The monolithic stones towered above him, so high. They never failed to inspire awe in him, and not only by their size but with their secrets, so many secrets. He felt a certain kinship with the ancient structure in that sense, and even a bit of comfort from it. He would die inside it's ageless circle and his death would only add to the mystery of the place. One more ghost to haunt the darkness.
A long and elegant finger uncurled itself and prodded Severus in the small of his back, refocusing his mind on the outside world. He took a stuttering step forward, not having remembered stopping in the first place, and still gazing up at the stones around him.
"Keep moving......traitor."
Lucius.... a fleeting thought, accompanied by bitter memories and a familiar pang deep down in the most warded confines of his heart.
Regret. An unrelenting emotion. In considerable doses it consumes ones mind the way maggots can fully devour an abandoned corpse on a single warm mid-summer afternoon. Unfortunately, its pace is much slower, more gradual, and one must be alive to feel it. Severus was a virtual melting pot of regret, despair, self reproach, and despondency. Used too and in fact immune--or so he believed--to the myriad of side effects that accompany prolonged exposure to such a fragile mental state. Neglect of his physical appearance, he told himself, was due to a staunch and proud resistance of trivial social norms: he'd wash himself when he damn well felt it neccessary. And as for his pessimistic, obstinate, vindictive, contemptible and not to mention viscious demeanor, well...that all stemmed from years of being misundertood and an increasingly higher level of intolerance to the idiocy that surrounded him on a daily basis. Yeah, right, that was it. Wasn't it?
He passed soundlessly between the immortal monoliths toward the center where Severus knew It was waiting. It would know as soon as Severus stepped into the horse shoe of stones that he was alone, that he hadn't fulfilled his mission. It could probably sense that already.
As he neared the center and the altar stone he could see the Dark Lord, and felt the dense waves of hatred flowing from it's wraith-like form like body heat. Three feet before Voldemort he stopped, his legs unable to bring him any closer than that, and released the breath he'd been holding. Please allow me to stay here, say this is close enough.
A foul, rotting stench assaulted his senses, burning his nostrils, and fogging his mind with sickness. He allowed his eyes to close for a brief moment, allowed them a rest from the prolific disgust surrounding him. Memories.
Severus could vividly remember every detail (photographic memory be damned) of his initiation into Club Death Eater, the day he was stamped with a mark that would last until he was nothing but a rancorous mass of decay, and probably long after that. His soul had gone to the highest bidder at a price even he couldn't top at the time; signed, sealed, and delivered within the blood of his innocence. And though by now he'd become very nearly desensitized to all manner of horror and personal afliction, there still remained one thing with the power to shine through the effects of his most potent sleeping potions, to plague his sub-conscious even in its darkest recesses - and they were beholding him even as the thought was conjured. Each blackened pupil glaring at, in, and through him. Both swirling voids of total, sinful selfishness, the kind of emptiness he could so easily loose himself in, the very absence of soul. He nearly choked, barely suppressing the rise of sickly sour bile threatening to bubble over in defiance.
"Severusssssss," his name whispered, carried on the twirling motes of atmosphere, and tingling up his spine like a spider. So imperceptible to his ears that perhaps it was never really spoken at all, perhaps, but not. The half grin on the speakers face betrayed the truth, he had been officially addressed.
"You know why you're here.......don't you....Severussss?"
Breathe, keep breathing. Don't lose your nerve...... He steeled himself.
"Of course," a solemn affirmation.
Voldemort chuckled, a sound devoid of any living humor, the product of something undead.
He shivered. I'm not here.
"Good Severus, so very obediant," it paused, the one he refused to categorize under any sentient pronoun, resuming after a moments suspense. "So out with him, out with the boy!" The words flew forth in a flurry of spit and slather wrought with hatred. Severus flinched.
Breathe!
"Master, I apologize," he struggled for a reply, painfully aware of its futility. "I have failed to locate Potter's summer dwelling on such short notice, such material is highly confidential, perhaps-"
"Silence! Do you beggar me a fool Severus?" The Dark Lord glared, and Snape felt himself go cold, an icy chill skating through his bones. "We have an honest relationship don't we Severus? I can sense a liar you know. Don't you, Severusss?"
If Voldemort was seeking an answer to any of those questions, he was pissing in the wind. Fear had a vice grip on his vocal cords, while denial worked to wrap his brain up warm, secure, and safe.
I'm not here.
Lucius prowled around him, hovering on the fringes of his personal space, invading his aura just enough to be disturbing. His presence tainted the air, making it impossible to concentrate.
"Answer me, Severusss."
He struggled an intense inner battle, why in Merlin's name couldn't he respond. Was this how he wanted it to end? His final moments suffered in fearfilled silence, mind a miasma of panic and surreal resignation. Speak damnit-
"Talk!....wretch."
