: Aurors discovered that the plot was against none other than Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. At the same time discovering the existence of a Death Eater pretending to be Terence Crockford, Mr. Crouch's personal aide, the Aurors attempted to arrest him--but he committed suicide. Tragically, the real Terence Crockford was found to have been murdered and his body disposed of. The Aurors have vowed that this horrific murder will not go unpunished.
"The Aurors also learned the whereabouts of the Death Eaters who were planning the attack. Yesterday morning Aurors and Hit Wizards from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement raided the secret hideout located in Knockturn Alley, taking the Death Eaters by surprise. Four were arrested, and are currently in custody. Two Death Eaters were killed in the fighting, and three escaped. Several Aurors and Hit Wizards sustained injuries, none of them serious.
"Mr. Crouch praised the work of the wizards and witches in his department, thanking them both for saving his life and preventing the chaos his assassination surely would have caused. This triumph comes after a long spate of defeats against You-Know-Who, and the Ministry is confident that his and his supporters' winning streak will be broken after the loss of manpower, information, and morale they suffered yesterday."
Snape snorted as cheers and applause broke out across the Great Hall. Winning streak broken, indeed! Did they know anything of what they were against?
He had gotten a copy of the paper for himself and checked the names of those arrested-- none of them would know enough to give the Ministry any meaningful intelligence. From what he had seen, they were too low in the ranks of Death Eaters to be much of a loss. He had no doubt about the identity of the three who escaped. Now those would have been a catch, the two Snapes and a mind-reader, but the Ministry was too busy patting itself on the back to notice.
If he had any filial and fraternal obligation left, he would have been glad Mother and Septimius had escaped. But he had neither--not since they had used him as a puppet for their acts of violence and left him to the tender mercies of the Aurors.
He looked down at his food, what little appetite he had mustered gone. Obtained vital information at the very last moment ... Knockturn Alley... He knew how the 'vital information' had been obtained at the 'very last moment.' He knew why Redwood had been so desperate to break the Memory Charm in time that he had used one of the Unforgivable Curses.
Worst of all, he knew who had murdered Terence Crockford...
There was a cry of surprise next to him, and he was mildly surprised to see that his soup had become dotted with blood, and that people were staring when he looked up. He put a hand to his lip and realized he must have been biting it again, for it was bleeding.
"What are you staring at?" He snarled, and got up abruptly. Other freshly healed cuts were bursting inside his mouth, and he rushed outside, wanting nothing more than to wash out the foul taste of blood.
After rinsing his mouth several times, he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. There were blue-black circles under his eyes--the result of sleeplessness. The night before he had made the mistake of trying to sleep, judging himself to be tired enough after a day of classes. An hour and a half later, he'd woken half the dorm with screaming nightmares. Afterward he had thrown off all inquiries angrily and stormed down to the common room, where he had worked furiously on his History of Magic essay the rest of the night.
He had not gotten two hours of sleep since Redwood had gotten through with him. He didn't know how he would get through classes yet another day, but he had to. He couldn't have anyone suspecting...
He came out of the bathroom, retrieved his book bag from the table among the Slytherins' stares, and had just emerged from the Great Hall when he caught the most unwelcome sight imaginable.
Redwood.
He stood in the hallway, surrounded by Potter and his cronies, and Lily.
"Professor Redwood! What are you doing here?" Potter asked, clearly glad to see him.
"You're looking healthy, James." Redwood flashed a smile. "I came to see Professor Dumbledore--we have an appointment."
"We read about yesterday's raid," Black said, as excited as an overgrown puppy. "It was all over the Daily Prophet!"
"Oh, yes. Reporters haunted the Ministry all day yesterday. They were harder to get rid of than the Death Eaters," Redwood chuckled.
"Could you tell us about it?" Lupin asked, his voice quiet yet elated.
"Just one big confusion, really--it was an inferno of dueling, Death Eaters leaping out everywhere. We were lucky not to have lost any men."
"I heard Frank was apprenticed under you. Was he there, too?" Asked Potter eagerly.
"Ah yes," and Redwood's voice became slightly more somber. "He saved my life yesterday, and those of several others. He was also a tremendous help in the action...I expect he'll be promoted out of his apprenticeship any day now. Powerful wizard, Longbottom, and sound principles..."
"Man, I can't wait to graduate!" Black burst out. "Kick some Death Eater butt and all. Frank's getting all the action!"
"Easy, Padfoot," laughed Potter. "I imagine there'll be more than enough butt to kick in your turn." There was a slight lull after this statement, but nothing could really dampen their spirits for long. They had had too little to celebrate as it were.
"Were you or Frank hurt, sir?" Lily asked concernedly.
"I've got a little something to remember yesterday by," Redwood laughed, patting his upper arm, "and Frank got a scratch, too. But like the Prophet says, there's no one seriously injured on our side."
Snape, watching as if transfixed, mentally shook himself. He wasn't afraid of old Scarface. He'd show them. He went over to them.
"Consorting with your admirers again, Potter?" He sneered. "Gloating, eh? Potter must always bask in glory, even reflected glory, musn't he."
