"Who is he?" More voices again.
A snort. "Damned if I know. Rushed in here not ten minutes ago blathering about Death Eaters and You-Know-Who. Told me to get someone from the Ministry here immediately."
"You have no idea who he is or where he came from?" The voices were multiplying, the words piercing the dark shield around his consciousness and slamming themselves around the inside of his skull.
"Not his name, but...look at his arm." There was the sound of rustling cloth and cool air hit the inside of his arm.
"What's going on he- oh." A new voice joined the other two, this one oddly familiar.
"You know him, Albus?" The first rough, gravelly voice again.
"Hm...I believe I may. Can you wake him up?"
Suddenly, he was startled out his of his half conscious state by a shock of cold water hitting him full in the face. He tried to sit up but groaned as the pain in his head forced him back down before he rose more than half an inch. He struggled to open his eyes.
"C'mon, up with ye!" A stinging slap to the face brought him fully awake, the sheet of water on his skin intensifying the blow tenfold.
"Easy, Alastor." It was that familiar voice again.
"Dammit, Albus, he's got the Mark! He's one of them, don't tell me to go easy."
Slowly, he opened his eyes, wincing as the light hit them. Blurred shapes came slowly into focus. First, a wild eyed man who's glare hit him with more intensity than the cold water had. Behind him stood another man, tall and thin, clutching his wand with nervous fingers. And kneeling on the floor beside him, leaning over him in a manner that could only be called concerned, was a face as familiar as the voice he had heard. "Professor-"
Albus Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully as he regarded the young man on the floor.
"Hello, Severus."
* * *
"You know this boy, Albus?" the first man growled.
"Yes, quite well, actually. Used to be a student." There was distracted pain in his voice. "Severus Snape."
"Let me guess, Slytherin." The contempt in the voice was withering, but it was the hurt and soft accusations in Dumbledore's eyes that made Snape cringe.
"Professor." He paused, feeling his voice catch in his throat. What was he doing? He was a Death Eater, powerful, merciless, young...too young. "Professor, I'm sorry- I failed you again-" He was cut off abruptly by the wild eyed man.
"Shut yer gob," he hissed, leaning down low so he could meet Snape's eyes. "You ain't worthy of a damn thing this man's got to say, hear me?" A hand wound slowly around his throat. "I should just strangle you here and now, you little snake. Wouldn't be any great loss, one of your kind."
Snape whimpered as the hand constricted around his throat. He clutched desperately at the unyielding flesh as the world swam before his eyes.
"Alastor Moody!"
Dumbledore's voice seemed to bring the man back to his senses. He let go Snape's throat and stood, still glaring. The nervous looking man behind him stepped forward and spoke for the first time.
"You know we've got to do something, Albus. He is a Death Eater after all. The mark on his arm proves that."
"I do indeed." Albus turned his eyes back to Snape. "Yet he came here for a reason, did you not, Severus?"
Snape nodded. The memories, they all came back full force. The child's wailing, her mother's screaming, the cold, silky voice, the choice that was no choice at all but was instead two kinds of death bottled up by his own hand. The laughter. The silence.
"She's dead." Snape buried his head in his hands and sobbed. "She's dead, Professor, and it's my fault. He told her she could chose, that they would let her go back home with her parents, set them all free but she had to chose. She was only seven, Professor, too young to know that it was all a game, that she could only lose. Two bottles, two deaths. She chose, they made sure she chose wrong. She died, it was all my fault she died. I brewed those potions myself when HE asked me to." He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to blot out the sight that was ingrained into his mind. "I'm sorry, oh, God I'm so sorry. It wasn't quick."
Someone grasped his shoulder, shook him roughly. Dumbledore was still looking at him, those blue eyes hiding an infinite sadness. Moody was still shaking him. Something inside him broke. He looked up at Dumbledore, heedless of Moody's hand on his shoulder.
"The Kiss," he whispered, tears flowing from his dark eyes. The Kiss. Please, God, I can't live with this, I can't live with the memories. Please, Professor, it's all I deserve. Please-"
"Albus-" The nervous looking man was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, toying with his wand. "We have to do something. But God, he's just a boy. I don't know-"
"He just admitted to the fact that he helped kill an innocent girl, Jordon, and you can bet he's done a lot more than that. I say we just throw him in Azkaban." Snape shuddered at the cold words.
"This true, boy?" the nervous man asked sharply. Snape could only nod dumbly.
"There, you have it from the boy hisself. What more do you want? See if he's got names and throw him to the Dementors."
Dumbledore raised a single hand. "Let's not hurry into doing something drastic," he said. "Perhaps this is a case that we should take some time over..."
"Don't let your sentimentality get the better of you, Albus," Moody growled, but Jordon interrupted.
"Albus may be right," he cautioned. "This is a highly unusual case. A young boy with the Dark Mark on his arm comes running in here ready to confess and begs for the Dementor's Kiss?" He shook his head. "Although I'm inclined to agree with Moody as well. There's so much in the works right now that there's little time to spare for anyone. The boy can wait until we have more time to review his case." Moody snorted.
"Fine, but he can wait in Azkaban. On yer feet." Moody hauled Snape unceremoniously from his position on the floor onto his less than steady legs and shoved him towards a wall. He reached out reflexively to keep himself from crashing into the wall with his hands. As it was, the impact knocked the breath out of him. He glanced back: Dumbledore was deep in conference with the man Moody had called Jordon.
"Sniveling coward," Moody hissed in his ear. Snape shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. "Dumbledore seems to trust you more than I'd give you credit for but I'll go along with it. This time." He reached back and grabbed a handful of Snape's shoulder length hair, right at the nape of his neck, and yanked his head back so far Snape thought he would gag. Tears of pain and fear stood out in his eyes as Moody pressed the tip of his wand against his taunt throat. "You're nothing but a damned snake. If you try one damned thing, I swear I'll make sure that you won't remember a life without pain. The word 'crucio' will be the first and last thing you hear before you die."
Snape nodded as best he could considering his position, and Moody let him go. He wrapped his thin arms around himself and huddled closer to the wall, fighting back tears and nausea. The girl's screams still echoed in his ears along with that cold, cold voice-
Dumbledore finished his conversation with Jordon, cast a glance at Moody and nodded. Snape felt his arm crushed in the man's grip as he was dragged away. He cast one final, desperate look back at Dumbledore, but the blue eyes told him nothing.