He fell forward as one knee was kicked from behind, jarring his thoughts and dropping him onto all fours in front of Voldemort. Sweat dripped off his face, pale from the sudden shock of pain. And once more he came close to vomiting.
Gathering composure, he attempted to rise, fearing the vulnerability of his current position. He made it to one knee, but had made a grievous error in losing sight of Lucius. Not a wise manuever, realized seconds after a binding spell rendered his limbs immobile. His eyes widened in surprise and panic, the groan of frustration at his own stupidity morphing midway into a harsh cry of anguish as he was kicked once more, this time in the back, and unable to stop himself from landing face first in the dirt.
That there. That's not me.
Stalking over, Lucius bent down, grasping his hair and yanked him violently back up to his knees. He winced at the pain, refusing this time to give his former friend the satisfaction of sound. He'd already made a great fool of himself, grass and mud all stuck to his face. Pleasant. His eyes darted to Voldemort, having perceived movement. The Dark lord drew near him.
"I'm very dissappointed Severusss. Consider my previous offer and generosity nullified. Your insolence cannot go unpunished," Voldemort bared his teeth in a once human grin, licking his incisors with a brackish tongue.
In a little while, I'll be gone.
"So goddamn hot when you're helpless on your knees, Sevey."
Severus chose to ignore Lucius' whispered comment, preferring instead to gaze through spaces in the gigantic stones at the horizon, the last he'd ever lay eyes on, this was the final and greatest moment of his life. Death. The enigmatic beyond. Resolve to remain dignified and stoical preventing a flinch of abhorrence and general revulsion when an icy hand grabbed his chin and began to squeeze. Under no circumstances would he relent. The grip on his jaw tightened. No matter what, no giving in. This would be his glorious moment.
"Open up, Severusssss. Or suffer."
No way in hell.
"Yes Sevey, do. Just pretend you're going to suck my dick. You used to love doing that, remember?" Lucius provoked.
That arrogant bastard.
"Fuck off."
Voldemort released him and stepped back, the nod to his captor not escaping the captives wary eye. He braced himself for the inevitable onslaught sure to come from Lucius. As luck would have it the elder Malfoy was feeling physically lazy and his patience was waning. A swift, but powerful blow to the side of the head was all he deigned to enact with his own latent energy. And chose, as Severus fought to right himself and stand up, the subtley spoken, always effective, and pleasurable to watch Cruciatus Curse, as a further means of abuse.
The thing about Cruciatus was that, aside from causing excruciating (hence the name) pain, it screwed with the mind. Nerves and synapses a jumble of confused and out of wack cell-ectric impulses, causing images, feelings, emotions and memories to flood from sub-conscious to conscious. And for Severus the agony of liberated repression was, by far, the worse torture implemented, ever. So he writhed and cursed and screamed himself hoarse, a lifetime of anguish clawing at his sanity, once more set free to wreak its usual amount of havoc. An eternity in a world of scourge--three minutes real time--later he threw up, and then promptly passed out.
He groaned, eye lids flickering. Hopefully someone had gotten the number off that train that hit him. And trust he'd have a word with who ever laid the track through his bedroom. He shivered and reached out to pull up his blankets clutching onto grass instead. Grass? Oh, what the fuc-
Severus gasped, inhaling saliva and choking on it when he was abruptly hauled to his feet, arms held awkwardly behind his back. His head hung forward as he coughed, but before he was allowed a sufficient breath, a hand lifted his chin forcing his head back and poured a silky liquid down his throat. He coughed again and was released, collapsing to the ground, his muscles like rubber--an after effect of Cruciatus.
"Did he drink it?"
"Yes, Master," Lucius purred.
Drink what? "Wha-what was....what did you...," he coughed again and staggered to his feet, glaring wildly back and forth between the Dark Lord and Malfoy. Growling he wiped spit and the unknown substance off his mouth with the back of his hand. "What the fuck did you give me?"
"Tsk, tsk.....language, Severusss," Voldemort hissed, waving a rot-encrusted finger in the air at him.
Rage boiled over, anger swelling to mass proportions and blacking out rationality, Severus launched at Voldemort. He'd strangle that abomination with his bare hands if he had to, drain it of life with ten well placed fingers, and he might have succeeded had another binding spell not ensnared his legs mid-motion. Once again he found himself toppling ungracefully to the damp earth.