"Get lost, Snape," Potter replied.
"Well, I'd best get going, now," said Redwood easily. "Dumbledore must be expecting me."
Snape looked disdainfully his way, as if noticing him for the first time. "Oh, you," he said. "I wasn't expecting you, Agent...Redwood, isn't it? What are you doing in school? Come to beg for your old job back?"
"Se-" Lily started to say, then changed to "Snape!" at a warning glance from him. "Professor Redwood is here to see the headmaster."
Ignoring her, he turned to Redwood again. "So tell me, Redwood," he said conversationally, "do you really believe you can make up for having your entire family wiped out if you save enough lives?"
"Why, you git-" Black launched himself forward, only to have Lupin and Potter hold him back.
"Get stuffed, Snape," Pettigrew said bravely.
"You," Snape hissed, "would have already run miles away if it weren't for your big friends. Now shut up--people are trying to have a conversation here." He turned back to Redwood. "Well? Do you cry at night, thinking of them, Ryder my boy?" He mocked. "Doing anything it takes to thwart the Dark Arts and to save people, trying to save your own soul?"
There was a brief silence. Ryder Redwood stood stone-faced and silent. "What?" Snape went on in the same mocking voice. "Cat got your tongue, like during those two years after your family all snuffed?"
"Snape, SHUT-"
Redwood held up a hand, silencing a furious Potter. "Perhaps you're right. I can't run away from the six-year-old that lost his family--but Snape, neither can you run from what you are. You can only fight it, if you have the strength. Now excuse me, please." He turned to go, Snape giving him a look of hatred that would make anyone who saw it flinch.
"You boys stay out of trouble--if that's possible," Redwood said, grinning, to Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew as he departed. "And you, Lily, I'll expect to hear next year that you've been made Head Girl." At which she colored brightly.
He disappeared down the hall, and Snape, with one last contemptuous glare in his and Potter's direction, spun around and left.
"Ignore him, Sirius," he heard Potter say. "Just ignore him. He's not worth a thought."
"He's gone too far," Black growled. "Someday he'll pay for this--"
Ignoring the other students' angry, disgusted glares and Lily's hurt and confused look, Snape went down to Potions, walking blindly as Redwood's words rang in his ears. Neither can you run from what you are... What you are...
What am I? He started, and his knife slipped and sliced into his finger instead of the wormwood root he was supposed to cut. He stared as the blood seeped out. He had dozed off again. It was terribly hard to stay awake. Then, remembering, he pulled the blade out of his finger, which started to bleed in earnest.
"Snape!" Zabini's horrified voice brought him back to his senses. "Staunch that cut and go to Madam Pomfrey immediately! What are you thinking of?"
Wordlessly he stood up, held a rag to the bleeding cut, and swept out.
He did not go to the hospital wing, though. He locked himself into an empty classroom and sat down carelessly. He performed a simple Wound-Closing Charm on the cut and watched it heal, though not very cleanly. He didn't care.
"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I tried." His eyes stung and his throat ached with threats of tears, but he clutched at the bloodsoaked rag and looked straight ahead, determined not to cry. "I tried not to be what I am," he said more steadily, though still in a whisper. "And I failed. I made a false promise--forgive me, Lily."
We need your help. Those four words on the letter from Septimius and he had flipped, telling himself that Mother and Septimius must really be in trouble, must really need his help. That they trusted him.
And if Redwood had not forced the information from him, made him betray his family, Crouch might well have died. The wizarding world would have fallen into pandemonium.
And he had killed a man.
He could make excuses day and night, but the fact was--the Imperius Curse could be fought. And he hadn't had the strength. Terence Crockford had died because of his weakness.
This was what he was--a creature of the Dark, everything about him, family, background, inclination, acquaintances, and now experience, pointing in one direction. The unclean taste of blood in his mouth, blood on his hands. Junior Death Eater, if you like, mocked Septimius' voice.
It was not a matter of decision; it was simply a matter of what he was, and what he would be dragged into. Defeatist as that sounded, he knew that now. The world was moving mercilessly, its cogs and wheels bearing down with crushing force--he was a fool if he believed he could defy the immense strength and bring his own will to bear.
Life is not a fairy tale, he thought, not even for wizards. He wanted nothing more than to believe Mother and Septimius would be caught or killed and he would have nothing more to do with them.. that he could beat all the odds and miraculously emerge the victor.. but somehow, he knew it would not be that simple. Knew, with the certainty of pain inflicted, and with forebodings born of concern for the first person he had ever truly cared for unconditionally and without twisted feelings.
He could not drag her into the shadows. He couldn't make her face the darkness inside that he had looked into.
He thought of this morning's Daily Prophet article and what he had been through two nights ago, and suddenly an inhuman cackle escaped his throat. He doubled over, unable to stop himself.
The exchange had been quite fair, after all--his hours of torture and a life. More than fair, as a matter of fact. The well-being of the magical community had to be taken into account as well, didn't it?
Ah, yes, and there was one other weight to be counted on the scale, one more trade-off.
"Good-bye, Lily," he whispered, and did not cry.