"As much as I desire to end your miserable existence right now Severusss, you of all people should know how I do so love to play." And with a flick of his wand and a few soft spoken words, Severus was levitated at a speed that made his stomach turn and bound with enchanted cords to one of the many massive stone slabs encircling them. The irony of it all certainly not alluding him. How many deaths could he call witness to that played out in this exact fashion. Fifteen? Twenty? Possibly more? Fitting and yet the lump growing in his throat and the wettness collecting in the corners of his eyes betrayed an exterior of acceptance. In the long run he had failed and further more he wasn't ready. Hell was exceptionally foreboding when so near its boundaries one could feel the heat of timeless primordial fires.
Voldemort hovered upside down toward him, robes dragging across a world that was now below him. His face was flush as gravitys immense influence drew a considerable amount of blood to his head, hair dangling, arms splayed out on either side of him, legs clamped together. The reflection of the traditional crucifiction that the Dark Lord preferred. Lucius sidled up to him, leaning on the stone and Severus found himself nearly eye level with the other mans crotch.
"So Sevey...," God how he hated being called that. "How about a quick blow job for old times sake?"
He chose to ignore that question, fighting a losing battle with overwhelming emotions, but Lucius pressed further, twisting the blade he'd stuck in Severus' heart a decade previous.
"Say it Severus, tell me you love me once more before you die so I can have a good laugh. You do still love me don't you, Sevey?" He spoke the question with a pout on his perfect lips and a hateful glint in his eye.
And a funny thing happened, funny and revolting all at once--he said yes. He said yes!! His voice defied him and rather than the string of insults he had settled on, it blabbered the truth. The realization struck him like a bludger to the gut, there was certainly no question as to the identity of the potion they'd forced on him. Had Severus eaten that day he'd have surely done more than dry-heave at the wrenching pain in his chest and the utter humiliation he'd felt for having ever confessed his inner-most feelings to that ethereal demon. He swallowed hard, some escaping tears sliding over his forehead and into his hairline.
This is not happening!
Lucius went down on one knee and stroked Severus' cheek with deft and seductive fingers, he leaned close and whispered. "You haven't been laid once since me have you?" Lips grazed the shell of his ear and his body responded instantly.
"No," the accursed truth dribbled forth again.
"Aww, well I can't fuck you now, but I can have just as much fun with your corpse," the lips skirted his prominent cheekbones and a pink tongue darted out to lick a path to his mouth. All the blood that wasn't currently pooling around his brain rushed to his groin and when that tongue pushed its way past his own lips he responded, cursing his shattered will. A moment later Lucius pulled back, grinning at his victory, straightened up and strolled away with a chuckle.
The sob Severus'd been holding at bay erupted from his throat and had he not been hanging there helplessly he'd have saved Voldemort the trouble and slashed his own neck. The hatred he felt for himself escalating to a level out of space and out of time. Voldemort hovered nearer and so he begged, knowing it was a waste of the last of his breaths, but he was beyond humility. Death would be a grand relief.
"Now, Severus. You know I would never be able to live with myself without at least proving my suspiscions of your traitorous ways. And what better way than with Veritaserum. Some of your very own stuff I might add."
With that the questioning began, tears flowing throughout until it was impossible to cry or deny any longer and he answered them all in a resigned monotone. Chalk one up for good old Faith. He was empty. And he'd changed his mind. Now was as fine a time as any for reflecting.
The sun had been setting when he'd arrived. A very drab and depressing sunset in a monochrome sky all grey and mist. To the east moonlights reflection fought to penetrate the dense fog. It was cold and damp and miserable overall.
He had felt at the time that he could relate quite well with the atmosphere, indeed his mood was very much as drab and grey. As it always was when entering the presence of a wizard he despised, abhorred, and feared with every conscious nerve in his body. Each liason potentially his last.
He'd stood before Voldemort with more than the usual amount of foreboding. He could never claim to be a seer, but some things he could feel, darker things. He'd listened closely for his demands, and his heart had unwillingly elated at the Dark Lords first utterance of freedom. A task needed performing, one that would relieve Voldemort of certain suspiscions and secure him a greater chance of success in the upcoming battles.
Unfortunately, as it tends to do, reality snagged him back from dreams of freedom and releasal. He'd known, deep down, the price would be too high, and it had been. Not that he'd have accepted anyway, things were never cut and dry with the Dark Lord. Though he wouldn't deny that he had entertained the notion briefly; wondering how bad a world ruled by evil could really be. But no, he couldn't comply, he could only lie for the time being, agree to the terms, and perhaps fantasize later of accepting them. Trading Harry Potter for his freedom was a definite non-possibility, tempting as it may be.
s'it for now. Another section should be up in a week or less for those interested. Thanks and hoped you liked it.
'Breathe, keep breathing. Don't lose your nerve.
I'm not here
That there. That's not me.
In a little while, I'll be gone.
This isn't happening.'
All of the above are select Radiohead lyrics. A totally chill and awesome Brit. band I love. Rock on.